Chapter 27 - My Mother's Voice
I couldn't move.
Nobody moved.
The image of my mother remained burned into my mind.
Alive.
Older.
Terrified.
Looking directly at me.
Eleanor turned away from the monitors.
“Now you know.”
I grabbed her arm.
“Where is she?”
Eleanor looked down at my hand.
“Let go.”
“Where is my mother?”
“She is where she chose to be.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is the only one you're getting.”
I pushed her backward.
Mark caught my shoulder.
“Hannah.”
“She has my mother.”
Eleanor's voice became calm.
“Your mother chose secrecy.”
“She didn't choose to disappear.”
“She chose to protect you.”
“By letting me believe she was dead?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because dead daughters don't get followed.”
The words hit me.
I stepped back.
Miriam was crying silently.
I looked at her.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eleven years.”
My stomach turned.
“You all knew.”
Jonathan stepped forward.
“Hannah—”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“Don't.”
I looked at every person in the room.
“You kept telling me you were protecting me.”
Nobody answered.
“And all of you were deciding what I was allowed to know.”
Mark said softly, “I didn't know.”
I looked at him.
“You knew things.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew enough.”
“I knew nothing about your mother.”
His voice broke.
“I swear.”
I wanted to believe him.
I did.
That scared me more than anything.
Because after everything, trust felt dangerous.
Rachel stepped forward.
“My mother lied to me too.”
I looked at her.
“So?”
“So I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
“I was told you stole my family.”
“And now?”
“I know I was manipulated.”
She looked at Martin.
“He used my anger.”
Martin accepted it.
“Yes.”
Rachel looked at him.
“You made me hate her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep you away from Eleanor.”
Rachel stared.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does now.”
Martin turned toward the monitors.
“Eleanor needed Rachel loyal.”
“Why?”
“Because Rachel had access.”
“To what?”
“The Morgan records.”
Rachel shook her head.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Martin looked at her.
“Your mother's family owns three holding companies.”
Rachel froze.
“How do you know?”
“Because I handled one of the transfers.”
Caroline stepped forward.
“You did what?”
Martin looked at her.
“I moved money for Eleanor.”
Caroline whispered:
“For how long?”
“Eight years.”
Rachel raised the gun.
“You used me.”
“Yes.”
“You used my entire life.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Martin's face hardened.
“Because the only way to keep you alive was to keep you angry.”
Rachel's eyes filled with tears.
“That is not protecting me.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“It was survival.”
She lowered the gun.
For a moment, I thought she might shoot him anyway.
Instead she walked away.
Miriam approached me.
“Hannah.”
“What?”
“There's something you need to see.”
She took a small key from her pocket.
“Thomas gave me this.”
I stared at it.
“What is it?”
“The key to a room Eleanor never knew about.”
Eleanor's expression changed.
“What?”
Miriam smiled.
“You weren't the only one keeping secrets.”
She turned toward the side wall.
“There.”
Behind a framed photograph was a lock.
Miriam inserted the key.
The wall opened.
A narrow staircase descended.
Mark looked at me.
“We're going down.”
Eleanor shouted:
“No.”
Jonathan moved to block her.
Eleanor stopped.
The two stared at each other.
“You don't understand what you're opening,” Eleanor said.
Jonathan replied:
“Neither did you.”
He looked at me.
“Go.”
We descended.
The staircase ended in a small room.
No computers.
No cabinets.
Only a desk.
A chair.
And a cassette recorder.
On the desk was another photograph.
My mother holding me as a baby.
Thomas standing behind her.
Elias beside them.
And someone else.
A man I didn't know.
Miriam whispered:
“That is Nathan Voss.”
I looked at her.
“Elias's father.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“The man who founded the Voss side of the operation.”
I stared at the photograph.
There was something familiar about him.
I couldn't explain it.
Mark noticed.
“What?”
“I've seen him before.”
“Where?”
I searched my memory.
“On my grandmother's desk.”
Elias entered the room.
The moment he saw the picture, he stopped.
“No.”
I turned.
“What?”
He looked at the photograph.
“He was dead before you were born.”
“Then why is he here?”
Elias shook his head.
“Because this photo was taken the day you were born.”
My heart pounded.
Miriam pressed play on the cassette.
Static.
Then my mother's voice.
Young.
Shaking.
“Thomas, if you're hearing this, I couldn't do it.”
I covered my mouth.
Her voice continued.
“I couldn't leave her.”
A pause.
“I know what Eleanor will do.”
Another pause.
“I know what Elias will do.”
Then her voice cracked.
“But there is one person neither of them knows about.”
I leaned closer.
“Who?”
The recording answered.
“The father of my child.”
Elias stared.
“What?”
The tape continued.
“Thomas, Hannah isn't Elias's biological daughter.”
Silence.
Elias's face went white.
I couldn't breathe.
My mother continued.
“I lied on the birth certificate because I had to.”
The tape clicked.
Then came the sentence that destroyed everything.
“Hannah's father is the man Eleanor has been searching for since 1989.”
The tape stopped.
Nobody spoke.
Elias whispered:
“No.”
I looked at the photograph.
The unknown man.
Nathan Voss.
My mother's voice.
The year.
The date.
Everything shifted.
Eleanor had been searching for someone since 1989.
Someone connected to my birth.
Someone Thomas died trying to identify.
Someone the birth certificate had been built to hide.
I turned toward Elias.
“You're not my father.”
He shook his head slowly.
“No.”
“Then who is?”
He looked at the photograph.
At Nathan.
Then at Miriam.
She was crying.
I asked again.
“Who is my father?”
Miriam whispered:
“We don't know.”
That answer was almost worse.
Then the old cassette recorder clicked again.
It hadn't stopped.
A second recording began automatically.
Thomas's voice.
“Hannah, there is one thing your mother didn't know.”
I froze.
Thomas continued.
“Your father isn't hiding from Eleanor.”
May you like
A pause.
“He is hiding from you.”
