Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept looking at the photograph.
Emily.
Leah.
My mother.
Three people connected by a secret nobody had told me.
Nah sat beside me on the couch.
"You need to tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking about the day I met Leah."
"What about it?"
"Mom knew."
"How do you know?"
"Because she told me not to get involved."
Nah went quiet.
I continued.
"At the time, I thought she was just being cruel."
"And now?"
"Now I think she was afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of Leah."
Nah frowned.
"Why would she be afraid of a three-year-old?"
"I don't know."
My phone rang.
Whitaker.
"Graham."
"Yes?"
"I found something."
"What?"
"Your grandfather kept a second set of records."
"Where?"
"In his private archive."
"Can I see them?"
"Yes."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
Twenty minutes later, Nah and I were driving across town.
The archive was hidden beneath an old office building.
Whitaker unlocked the door.
Inside were shelves of boxes.
He pulled one down.
"Your grandfather labeled everything."
He handed me the box.
The label read:
CARTER, EMILY — RESTRICTED
I opened it.
The first thing I saw was a medical report.
Then a police report.
Then a photograph.
Then a handwritten statement.
I read it.
Emily had accused my mother of threatening her.
She claimed my mother wanted custody of Leah.
But there was something else.
Emily had discovered that my mother had arranged a meeting with a private investigator.
The investigator's name was Daniel Voss.
I knew that name.
He had been my father's security consultant for years.
"Why would Mom hire him?"
Whitaker shook his head.
"I don't know."
I read the next page.
Daniel had followed Emily.
Then he had followed me.
Then he had followed Leah.
For months.
I felt sick.
"Why was he watching us?"
Whitaker didn't answer.
I found another photograph.
It showed me carrying three-year-old Leah out of the hospital.
Behind us stood my mother.
Watching.
The photograph had been taken from across the street.
My mother had known I was there.
She had been watching me adopt Leah.
And she had done nothing.
I looked at Nah.
"Why didn't she stop me?"
"Maybe she couldn't."
I turned.
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe your grandfather had already protected you."
I looked at the trust.
Maybe.
But then I found another document.
A bank transfer.
A large amount of money.
Paid to Daniel Voss.
The date was three days after Leah's adoption.
I looked at Whitaker.
"Who authorized this?"
He checked.
"Your mother."
My stomach dropped.
"Why?"
He looked at the amount.
"That's the question."
I took a photograph of the document.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text.
Unknown number.
STOP DIGGING.
Another.
YOUR DAUGHTER IS SAFE ONLY BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW THE TRUTH.
Another.
ASK EMILY WHY SHE GAVE LEAH AWAY.
I stared at the messages.
Nah read them.
"She's threatening you."
"Yes."
"Or warning you."
I looked at the photograph.
"Either way, someone wants me to stop."
We returned home after midnight.
The house was dark.
I checked Leah's room.
She was asleep.
Her stuffed rabbit was tucked beneath her arm.
I kissed her forehead.
Then I noticed something on her desk.
A small envelope.
No name.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Leah at age three.
Emily standing behind her.
And my mother standing beside them.
But this photograph was different.
My mother was holding Leah.
And on the back, in my mother's handwriting, were six words:
She belongs to us now.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Nah stood behind me.
"What does it say?"
I handed it to her.
She read it.
Then she looked at me.
"We need to find Emily."
"Tomorrow."
"No."
She looked toward Leah.
"Tonight."
Before I could answer, there was a knock at the front door.
Three slow knocks.
I went downstairs.
I opened the door.
Nobody was there.
Only a small cardboard box sat on the porch.
I picked it up.
Inside was an old key.
And a handwritten note.
COME TO 417 WILLOW STREET.
COME ALONE.
BRING THE PHOTO.
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At the bottom was one final sentence.
YOUR MOTHER IS NOT THE PERSON YOU SHOULD BE AFRAID OF.
