Chapter 3: The Girl Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Adrian didn't explain why we had to leave.
He simply took off his coat, draped it around my shoulders, and guided me toward the rear exit while Daniel checked the street.
"What's happening?"" I demanded.
"Someone knows you're here.""
"Who?""
"Vincent Moretti.""
"The man who wanted you dead last night?""
"The same man.""
I stopped walking.
"You told me to run if he ever approached me.""
"And I meant it.""
"Then why are you taking me with you?""
Adrian turned.
For the first time, he looked less like a powerful man accustomed to being obeyed and more like someone standing at the edge of a decision he desperately wished he could undo.
"Because if Vincent knows who you are, leaving you alone is the most dangerous thing I could do.""
I pulled his coat tighter around myself.
"I was alone for ten years.""
"And someone still found you.""
His words struck like a slap.
Daniel appeared at the end of the corridor.
"Boss, the front entrance is compromised. Two men in a gray SUV have been watching the building for at least fifteen minutes.""
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"Armed?""
"Can't confirm. One has his hand under his jacket.""
Adrian glanced at me.
"Stay close.""
We slipped through the service door into a narrow alley behind the salon.
The rain had stopped, but the pavement still shone beneath the morning light. A delivery truck rumbled past the far intersection.
Daniel led the way.
Adrian stayed beside me.
I kept expecting someone to grab my arm or shout my name. Every passing car made me flinch.
At the end of the alley, we reached a black sedan.
The driver opened the rear door.
I hesitated.
Adrian noticed.
"You don't have to trust me," he said.
"But you need to get out of sight.""
"Where are you taking me?""
"Somewhere Vincent can't reach you easily.""
"Does such a place exist?""
His mouth tightened.
"Not as often as I'd like.""
I climbed into the car.
Adrian followed, and the door shut with a heavy thud.
The sedan pulled into traffic.
For several minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle from Daniel's radio.
Then I turned toward Adrian.
"Tell me about Isabella.""
He looked out the window.
"What do you want to know?""
"Everything.""
"That's a dangerous request.""
"I'm tired of being afraid of things I can't remember.""
He looked at me then.
Really looked at me.
And something in his expression softened.
"Isabella Whitmore was the only daughter of Richard and Eleanor Whitmore. Her father built a financial empire. Her mother came from an old New York family with connections to politicians, judges, and people who never appeared in newspapers.""
"Was she happy?""
Adrian took a moment before answering.
"From what I saw, yes.""
"You knew her?""
"I knew her father.""
The answer was too careful.
I leaned forward.
"How?""
Adrian rubbed a hand over his jaw.
"Richard Whitmore helped my family when my father was in trouble. He gave us money when nobody else would. He was one of the few men in New York who could look at my father and see a person instead of a criminal.""
"And you?""
"I was older than Isabella by nearly twenty years. I wasn't her friend in the way a child might understand it. But I visited the estate.
I attended dinners. Sometimes I brought her books.""
I stared at him.
"You brought books to a little girl?""
"She liked mysteries. She thought the detectives in them were idiots.""
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
"What did she like?""
"Blueberries. Horses. Rainstorms.""
He paused.
"She was terrified of fire.""
The smile vanished from my face.
A flash of orange crossed my mind.
A chandelier falling.
Someone screaming.
I pressed my hands together until my knuckles hurt.
"Tell me about the night she disappeared.""
Adrian looked away.
"Ten years ago, the Whitmore estate caught fire shortly after midnight. The police found blood in the east wing, signs of forced entry, and evidence that several people had been inside the house. Richard and Eleanor disappeared. Isabella was never found.""
"Her parents disappeared too?""
"Richard's body was never recovered. Eleanor's wasn't either.""
I looked at him.
"Then why did Vincent say my father was alive?""
"Because Vincent has a talent for finding the things people most want to believe.""
"Do you think he was lying?""
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
That frightened me more than anything else.
The sedan turned through a set of iron gates and entered an underground garage beneath a tall building overlooking the East River.
Daniel checked the mirrors before opening the door.
"All clear.""
Adrian stepped out first and offered me his hand.
I stared at it.
Then I took it.
The building's private elevator required a key card and a fingerprint scan. We rode to the thirty-second floor in silence.
When the doors opened, I found myself inside an apartment that looked as though it belonged in a magazine.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the river. The furniture was dark leather and polished wood. A long dining table sat beneath a sculptural chandelier, and a wall of books stretched from the living room to the ceiling.
I stood near the entrance, afraid to move.
Adrian noticed.
"You're safe here.""
"You keep saying that.""
"Because I want it to be true.""
He took a small device from Daniel and checked the screen.
"Daniel, double the security downstairs. Nobody comes up without my approval.""
"Already done.""
"And find out who made that call to the salon.""
Daniel nodded.
"One more thing, boss.""
Adrian glanced at him.
"Vincent sent a message to your private number.""
"What does it say?""
Daniel hesitated.
Then he held out his phone.
Adrian read the message, and his expression turned cold.
I watched his face.
"What?""
He turned the screen toward me.
A photograph showed the front entrance of the salon.
I was standing outside, holding the box of discarded pastries.
Someone had circled my face in red.
Beneath the image were six words.
*The Whitmore girl belongs to us.*
My stomach twisted.
"Who are they?""
Adrian slipped the phone into his pocket.
"People who think your family owes them something.""
"What could my family possibly owe the mafia?""
His eyes met mine.
"More than money.""
Before I could ask what he meant, the front door opened.
A woman in her late fifties entered carrying a tray of tea. Her silver hair was pinned neatly at the nape of her neck, and her navy dress was immaculate.
She stopped when she saw me.
The tray trembled.
A porcelain cup slid against its saucer.
"Wren," Adrian said, "this is Margaret Ellis. She manages the apartment and has worked for my family for thirty years.""
Margaret didn't seem to hear him.
She stared at my face.
Then her gaze moved to the hair draped across my shoulders.
"Oh, my God.""
Adrian's expression changed.
"Margaret?""
The woman set the tray down so abruptly that tea spilled across the table.
She approached me slowly.
"Sweetheart," she whispered.
"May I see behind your right ear?""
Every muscle in my body tightened.
"Why?""
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Because I used to brush your hair when you were little.""
The room went silent.
I stepped backward.
"No.""
Margaret pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.
"You had a blue ribbon you refused to take off. You used to hide biscuits in your dollhouse, and your mother would pretend she couldn't find them.""
I shook my head.
"Stop.""
"You called the gardener Mr. Puddles because he fell into the fountain once. You were furious when he told you not to feed the horses sugar cubes.""
"Stop!""
The word tore out of me.
Margaret froze.
Adrian moved between us, but she wasn't trying to approach me anymore.
She simply stood there, crying silently.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I didn't mean to frighten you.""
I gripped the back of a chair.
"How do you know those things?""
Margaret looked at Adrian.
He gave a slow nod.
She turned back to me.
"Because I was your nanny, Isabella.""
The name echoed through the apartment.
I wanted to reject it.
I wanted to tell her she was mistaken, that there were thousands of girls with blue eyes and brown birthmarks, that the memories flickering at the edge of my mind belonged to someone else.
But I remembered the dollhouse.
I remembered a garden full of white roses.
I remembered a woman singing while she brushed my hair.
And I remembered a gold necklace lying on a wooden table beside a photograph of a smiling couple.
I pressed my hands against my temples.
"Why didn't you find me?""
Margaret's face crumpled.
"We tried.""
"Ten years?""
"Every day.""
"Then why was I sleeping in alleys?""
She began to cry harder.
Adrian's voice was low.
"Margaret, what happened that night?""
The older woman looked at him.
For several seconds, she seemed unable to speak.
Then she walked to the window and stared at the river.
"Your father discovered that someone inside his own organization was selling information to Vincent Moretti. Not ordinary information. Bank records, private addresses, security schedules. Everything Vincent needed to destroy him.""
"Who?"" I asked.
Margaret shook her head.
"I never knew the man's full name. Richard only called him the Broker.""
Adrian's face darkened.
"The Broker was supposed to have disappeared years ago.""
"Apparently, he didn't.""
Margaret continued.
"The night of the fire, your mother told me to take you out through the servants' passage. She said the house wasn't safe anymore. She gave me a coat, a small bag, and a key to a storage locker.""
I stared at her.
"What happened next?""
"We reached the old carriage house. A man was waiting there. He told me your father had sent him.
He knew my name. He knew yours. He even knew about the mark behind your ear.""
She swallowed.
"I believed him.""
My fingers dug into the chair.
"Where did he take us?""
"To a train station. He said he would take you somewhere safe while I returned to the estate for your mother.""
Margaret's voice broke.
"I left you with him for less than five minutes.""
The room seemed to grow colder.
"When I came back, you were gone.""
"Did you call the police?""
"Immediately. But the station cameras had been disabled. The man used a false name. Nobody could find him.""
"And you never saw me again?""
"Not until today.""
I looked at Adrian.
He was watching Margaret with a hard, thoughtful expression.
"Did Richard know the man?"" he asked.
"I don't know.""
"Did he mention the storage locker?""
Margaret hesitated.
Then she reached into her handbag and pulled out a small, tarnished key.
"I kept this for ten years. I was supposed to give it to Isabella when she was old enough to understand.""
I stared at the key.
A number was stamped into the metal.
*614.*
The instant I saw it, a memory flashed through my mind.
A dim hallway.
A man wearing leather gloves.
A woman's voice whispering, If they ever find you, go to locker six hundred fourteen.
I gasped and grabbed the edge of the table.
Adrian caught my arm.
"Wren?""
I looked at the key.
"I've seen this before.""
Margaret's eyes widened.
"Where?""
"I don't know. I just remember someone telling me not to lose it.""
Adrian took the key from Margaret and examined it.
"Do you know where the locker is?""
"Penn Station," she whispered.
"At least, that's where Richard told me it would be.""
Adrian looked at Daniel.
"Get a team ready. We're going there.""
I grabbed his sleeve.
"No.""
He turned.
"You just told me my family disappeared in a fire, that someone kidnapped me, and that the man responsible might still be alive. Now you're going to walk into a train station with a key that could explain everything?""
"Yes.""
"That's insane.""
"Probably.""
"You could get killed.""
Adrian's gaze held mine.
"So could you.""
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he lowered his voice.
"I won't force you to come. But if that locker contains evidence of who took you, it may be the only lead we have.""
I looked at Margaret.
She stood beside the window, clutching a tissue in both hands.
"I want to know what happened," I said.
Adrian nodded.
"Then we'll find out.""
He turned toward Daniel.
"Prepare the car.""
Daniel left immediately.
I started toward the hallway, desperate for a few minutes alone.
But Adrian's phone rang again.
He answered without looking at the screen.
"Speak.""
A man's voice crackled through the speaker.
"Mr. Kane, we've got a problem.""
Adrian's shoulders stiffened.
"What happened?""
"We checked the security footage from the garage. Someone accessed the private elevator twelve minutes before you arrived.""
"Who?""
"We don't know. The cameras went dark for forty-seven seconds.""
Adrian looked at me.
"Was anyone else on the floor?""
A pause.
Then the voice replied, "No one, sir. But there's something you should see.""
A notification appeared on Adrian's phone.
He opened it.
His face went completely blank.
"What is it?"" I whispered.
He turned the screen toward me.
A photograph showed a little girl standing in front of a burning mansion.
She was wearing a white dress.
Her blue eyes were wide with terror.
And behind her right ear was the crescent-shaped mark.
Someone had written a message beneath the image.
*Ask Isabella what she did to her mother.*
I stared at the photograph.
A scream rose in my throat, but no sound came out.
Because suddenly, I remembered the fire.
I remembered my mother's hand reaching for me.
I remembered the gold necklace breaking against the floor.
May you like
And I remembered a voice—my own child's voice—screaming three words into the smoke.
*"I didn't mean to!""*
