Chapter 9 - The First Daughter
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I had imagined this woman without knowing I imagined her.
A shadow in the nursery.
A red shoe.
A voice behind a locked door.
Now she stood twenty feet away.
Alive.
My sister.
My mother’s first daughter.
Nathaniel’s child.
Victor Whitmore’s oldest secret.
Anna looked at my coat.
“Take off the wire.”
I did not move.
“If I remove it, the police come in.”
“No.”
“If you stop transmitting, they wait.”
My blood cooled.
“How do you know that?”
“Because Detective Alvarez uses the same protocol every time.”
I stared at her.
“You know her?”
Anna looked toward one of the chapel windows.
“I know everyone who has worked on a Whitmore case.”
“Is she compromised?”
“Not willingly.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only answer that matters.”
I reached beneath my coat.
I switched off the transmitter.
Somewhere outside, a clock had started.
Three minutes.
Anna stepped closer.
Her limp was slight but visible.
“What happened to you here?”
She laughed softly.
The sound contained no humor.
“What didn’t?”
I looked at the scar.
“Did Sloan do that?”
“No.”
“Victor did.”
“At the mansion?”
“Yes.”
“But Sloan made sure it healed badly.”
“Why?”
“So I would remember who owned my face.”
My hands tightened.
“No one owns you.”
Anna’s eyes moved across mine.
“You really did grow up outside the basement.”
“What does that mean?”
She gestured toward the chapel.
“This place had two floors above ground.”
“And three below.”
“Children like me lived at the bottom.”
My stomach turned.
“How many?”
“Sometimes ten.”
“Sometimes fifty.”
“Where are they now?”
“Some were adopted.”
“Some were returned to families.”
“Some disappeared.”
“And some stayed long enough to become useful.”
“Useful how?”
Anna walked toward the altar.
She lifted the candle.
Behind it was a metal box.
She unlocked it with a key around her neck.
Inside were photographs.
Medical files.
Cassette tapes.
Computer drives.
She handed me a photograph.
A group of girls stood in a concrete room.
They wore identical gray dresses.
Anna was in the center.
Her face was bruised.
Beside her stood a younger girl with blond hair.
The girl looked familiar.
I turned the picture over.
Two names were written on the back.
ANNA CROSS.
EMILY VALE.
“Who is Emily?”
“Cassandra’s older sister.”
My head snapped up.
“Cassandra said she had no sister.”
“Her family says Emily drowned when she was five.”
“What happened?”
“She inherited shares in Vale Capital from her grandmother.”
“Her father wanted control.”
“So he sent her here?”
“Yes.”
“Did she survive?”
Anna looked away.
“No.”
The truth hit hard.
Cassandra had married into the same kind of family that raised me.
Maybe that was why she froze.
Fear recognized fear.
I examined more photographs.
Children beside judges.
Doctors.
Businessmen.
Several faces were marked with black ink.
“What is this?”
“A record.”
“Of abuse?”
“Of ownership.”
My stomach turned.
Anna continued.
“St. Agnes did not only hide children.”
“It trained them.”
“For what?”
“Blackmail.”
“Espionage.”
“Obedience.”
“Girls were placed in homes as maids.”
“Assistants.”
“Nannies.”
“Companions.”
“They listened.”
“They collected documents.”
“They learned secrets.”
“And if they refused?”
Anna touched her scar.
I felt sick.
“My father used you.”
“He did more than use me.”
“He managed Redbird.”
Nathaniel had thought my father served the organization.
Anna was saying something worse.
“He ran it?”
“Not at first.”
“Sloan did.”
“Victor learned quickly.”
“What is Redbird?”
“The network that replaced St. Agnes.”
“Cleaner buildings.”
“Private clinics.”
“Scholarships.”
“Foster programs.”
“The same prison with better branding.”
“And the payments in the ledger?”
“Maintenance.”
“Mine included.”
She looked almost ashamed.
“Victor paid for my apartment.”
“My medication.”
“My silence.”
“Why did you accept it?”
“Because he made sure I couldn’t survive without it.”
“You could have come to Nathaniel.”
Her expression hardened.
“He signed me away.”
“To protect me.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“He admitted it.”
Her anger flickered.
“He told you?”
“Not everything.”
“He said he made a deal.”
Anna looked toward the dark chapel doors.
“He always tells the ugliest truth in pieces.”
I stepped closer.
“You warned me not to trust him.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“But you went to Sophie.”
“To protect her.”
“From Sloan?”
“From everyone.”
“What does Sloan want with her?”
Anna’s face changed.
“Her blood.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“What?”
“Not literally.”
“Her inheritance.”
“Her medical history.”
“Her legal identity.”
“Sloan has spent years creating files on Whitmore heirs.”
“Your file made you incompetent.”
“Mine made me dangerous.”
“Sophie’s will make her violent.”
“She is eight.”
“He started yours when you were four.”
The number struck me.
“What did he put in it?”
“Night terrors.”
“Aggression.”
“Imaginary friends.”
“Bed-wetting.”
“Normal childhood behavior rewritten as pathology.”
I remembered doctors.
Tests.
Questions.
My mother sitting beside me and answering before I could.
“They were building it my entire life.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t they remove me from the trust permanently?”
“Your grandfather made that difficult.”
“So they kept renewing the guardianship.”
“Until they could force the merger.”
“And when that failed…”
Anna looked at me.
“They moved to the final plan.”
“The accident.”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“What is my father doing now?”
“Going to the Redbird archive.”
“Where?”
“Beneath the Whitmore Grand.”
The flagship hotel.
The building where Preston’s wedding had taken place.
“The archive is under the ballroom?”
“Under the original foundation.”
“What is inside?”
“Every recording.”
“Every payment.”
“Every child.”
My skin turned cold.
“Every child?”
“Not physically.”
“Their identities.”
“Locations.”
“New names.”
“Families.”
“People who still work for Redbird.”
“If Victor destroys it, there will be no proof.”
“Then why hasn’t he destroyed it before?”
“Insurance.”
“Against Sloan.”
“Against judges.”
“Against your mother.”
“Against everyone.”
A sound echoed from the hallway.
Footsteps.
More than one person.
Anna immediately extinguished the candle.
Darkness swallowed the chapel.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me behind the altar.
I heard the side door open.
A man’s voice spoke softly.
“Evelyn?”
Dr. Sloan.
I recognized his voice from my childhood.
Gentle.
Measured.
The voice of a man who could call cruelty treatment.
“I know you’re here.”
Anna pressed one finger against her lips.
Another voice answered him.
Detective Alvarez.
“Search the lower corridor.”
My heart stopped.
Had she entered because the signal failed?
Or had Anna been right?
Was Alvarez compromised?
Sloan’s shoes crossed the chapel floor.
“The younger daughter has always been impulsive.”
Alvarez replied.
“She is frightened.”
“Fear makes people predictable.”
Anna leaned close to my ear.
“She doesn’t know.”
I barely breathed.
“What?”
“Alvarez thinks he is helping.”
Sloan stopped near the altar.
“I treated Evelyn as a child.”
“I can calm her.”
Alvarez’s voice moved farther away.
“I want her alive.”
Sloan smiled.
I could hear it in his words.
“So does Victor.”
“For now.”
The footsteps separated.
Anna pulled me through a narrow opening behind the altar.
A staircase descended into darkness.
We moved quickly.
The air became colder with every step.
At the bottom was a concrete corridor.
Rusting metal doors lined both sides.
Names had been scratched into the walls.
ANNA.
EMILY.
SARAH.
GRACE.
Dozens more.
Children proving they had existed.
Anna led me to the final door.
She unlocked it.
Inside stood an old projector and a table covered in tapes.
She grabbed one cassette.
“What is that?”
“The night Victor brought me here.”
“You recorded it?”
“No.”
“Sloan recorded everything.”
“Why?”
“For research.”
The word made me sick.
Anna inserted the tape into a machine.
A grainy image appeared on the wall.
A fourteen-year-old girl sat in a chair.
Anna.
Young.
Bruised.
Terrified.
Dr. Sloan stood behind her.
My father entered the frame.
He placed a folder on the table.
“Sign it,” he said.
A third person stepped into view.
Nathaniel.
My breath caught.
He looked younger.
Desperate.
Broken.
Young Anna stared at him.
“Daddy?”
Nathaniel closed his eyes.
My father slid the pen toward him.
“Sign, and Evelyn remains untouched.”
Anna began crying.
“No.”
Nathaniel looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
He signed.
Young Anna screamed.
The recording cut to black.
I stared at the blank wall.
Anna stood beside me.
“You wanted the truth.”
My eyes burned.
“He sacrificed you for me.”
“Yes.”
“I was six.”
“I know.”
“He thought my father would hurt me.”
“He was right.”
“Then why do you hate him?”
Anna looked at me.
“Because he never came back.”
“He searched for you.”
“He searched just enough to forgive himself.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You’ve known him for one night.”
“I waited for him for twenty-two years.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Anna removed the tape.
“We have to go.”
“Where?”
“To the hotel.”
“What about Sloan?”
“He wants us to run.”
“Why?”
“Because the archive has a failsafe.”
“What failsafe?”
“If anyone opens it without two family keys, the entire chamber burns.”
“Who has the keys?”
“Victor has one.”
“Margaret has the other.”
“My mother is in police custody.”
Anna shook her head.
“No.”
“She left the mansion ten minutes after you did.”
“How do you know?”
“She called me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“She offered a trade.”
“What trade?”
“Sophie for the second key.”
I grabbed Anna’s arm.
“What do you mean, Sophie?”
Anna stared at me.
“She has already been moved from the hospital.”
The room tilted.
“That’s impossible.”
“I placed Nathaniel there.”
Anna’s face filled with something close to pity.
“That was the point.”
My phone vibrated.
One new message.
Unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
Sophie sat in the back seat of a car.
Her eyes were closed.
My mother sat beside her.
Beneath the image were six words.
BRING ANNA TO THE WHITMORE GRAND.
May you like
ALONE.
OR SOPHIE DIES BEFORE SUNRISE.
