Chapter 2: The Stranger Who Knew My Father's Secret
I didn't move.
The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly between me and the closed door.
My father had been dead for eight years.
I'd attended his funeral. I'd watched Vanessa lower her head while people offered condolences. I'd stood beside a polished wooden coffin, clutching the small silver bird pendant he'd left behind.
I'd watched them bury him.
So why was a stranger telling me that my father had disappeared?
“That's impossible,” I whispered.
Thomas Reed didn't argue.
Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small photograph.
It showed a younger version of my father standing outside a brick building. He was smiling, one arm draped around the shoulders of another man.
The other man was Thomas.
I recognized my father immediately.
The dark hair.
The crooked smile.
The tiny crease beside his left eye.
But he looked younger than I remembered, and there was something in his expression I'd never seen in the photographs Vanessa kept in our house.
He looked happy.
Behind the two men stood a little girl in a yellow raincoat.
Me.
I was holding my father's hand.
My breath caught.
“Where did you get that?””
“Your father gave it to me,” Thomas replied.
“When?””
“Seventeen years ago.””
“That doesn't make sense. I'm seventeen.””
“I know.””
He glanced at the security officer, who had positioned himself between us and Vanessa.
“There's a room nearby where we can talk privately.””
I shook my head.
“No. You're going to explain right now.””
Thomas looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Fair enough.””
He turned the photograph over.
Three words were written on the back in my father's handwriting.
Find my little bird.
My knees nearly gave way.
I knew that handwriting.
I'd spent years looking at it on birthday cards, old notes, and the labels he'd attached to the wooden boxes in his workshop.
I took the photograph with trembling fingers.
“Where is he?”” I asked.
Thomas's expression became painfully gentle.
“Nia, I need you to understand something. I don't know whether your father is alive.””
The corridor went silent.
I stared at him.
“You said he asked you to protect me.””
“He did.””
“When?””
Thomas drew a slow breath.
“Shortly before you were born.””
I shook my head.
“No. My father died when I was nine. Everyone knows that.””
“Your stepmother told you that.””
“She showed me his death certificate!””
Thomas's jaw tightened.
“Then we need to examine it.””
Behind us, Vanessa abruptly stepped forward.
“This is outrageous. Nia, come with me.””
The security officer blocked her path.
“Ma'am, please remain where you are.””
“She's my daughter!””
“No,” I said.
The word escaped before I could stop it.
Vanessa froze.
I turned toward her.
“I'm not your daughter. You made sure I knew that every day of my life.””
Her face reddened.
“You ungrateful little girl. I took you into my home!””
“You were married to my father.””
“And after he died, who fed you? Who clothed you? Who made sure you had a roof over your head?””
“You took money from my father's estate.””
Her mouth snapped shut.
I'd never said those words aloud before.
But the moment they left my mouth, I knew they were true.
I'd seen the bank statements years earlier, when I was looking for a receipt in Vanessa's study. There had been regular transfers from an account bearing my father's name into an account controlled by her.
When I'd asked about them, she'd told me they were household expenses.
I had been too frightened to question her further.
Now she looked at Thomas.
“Whatever you've told her, it's a lie.””
Thomas slipped the photograph back into his jacket.
“Then you won't object to an independent review of the estate records.””
Vanessa's expression changed.
It was brief.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
And I understood, for the first time, that she was afraid of what this man might know.
The private room was on the second floor of the competition venue.
It had pale walls, a long conference table, and windows overlooking the parking lot. Someone had placed a bottle of water beside a chair.
I sat down, still wearing my red gown.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Thomas sat across from me.
The security officer remained near the door.
“Before we discuss your father,” Thomas said, “I want you to know that the competition organizers have secured the camera footage. The destruction of your trophy has been documented.””
I stared at the broken nameplate in my palm.
“Can they be arrested?””
“That depends on the evidence and the authorities. But what happened will not simply disappear because your stepmother objects.””
I looked down at my dress.
“I don't care about the trophy anymore.””
Thomas glanced at the plate.
“You should. You earned it.””
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“It's a piece of metal.””
“No,” he said.
“It's proof of something important.””
I looked up.
“What's that?””
“That you created something beautiful despite people who wanted you to believe you couldn't.””
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
It was the first kind thing anyone had said to me that day without asking for something in return.
Thomas reached into his briefcase and removed a thick folder.
He didn't open it immediately.
Instead, he studied my face.
“Your father was a talented craftsman,” he said.
“Most people knew him as a furniture restorer. He worked on antique cabinets, tables, and occasionally pieces for museums.””
I nodded.
That much was true.
“He was also an exceptionally good accountant,” Thomas continued.
“He discovered that a business partner was moving money through several companies. Your father gathered evidence and planned to report it.””
“Who was the business partner?””
“Victor Hayes.””
The room tilted.
Victor Hayes was Vanessa's first husband.
Brianna's biological father.
He had died when Brianna was a toddler, according to the family stories I'd heard growing up.
I stared at Thomas.
“That's impossible.””
“Why?””
“Because Victor Hayes was dead before my father died.””
Thomas opened the folder.
Inside were copies of business records, handwritten letters, and photographs.
He slid one across the table.
It showed Victor standing outside a warehouse, his face turned toward the camera.
The date printed beneath the photograph was from the previous year.
I recognized the face from the framed picture Vanessa kept in Brianna's bedroom.
“He's alive?”” I whispered.
Thomas nodded.
“Very much so.””
My mouth went dry.
“Then why did everyone say he died?””
“Because the official story made it easier for him to disappear.””
I pushed the photograph away.
“Why are you telling me this?””
“Because your father discovered that Victor had been using a network of companies to hide money. When he threatened to expose him, he began receiving threats.””
Thomas leaned forward.
“He came to me because we had worked together on several restoration projects. He asked me to help him protect you.””
“Protect me from what?””
“From the people who wanted him silenced.””
I looked at the folder.
The documents seemed to blur.
“Did they kill him?””
Thomas didn't answer immediately.
That frightened me more than anything else.
“We never found conclusive proof,” he said at last.
“Your father vanished shortly after he contacted me. Weeks later, a death certificate appeared. There was no body available for identification. The authorities were told that the remains had been destroyed in an accident.””
My fingers dug into the fabric of my skirt.
“And Vanessa knew?””
“We believe she knew more than she admitted.””
I thought about the way she had looked at Thomas in the corridor.
The panic in her eyes.
The anger.
The sudden fear.
“Why did she keep me?””
Thomas's face darkened.
“That is one of the questions we're trying to answer.””
I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped the floor.
“No. You don't get to tell me my entire childhood was a lie and then say you don't know why.””
Thomas remained seated.
“You're right.””
His answer stopped me.
“I don't know everything, Nia. But I can show you what we have.””
He opened the folder to a letter.
The handwriting was my father's.
Thomas, if anything happens to me, make sure Nia has a chance to grow up somewhere safe. Vanessa knows about the accounts, but I don't believe she understands what Victor is capable of. I have hidden the original records where no one will think to look. The silver bird will lead you to them.
I stopped breathing.
The silver bird.
My pendant.
I pulled it from beneath my gown.
The little bird hung against my palm, its wings spread as though it were about to fly.
Thomas stared at it.
“Where did you get that?””
“My father gave it to me when I was little.””
He reached for the pendant, then stopped himself.
“May I?””
I placed it on the table.
He examined the back carefully.
“There's a seam here.””
He took a small magnifying glass from his briefcase and studied the tiny metal clasp.
My heart pounded.
“What is it?””
“I don't know yet.””
He looked at me.
“But I think your father left something inside.””
An hour later, the pendant was resting in an evidence bag.
Thomas had contacted a specialist who could examine it without damaging the silver.
I sat by the window, watching people leave the competition venue.
My victory should have been the happiest day of my life.
Instead, I had learned that my father might not be dead, that my stepmother's first husband might be alive, and that the little silver bird I'd worn for years could contain the key to a secret that had shaped my entire childhood.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Brianna appeared.
You think you've won? You have no idea what you've just started.
Another message followed.
Mom says you're never coming home again.
I stared at the screen.
For the first time, the threat didn't make me feel small.
I showed Thomas.
He read the messages, then asked the security officer to preserve a copy.
“Don't respond,” he advised.
“I'm not going to.””
A knock sounded at the door.
A woman in a navy suit entered, carrying a sealed envelope.
“Mr. Reed, this was delivered to the front desk. The sender insisted it be given directly to Miss Carter.””
Thomas accepted it.
“Who brought it?””
“A man who left before we could get his details.””
He looked at the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Not Nia Carter.
Not Miss Carter.
Just three words.
For my little bird.
I recognized the handwriting before Thomas even opened it.
My father had written those words on the back of the photograph.
Thomas carefully broke the seal.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
He read the first line.
Then his face went completely white.
“What does it say?”” I demanded.
He handed me the letter.
My fingers trembled as I unfolded it.
There were only two sentences.
Nia, if you're reading this, Vanessa has failed to keep you away from the truth.
Do not trust the man who tells you he is your father.
I looked up.
Thomas had gone very still.
“Who brought this?”” I whispered.
The woman shook her head.
“We don't know.””
I stared at the letter again.
Then I noticed something written in the bottom corner.
A date.
May you like
Tomorrow's date.
And beneath it, an address in downtown Boston.
