Chapter 3 - THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Richard stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. Linda hovered behind him in the hallway, her face pale with fear.
My husband’s eyes darted from the broken padlock on the floor to the empty velvet jewelry box on the desk, and finally, to the photograph in my hand.
“Give that to me,” Richard said, taking a slow step forward. He held out his hand. He looked like a stranger. The man who had kissed me goodbye three weeks ago was completely gone.
I held the photograph up.
“Who is this child, Richard?” I asked, my voice remarkably steady despite the earthquake happening in my chest. “And why is she wearing my mother’s bracelet?”
Linda gasped, covering her mouth as she saw the photo over Richard’s shoulder.
“It’s not what you think,” Richard said, his tone shifting back to the patronizing calmness he used to manipulate me. “Claire, your memory has been slipping. You gave me that bracelet to hold onto months ago. You just forgot.”
“Stop doing that,” I snapped, stepping behind the heavy mahogany desk to keep a barrier between us. “Stop trying to make me think I’m losing my mind. You pawned my mother’s bracelet yesterday. I have the ticket. Now tell me who this child is.”
Richard’s jaw tightened. He realized the gaslighting wasn't going to work. The evidence was literally in my hands.
“Her name is Lily,” Richard said quietly.
“Is she yours?” I asked. The question tasted like ash in my mouth. Twenty-six years. We had a twenty-four-year-old daughter, Sarah. Had he started an entire second family right under my nose?
“No!” Richard said sharply, looking genuinely offended. “I haven't had an affair, Claire. I swear to you. She’s not my daughter.”
I looked at the picture. The resemblance was undeniable. “Then whose is she?”
Richard looked at the floor, then at Linda.
“Linda,” Richard said, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't place. “Tell her to put the picture away. Please.”
Linda stepped into the office. She looked at the photograph in my hand. Her eyes widened, and then, slowly, they filled with tears.
“Oh, Richard,” Linda whispered, her voice cracking. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” Richard choked out.
I looked back and forth between them. “What is going on? Who is this girl?”
Linda looked at me, a profound sadness settling over her features. She wasn't an adversary anymore. She was a mother who had just realized a terrible truth.
“Claire,” Linda said softly, “Richard and I had a son. Matthew. You know Matthew.”
“Of course I know Matthew,” I said, my frustration peaking. “He’s thirty years old. He lives in Chicago.”
“Matthew hasn't lived in Chicago for two years,” Richard said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
I stared at him. “What are you talking about? He called us from Chicago at Christmas.”
“He used a forwarding service,” Richard confessed, gripping the edge of the desk. “Matthew got involved with some very bad people, Claire. Gambling debts. Real ones. Dangerous ones. Two years ago, he had to disappear. But he couldn't take his daughter with him.”
The room spun.
“This is Matthew’s daughter?” I asked, looking down at the little girl in the photo.
Linda let out a quiet sob. “He told me she died. Richard, you told me Lily died when she was a baby.”
My head snapped up. “You told her the baby died?”
“I had to!” Richard yelled, his composure finally shattering. “Matthew begged me to hide her! He owed half a million dollars to a syndicate. If they knew he had a living child, they would have used her to get to him. I couldn't tell Linda. She’s too emotional. She would have made a mistake and led them right to the girl.”
I looked at the pawn ticket. I looked at the forty-two thousand dollars he had stolen from Linda.
“You’ve been paying for her,” I realized, the pieces clicking together in a horrific mosaic. “You’ve been hiding your granddaughter and paying for her care.”
“I put her with a private foster family in Dayton,” Richard said, his eyes pleading with me to understand. “But the syndicate found out I was funneling money. They tracked the payments. Last month, they contacted me. They demanded fifty thousand dollars to keep quiet, or they were going to take Lily.”
He pointed at the pawn ticket.
“I didn't pawn the bracelet to hurt you, Claire. I pawned it to save my granddaughter’s life. I borrowed the money from Linda to make the final payment.”
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. A grandfather, pushed to the brink, doing whatever it took to save an innocent child. It was a noble, tragic motive.
But then I remembered the phone call Linda had overheard.
He needed you declared incompetent before anyone found out where the money went.
I looked at Linda. She was weeping silently, staring at the picture of the granddaughter she had been told was dead.
“If the money was to pay off criminals to save Lily,” I said slowly, “why did you need me declared mentally incompetent, Richard?”
Richard froze. The tragic-hero facade slipped, just for a fraction of a second.
“Because…” he stammered. “Because I knew you wouldn't let me drain our retirement accounts. I needed legal control of your assets to keep paying them.”
It was a good lie. It made sense.
But my eyes drifted past Richard, to the wastebasket by his desk. Tucked near the top of the trash was a crumpled envelope with a return address from a luxury real estate agency in Florida.
I reached down and pulled it out.
“Don't touch that,” Richard snapped.
I opened the crumpled envelope. It wasn't a threat from a syndicate. It was a signed purchase agreement for a beachfront condominium in Miami. Paid in full. Cash.
And the name on the deed wasn't Richard Donovan.
May you like
It was Matthew Donovan.
“Your son isn't hiding from a syndicate, is he?” I asked, holding up the real estate contract. “He’s living in a luxury condo in Miami.”
