Chapter 3 - Seven Years Stolen
Rachel Morgan had died forty-six hours before Alexander was supposed to marry Camille Laurent.
That fact followed him out of the church.
It followed him into the police station.
It followed him into the private hospital room where a pediatrician examined Lily and Hope.
It followed him when Lily fell asleep sitting upright beside him because she refused to let him leave.
And it followed him when the doctor quietly said something Alexander would never forget.
“Both children show signs of prolonged stress.”
Alexander looked through the glass wall.
Lily was sleeping beneath a blanket.
Hope was in a crib beside her.
“What kind of stress?”
Dr. Harris removed his glasses.
“Nothing I’m seeing proves abuse.”
“But?”
“Lily is underweight.”
Alexander stared at him.
“She’s six.”
“Yes.”
“She weighs forty pounds.”
“Thirty-four.”
The number hit him harder than expected.
“And Hope?”
“Also underweight.”
Alexander rubbed his face.
The wedding tuxedo suddenly felt absurd.
He was still wearing it.
The black tie was gone.
His jacket was open.
But he was still dressed like a groom.
A groom without a bride.
A father who had apparently been a father for six years without knowing it.
Daniel stood beside him.
“We’ll fix it.”
Alexander looked through the glass.
“How do you fix six years?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
The DNA test had been ordered immediately.
Alexander hadn’t needed one emotionally.
But legally he did.
Lily deserved certainty.
Rachel deserved certainty.
He would not build another part of the child’s life on assumptions.
While they waited, Detective Nora Hayes arrived.
She was in her early forties, sharp-eyed and calm.
“Mr. Reed.”
Alexander stood.
“Tell me about Rachel.”
The question nearly broke him.
He looked at Lily.
Then toward the hallway.
“Not here.”
They walked to a family waiting room.
Daniel joined them.
Detective Hayes opened a notebook.
“When did you last see Rachel Morgan?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Exact date?”
“October twelfth.”
Hayes glanced up.
“You remember?”
“Yes.”
Alexander did.
It had been raining.
Rachel had eaten half his fries.
They had argued about moving in together.
Not because either of them didn’t want it.
Because Alexander was terrified he wouldn’t have time to give her the life she deserved while Reed Holdings was collapsing.
Rachel had kissed him outside her apartment.
“You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”
Those had been the last words she ever spoke to him in person.
The next morning, Alexander’s father suffered a stroke.
Three days later Rachel stopped answering.
A week later the message arrived.
Hayes listened without interruption.
“You kept the message?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I never deleted anything from that period.”
“Can we access it?”
Alexander handed her his phone.
“My assistant can retrieve the backup.”
Hayes glanced toward Daniel.
“Camille Laurent worked for you then?”
Alexander nodded.
“She was executive operations coordinator.”
“Did she know Rachel?”
“I didn’t think so.”
Daniel shifted.
Alexander looked at him.
“What?”
His brother hesitated.
“Camille knew about Rachel.”
“How?”
“You talked about her.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
Daniel rubbed his jaw.
“But Camille met her once.”
Alexander went still.
“When?”
“Company Christmas party.”
Alexander searched his memory.
Hundreds of people.
Champagne.
His father making a speech.
Rachel beside him in a red dress.
Camille working the event.
“I don’t remember them meeting.”
“I do.”
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“Rachel asked Camille where the restroom was.”
“That’s it?”
“I thought so.”
Detective Hayes wrote something.
Alexander stared at his brother.
“You never told me.”
“Why would I?”
He was right.
At the time it would have meant nothing.
Hayes changed direction.
“Tell me about Marcus Vale.”
“I’ve never met him.”
“You know who he is?”
“Only from Rachel’s letter.”
Hayes slid a photograph across the table.
Alexander studied it.
A man in his late thirties.
Broad shoulders.
Dark hair.
A smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Rachel married him five years ago.”
Hayes continued.
“They separated eight months ago.”
Alexander looked up.
“Why?”
“We’re still pulling records.”
“Was there domestic violence?”
“No charges.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Hayes held his gaze.
“There were three calls to their residence.”
“For what?”
“Disturbance.”
“And nobody charged him?”
“Rachel declined to make a statement.”
Alexander cursed under his breath.
Hayes didn’t react.
“Rachel filed for divorce four months ago.”
“And Hope?”
“Marcus is listed as the father.”
Alexander remembered the letter.
Marcus thinks Hope belongs to him.
She does not.
“Rachel said he isn’t Hope’s father.”
Hayes frowned.
“You have the letter?”
Alexander handed her a photocopy.
The original was already in evidence.
Hayes read silently.
Her expression barely moved until she reached Camille’s name.
“Locker 317.”
“We’re going.”
Hayes shook her head.
“We are.”
Alexander’s jaw hardened.
“She left it for me.”
“And if someone murdered Rachel because of what’s inside that locker, I’m not letting you walk into South Station and collect it yourself.”
“I can identify things you can’t.”
“Then you can come with us after we secure it.”
Alexander hated being told no.
But he knew she was right.
A nurse appeared at the door.
“Mr. Reed?”
He stood instantly.
“Your daughter is awake.”
The words stopped him.
Your daughter.
Hayes noticed.
Alexander looked away.
The nurse smiled gently.
“She’s asking for you.”
When Alexander returned to Lily’s room, she was sitting upright.
“Where did you go?”
“Just outside.”
“You came back.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was surprise.
Alexander sat beside her.
“I told you I would.”
“People say that.”
He studied her.
“Did someone say they would come back and didn’t?”
Lily nodded.
“Who?”
“Mommy.”
Alexander’s chest tightened.
“She wanted to.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because she never lied to me.”
Alexander looked down.
Lily studied his face.
“You knew her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you love her?”
Alexander swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Then why weren’t you there?”
The question had no cruelty in it.
That made it worse.
“I thought she didn’t want me there.”
“She did.”
“I know that now.”
Lily looked at her hands.
“Mommy used to look at your picture.”
Alexander felt his throat tighten.
“What picture?”
“The one by her bed.”
“Do you have it?”
Lily nodded.
She reached for her backpack.
From the front pocket she removed an old photograph.
Alexander recognized it immediately.
Cape Cod.
Seven years ago.
Rachel had forced a stranger to take the photo.
Alexander stood behind her with his arms around her waist.
They were both laughing.
He stared at his younger face.
He had forgotten what he looked like before responsibility changed him.
On the back Rachel had written:
The best day.
Lily pointed at him.
“Mommy said you made her laugh until her stomach hurt.”
Alexander smiled despite himself.
“She did the same to me.”
“She said your pancakes were terrible.”
“They were.”
“She said you burned water.”
“That part is exaggerated.”
Lily almost smiled.
Almost.
Then her expression changed.
“Camille said you hated Mommy.”
Alexander’s entire body tightened.
“When?”
Lily realized she had said too much.
“Lily.”
She looked away.
“When did Camille say that?”
“At our house.”
“When was she at your house?”
Lily hugged her knees.
“Last month.”
Alexander stood.
The chair scraped backward.
Hope startled awake.
He immediately lowered his voice.
“Sorry.”
Lily watched him.
“What did Camille say?”
“She told Mommy to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Trying to find you.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
The room seemed to tilt.
Rachel had found him.
She had been trying to reach him.
Camille knew.
And Camille had stood at an altar less than forty-eight hours after Rachel died, prepared to marry him.
Lily continued.
“Mommy said she had proof.”
Alexander opened his eyes.
“What proof?”
“I don’t know.”
“She said anything else?”
Lily nodded.
“She said if Camille didn’t tell you the truth, she would.”
A knock came at the door.
Daniel entered.
His face had gone pale.
“What?”
Daniel looked at Lily.
Then Alexander.
“The DNA results came back.”
Alexander couldn’t move.
Daniel handed him the document.
Probability of paternity:
99.9998%.
Alexander stared at the number.
Six years.
Three months.
Twelve days.
That was how long his daughter had existed without him knowing she existed.
He sat beside Lily.
She searched his face.
“Am I really yours?”
Alexander tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“So you’re really my daddy?”
Alexander pulled her into his arms.
“Yes.”
Lily held him so tightly that his chest hurt.
He didn’t care.
He buried his face in her hair and finally cried.
Not discreetly.
Not quietly.
He cried for Rachel.
For Lily.
For birthdays he had missed.
For first steps.
First words.
Christmas mornings.
Fevers.
Nightmares.
School plays.
Everything.
Lily whispered into his shoulder.
“Mommy said you’d cry.”
Alexander laughed through the tears.
“She knew me.”
“Yes.”
Lily pulled back.
Then her expression turned serious.
“She said when you found out, you’d want to hurt the people who did it.”
Alexander looked at her.
“What did she tell you about that?”
“She said don’t.”
He gave a broken smile.
“Sounds like Rachel.”
Lily nodded.
“She said you should find the truth instead.”
Alexander kissed her forehead.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
His phone rang.
Detective Hayes.
Alexander answered.
“We opened locker 317.”
He stood.
“What did you find?”
There was a pause.
“Enough to prove Rachel wasn’t imagining things.”
Alexander gripped the phone.
“What does that mean?”
“We found copies of emails.”
“And?”
“Letters.”
His pulse quickened.
“Alexander…”
Hayes sounded different now.
“We found payments from an account linked to Camille Laurent.”
Alexander looked through the hospital glass.
Daniel was watching him.
Lily was holding Hope’s hand.
“How much?”
“Over seven years?”
Hayes paused.
“Four hundred eighty-six thousand dollars.”
Alexander’s face went cold.
“To who?”
“Most of it went to Marcus Vale.”
Everything inside Alexander went still.
The detective continued.
May you like
“And the first payment was made three weeks before Rachel disappeared from your life.”
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