Chapter 2 - The House Behind the Iron Gates
"Don't stop the car."
The words left my mouth before I realized I was speaking.
Daniel looked at me.
"Sarah, what's wrong?"
I held up the phone.
He read both messages.
His expression hardened.
"Where did these come from?"
"I don't know."
"Has someone threatened you before?"
I wanted to say no.
I wanted this nightmare to be something that had begun an hour ago.
But the truth had been following me for months.
"Three weeks ago, someone came to my apartment asking questions about Ethan."
Daniel glanced at the rearview mirror.
"Who?"
"A woman."
"Did she give a name?"
"No."
I swallowed.
"She said she represented a family interested in helping struggling single mothers."
Daniel said nothing.
"She asked where Ethan went to school."
"Did you tell her?"
"No."
"Good."
"Two days later, I found my apartment door open."
My voice cracked.
"Nothing valuable was missing."
"What was missing?"
I looked toward my sleeping children.
"A folder."
"What kind of folder?"
"Birth certificates, school records, and some old documents my father left me."
Daniel's eyes flickered.
"What was your father's name?"
"Patrick Reed."
He went completely still.
For one terrifying second, he looked as if he had stopped breathing.
"Patrick Reed?"
"Yes."
"From Mesa?"
I stared at him.
"How do you know that?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned off the main road and drove through a quiet neighborhood.
"First, we get the children somewhere secure."
"Daniel."
"Sarah, please."
I hated that word.
Please.
Men had used it while convincing me to surrender things I should have protected.
But there was something different about the way Daniel said it.
He sounded afraid.
Not for himself.
For us.
Thirty minutes later, we approached enormous black iron gates.
Beyond them stood a sprawling desert estate surrounded by stone walls, flowering trees, and carefully maintained gardens.
Warm lights glowed through tall windows.
A fountain shimmered in the circular driveway.
Ava stirred.
"Mommy?"
"I'm here."
She looked outside.
"Is that a castle?"
Ethan pressed his face against the glass.
"That's somebody's house?"
Daniel gave a small smile.
"Mine."
Ava whispered, "Wow."
The gates opened.
Two security guards watched as we drove inside.
One approached Daniel's window.
"Good evening, Mr. Hayes."
"Evening, Robert."
"Everything all right?"
"Not yet."
The guard's smile vanished.
Daniel lowered his voice.
"I need the property secured tonight."
Robert nodded without asking questions.
That frightened me more than anything.
He clearly understood what Daniel meant.
We entered a foyer larger than our last apartment.
A crystal chandelier illuminated polished floors and a sweeping staircase.
An older woman hurried toward us.
She wore a simple blue dress and had kind eyes.
"Daniel, you didn't tell me we had guests."
"Mrs. Alvarez, this is Sarah Mitchell and her children, Ethan and Ava."
The woman immediately knelt beside Ava.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Ava hid behind my leg.
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
"Would you like some supper?"
My daughter peeked out.
"Do you have chicken nuggets?"
"Of course."
"And strawberries?"
"I think we can manage that."
Ava's face lit up.
It was the first real smile I had seen from her in days.
I turned away before anyone noticed my tears.
Daniel guided us into a family dining room.
Within twenty minutes, the table held chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh fruit, warm rolls, and bowls of soup.
Ethan stared at the food.
"Can we really eat all this?"
Mrs. Alvarez looked horrified.
"Sweetheart, you can eat until you're full."
He took one roll.
Then another.
Then stopped.
"Can I save one for tomorrow?"
I watched Mrs. Alvarez's eyes fill.
Daniel lowered his gaze.
"There will be more tomorrow," he said.
Ethan looked unconvinced.
I understood.
Hunger teaches children not to trust tomorrow.
After dinner, Mrs. Alvarez took us upstairs to a guest suite.
It contained two bedrooms, a sitting room, and a bathroom with a bathtub larger than the one in our entire old apartment.
Ava climbed onto a bed covered in white pillows.
"Mommy, I don't want to wake up."
"Why?"
"Because this is probably a dream."
I sat beside her.
"No, baby."
"Really?"
I stroked her hair.
"Really."
When both children were asleep, I went downstairs.
Daniel was waiting in his study.
He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
A laptop sat open on his desk.
Beside it was a photograph of an older man.
The moment I saw the picture, my knees nearly gave way.
"Where did you get that?"
Daniel turned.
"Sarah?"
I pointed.
"That photograph."
He followed my gaze.
The man in the picture stood beside Daniel's late father at what appeared to be a construction site.
Both wore hard hats.
The older man had kind brown eyes and a familiar crooked smile.
It was my father.
Patrick Reed.
The man I had buried fourteen years earlier.
Daniel stepped toward me.
"Your father worked for my family's company."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Sarah—"
"He worked as an electrical engineer."
"He did."
"He died in an industrial accident."
Daniel looked down.
"That's what you were told."
A terrible silence followed.
"What does that mean?"
Before he could answer, his laptop chimed.
An email appeared on the screen.
Daniel read it.
The blood drained from his face.
"What?" I demanded.
He turned the laptop toward me.
The message had come from his company's legal department.
CONFIDENTIAL FAMILY TRUST REVIEW.
BENEFICIARIES LOCATED: ETHAN MITCHELL AND AVA MITCHELL.
Below their names were photographs.
School records.
Birth dates.
Copies of documents I had reported stolen.
And a third photograph.
My father.
Standing beside a younger Daniel Hayes.
Daniel whispered something I couldn't hear.
I grabbed the edge of his desk.
"Why does your company have files on my children?"
He looked at me.
"Because, Sarah, I think someone has been searching for them for a very long time."
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the caller.
RICHARD HAYES.
His uncle.
Daniel answered.
Richard's voice came through before Daniel could speak.
"I understand you've brought Sarah Mitchell into your home."
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"How do you know that?"
Richard laughed softly.
"Because those children belong to a story your father should have buried."
May you like
Then he added something that made my blood turn cold.
"And if their mother keeps asking questions, they're going to end up just like Patrick Reed."
