Chapter 3 - A DEAD GIRL NAMED EMILY
Samuel survived the gunshot.
Barely.
The bullet had passed through his shoulder and missed an artery by less than an inch.
By midnight, police had taken statements from everyone.
Thomas told them Samuel was an unstable former employee obsessed with the Ashford family.
Margaret told them her husband was lying.
Emily told them she wanted answers.
Detective Lena Ruiz believed none of them completely.
She stood outside Samuel’s hospital room, arms crossed.
“You understand how crazy this sounds?”
Emily stared through the glass at Samuel.
“I’m the one finding out I might’ve been stolen as a baby. I think I get to call it crazy.”
Ruiz studied her.
“You’re not going to Saint Anne’s tonight.”
Emily looked innocent.
“I didn’t say I was.”
“No. Your face did.”
Margaret stepped closer.
“Detective, if records exist—”
“They’ve existed for twenty-two years. They’ll exist tomorrow.”
Thomas stood at the other end of the hall speaking on his phone.
Emily watched him.
“He wants them gone.”
Ruiz followed her eyes.
“You have proof?”
“No.”
“Then don’t turn suspicion into fact.”
At 1:40 a.m., Emily and Margaret left the hospital.
At 2:05, they were driving toward Saint Anne’s.
Margaret gripped the steering wheel.
“I haven’t broken this many laws since college.”
Emily looked over.
“You ran a red light.”
“It felt serious.”
Despite everything, Emily laughed.
The laugh died quickly.
“Did you ever stop believing she was alive?”
Margaret’s hands tightened.
“My daughter?”
Emily nodded.
Margaret stared at the road.
“For the first five years, I called hospitals, adoption agencies, police departments. I hired investigators. Thomas said grief was making me sick.”
She swallowed.
“Eventually everybody around me started looking at me like I was choosing pain.”
“And you stopped.”
“I stopped talking about it.”
That answer hurt Emily more than she expected.
Saint Anne’s had been closed for nine years.
The old stone building sat behind a rusted iron fence.
One basement window was already broken.
Emily looked at Margaret.
“Comforting.”
They climbed inside.
The basement smelled like wet concrete and mold.
Samuel had said records.
What he hadn’t said was where.
They searched shelves for twenty minutes before Emily found a row of metal file cabinets behind a fallen bookcase.
Most drawers were empty.
One was padlocked.
Margaret found a hammer.
“You know how to use that?”
“My father owned factories.”
“That is not an answer.”
Margaret swung.
The lock snapped on the third hit.
Inside were folders labeled by year.
They found the year of the hospital fire.
Emily’s hands shook.
“Bennett. I’m looking for Bennett.”
Margaret pulled files beside her.
“Here.”
EMILY BENNETT.
Emily opened it.
The first page listed no birth parents.
The second listed Nora Bennett as temporary guardian.
The third page made her heart stop.
CERTIFICATE OF DEATH.
Infant Female.
Original name withheld.
Date of death: the night of the St. Matthew’s fire.
Cause: smoke inhalation.
Emily whispered, “Samuel was right.”
Margaret took the paper.
At the bottom was a second form stapled underneath.
IDENTITY REASSIGNMENT.
New name:
Emily Bennett.
Margaret sank into a chair.
“My God.”
Emily kept reading.
Authorized by:
Claire Ashford.
Witnessed by:
Samuel Pike.
Then she noticed handwriting in the margin.
IF MARGARET EVER FINDS HER, MOVE THE GIRL.
Emily felt sick.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Margaret looked up.
“Did you hear that?”
Another step.
Then another.
Someone was inside.
Emily switched off her flashlight.
They crouched behind the cabinets.
A beam of light moved across the basement stairs.
A man descended.
Then a second.
Emily heard one speak.
“Mr. Ashford said burn everything.”
Margaret’s eyes widened.
Gasoline splashed onto the floor.
Emily smelled it immediately.
She grabbed Margaret’s hand.
The first match struck.
May you like
And the basement door slammed shut.
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