Chapter 3: The Dead Woman's Secret
The detective's words followed me long after he left the room.
The fire department never recovered a body.
For seventeen years, I had believed my mother died in a fire on the outskirts of Albany.
I remembered the phone call from my grandmother. I remembered the black dress she made me wear to the memorial service. I remembered standing beside an empty coffin while adults whispered about how terrible it was for a little girl to lose her mother.
But there had never been a body.
There had never been a funeral.
Just an empty coffin and a story everyone expected me to accept.
I stood in the hospital corridor, staring at the photograph.
Nathaniel approached.
"Rose?""
I looked up.
"I need to know everything.""
He nodded.
"So do I.""
Detective Harris returned with another officer.
"We've contacted the department that investigated the original fire," he explained.
"The report was filed in October 2009. The property belonged to a company controlled by Robert Callaway.""
Nathaniel frowned.
"My father owned several properties in upstate New York.""
"This one was registered under a subsidiary. The investigation was closed after the owner reported that the only occupant had died.""
"Who reported it?""
Harris checked his notes.
"A woman named Margaret Bell.""
My grandmother's maiden name.
I felt sick.
"Margaret Bell was my grandmother.""
The detective looked at me carefully.
"Did she ever explain why she didn't hold a funeral?""
"She told me the remains were too badly damaged.""
Harris exchanged a glance with his partner.
"There's something else. The original fire report contains a handwritten note that was never entered into the official database.""
He opened a folder.
The handwriting was hurried and uneven.
Possible evidence of forced entry. Signs of a struggle in upstairs bedroom. Witness reports a second vehicle leaving the property shortly before flames were visible.
I read it twice.
"Someone was there.""
"Possibly.""
Nathaniel stepped closer.
"Why was the investigation closed?""
"The property owner claimed the fire was accidental. The insurance company accepted the report.""
"Who was the investigator?""
Harris looked down.
"Detective Daniel Price.""
Nathaniel froze.
"Price?""
"Yes.""
"That's impossible. Daniel Price was my father's personal security adviser.""
The detective raised his eyebrows.
"You're sure?""
"I grew up seeing him at our house. He attended my father's funeral.""
Eleanor, who had been listening silently, suddenly grabbed the armrests of her wheelchair.
"Daniel Price.""
Nathaniel turned.
"Mom?""
"That man was at the hospital the night you were born.""
The room went quiet.
Eleanor's eyes filled with fear.
"He wasn't supposed to be there. Robert brought him into the maternity ward after midnight. I remember because Grace was crying when she saw him.""
I looked at her.
"Did my mother know him?""
"Yes. She called him a liar.""
Nathaniel paced toward the window.
"This is getting worse.""
Detective Harris closed his folder.
"We'll need the original hospital records. If the records were altered, they may contain evidence.""
"St. Catherine's closed years ago," Nathaniel said.
"Then we'll find out who holds its archives.""
Eleanor suddenly reached for my hand.
"Rose, there's something else.""
"What?""
"Your mother gave me something the night she disappeared.""
She opened her handbag and removed a small brass key.
It was old and worn, with a tiny number engraved near the top.
*317.*
"She told me to keep it safe until you came looking.""
I stared at it.
"Looking for what?""
"A storage locker.""
Nathaniel took the key.
"Where?""
Eleanor swallowed.
"Grand Central Station.""
Detective Harris immediately straightened.
"Do you know the locker number?""
Eleanor shook her head.
"She only said three-seventeen.""
The detective looked at Nathaniel.
"We should go together.""
I nodded.
But Nathaniel shook his head.
"Not yet. Victoria is still in police custody, and we don't know who else is involved. If someone has been hiding this for seventeen years, we shouldn't walk into a trap.""
"Then what do we do?"" I asked.
He looked at me.
"We find out why Victoria was so desperate to keep your mother buried.""
By midnight, I was sitting in the back of Nathaniel's black Mercedes.
The city lights slipped across the windows as we drove toward Grand Central.
He had changed out of his wedding tuxedo into a dark sweater and trousers. His tie was gone, and his hair looked as though he had run his hands through it a dozen times.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, I broke the silence.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?""
He looked at me.
"No.""
"Any childhood memories that don't make sense?""
He gave a bitter laugh.
"Most of them.""
I waited.
"My father never liked talking about my birth. Whenever I asked, he said I had arrived during a difficult delivery and that my mother needed months to recover.""
He looked out the window.
"I was raised to believe the Callaway name was the most important thing in the world. My father made me memorize family history before I was allowed to play with other children.""
"That sounds lonely.""
"It was.""
He paused.
"What about you?""
I looked down at my hands.
"My mother used to tell me stories about a little boy she once knew. She never gave me his name. She said he was born on the same night as me and that one day we might meet.""
Nathaniel turned toward me.
"Did she ever say anything else?""
"She said he had a small birthmark behind his left ear.""
He slowly lifted his hair.
There, just behind his ear, was a faint crescent-shaped mark.
I stared at it.
"That's what she described.""
Nathaniel lowered his head.
"She knew about me.""
"She knew there was a boy.""
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Rose, I don't know what our parents were to each other. I don't know what this means for us.""
"Neither do I.""
"But whatever happened, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you.""
I wanted to believe him.
But I had spent seventeen years believing a lie.
Trust wasn't something I could hand over because a billionaire made a promise.
Grand Central was quieter than usual when we arrived.
The main concourse still glowed beneath its enormous ceiling, but most of the evening commuters had disappeared.
A security officer escorted us to the storage area.
Locker 317 stood at the end of a narrow corridor.
Nathaniel inserted the brass key.
It turned with a loud click.
Inside was a small metal box, a yellow envelope, and a black cassette tape.
My fingers trembled as I picked up the envelope.
It was addressed to me.
*For Rose, when she is old enough to know the truth.*
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My mother's.
I pressed the envelope against my chest.
"She knew," I whispered.
Nathaniel stood beside me.
"Open it.""
I carefully unfolded the letter.
My dearest Rose,
If you are reading this, then someone has finally told you that I did not die in the fire.
I am sorry I wasn't there to watch you grow up. I am sorry I missed your birthdays, your first day of school, and every moment when you needed your mother.
But I had to disappear.
The people who wanted to control the Callaway family knew what I had discovered. They knew I had proof that the babies were switched, and they knew I had kept the original hospital records.
There is one thing you must understand.
The boy named Nathaniel was never supposed to inherit the Callaway fortune.
And the man who was supposed to inherit it is standing beside you.
I stopped reading.
Nathaniel stared at me.
"What?""
I looked down at the final paragraph.
Your biological father is not the man you think he is, Rose. And the truth about his identity will destroy everything the Callaways have built.
My heart pounded.
I continued.
Do not trust the woman who wears the diamond necklace.
She knows who your father is.
The letter slipped from my hands.
Victoria.
The diamond necklace.
I remembered the way she had touched it whenever she spoke to Eleanor.
Nathaniel picked up the cassette.
"What's on this?""
I shook my head.
"I don't know.""
He found an old playback device in the storage box. Its batteries were dead, but the security officer managed to locate an adapter.
The machine clicked.
Static filled the corridor.
Then a woman's voice emerged.
My mother's voice.
"Rose, if you're hearing this, then Eleanor finally found you.""
I covered my mouth.
"Mom...""
The recording continued.
"There's something I couldn't put in the letter. Something too dangerous to write down.""
A pause.
Then my mother's voice became quieter.
"Robert Callaway didn't arrange the baby switch alone. Someone helped him. Someone who was already inside the hospital.""
Nathaniel leaned closer to the speaker.
"Who?""
My mother's voice trembled.
"The doctor who delivered the babies was...""
The recording suddenly stopped.
Nathaniel pressed the button.
Nothing.
He tried again.
The tape had snapped.
"Can you fix it?"" I asked.
The security officer examined the machine.
"Maybe. But not here.""
Nathaniel looked inside the box.
There was one more object beneath the cassette.
A folded hospital identification card.
He pulled it out.
The photograph showed a young doctor in a white coat.
The name beneath it read:
*DR. THOMAS STERLING.*
Nathaniel stared at the card.
"Sterling?""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Victoria's maiden name.
Then my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A message appeared.
Rose, if you want to see your mother alive, come alone.
A second message followed.
It contained a photograph.
An older woman sat in a wheelchair beside a window, her silver hair falling over her shoulders.
Her face was thinner, older, but unmistakable.
It was Grace Carter.
My mother.
Beneath the photograph were seven words.
Your mother has been waiting seventeen years.
I looked at Nathaniel.
He read the message over my shoulder.
May you like
Then another notification appeared.
And don't bring the Callaway boy. He is the reason she disappeared.
