Chapter 17 - The Girl Who Saw Her Mother Twice

# Chapter 17 - The Girl Who Saw Her Mother Twice

"That wasn't the same lady."

Sophie's voice was barely audible through my phone speaker.

I stopped breathing.

On the screen, the little girl sat on a wooden bed in the pale-blue bedroom I recognized from my mansion's west wing. Her blonde hair was tied back, and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

The unseen woman behind the camera remained silent for several seconds.

Then she asked, "What do you mean, Sophie?"

Sophie looked toward the door.

"The lady who came out wasn't the lady who cried."

My stomach tightened.

"What lady?" the woman asked.

Sophie swallowed.

"The lady behind the metal door."

I stared at the screen.

Claire.

She had been imprisoned behind that door for eighteen months.

I had broken through the wall myself.

I had heard her voice.

I had watched firefighters force the lock.

And I had held her when she emerged.

There was no question about who we had rescued.

But Sophie was describing something different.

"Did you see both women?" the unseen speaker asked.

Sophie nodded.

"One had long hair. The other one didn't."

My heart began pounding.

"When did you see the second woman?"

Sophie hesitated.

"After the man came."

"What man?"

She looked frightened.

"The one with the black ring."

The recording ended.

I stared at the blank screen.

Marcus Whitmore.

The man with the black onyx ring.

The man who had helped my father stage his death.

The man who claimed he had spent years trying to protect our family.

And now Sophie was placing him near the concealed chamber after Claire's rescue.

I immediately called Detective Harris.

"Don't forward that recording to anyone else," Harris said.

"I've already sent it to you."

"Good. Preserve the original message and don't respond to the sender."

I paced the hospital corridor.

"Detective, Sophie says she saw another woman."

"I heard."

"Who could she be?"

"We need to establish whether the recording is authentic, when it was made, and whether Sophie is describing something she actually witnessed."

I stopped.

"You think someone coached her?"

"It's possible."

"She's six years old."

"Which is exactly why we have to be careful."

I looked toward Claire's room.

"She mentioned Marcus."

"She mentioned a man with a black ring."

"That's Marcus."

"Perhaps. But we've already encountered more than one person associated with that ring."

I remembered the figure outside Claire's hospital room.

The man who had disappeared into the elevator.

The stranger who had stood beside Vanessa in the old recording.

And the photograph showing Richard with a ring that looked similar.

Harris continued.

"Daniel, there's something else about the video."

"What?"

"The bedroom."

I felt my pulse quicken.

"What about it?"

"You said it matches a room in your mansion."

"Yes."

"But the police searched that room."

"I know."

"And it was empty."

I stared at the wall.

"Then the video was recorded earlier."

"Possibly."

"How much earlier?"

"We'll examine the file, although forwarded videos often lose reliable metadata."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Detective, somebody is using Sophie to send me messages."

"Yes."

"And they want me to believe Marcus was involved."

"That appears to be part of the message."

I closed my eyes.

"Then what are they trying to make me do?"

Harris paused.

"That's what worries me."

At eight the following morning, I returned to Claire's room.

She was sitting beside the window, eating breakfast.

Her cheeks had regained some color, but she still moved carefully.

When she saw me, she smiled.

"Good morning."

I sat opposite her.

"Claire, I received another video."

Her smile faded.

"Of Sophie?"

I nodded.

She put down her spoon.

"Is she all right?"

"She looked frightened."

Claire closed her eyes.

"What did she say?"

I hesitated.

Then I showed her the recording.

Claire watched without speaking.

When Sophie mentioned the second woman, Claire leaned forward.

When the little girl described the black ring, Claire's face turned pale.

The video ended.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then Claire whispered, "There was another woman."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"Inside the chamber."

I stared at her.

"With you?"

She shook her head.

"Not all the time."

I leaned forward.

"Claire, what are you saying?"

She pressed her fingers against her forehead.

"Sometimes Vanessa brought someone into the room."

"The medical visitor?"

"No."

Her breathing quickened.

"Someone else."

I took her hand.

"Take your time."

Claire closed her eyes.

"She wore a hood. Sometimes a scarf covered part of her face."

"Did she speak?"

"Rarely."

"Did you recognize her?"

Claire shook her head.

"Not at first."

My pulse accelerated.

"Then when?"

She looked at me.

"One night, she removed the scarf."

I waited.

Claire's eyes filled with tears.

"She looked like me."

I stared at my wife.

"What do you mean?"

Claire shook her head.

"I don't mean she was identical. But she had similar features."

"Same hair?"

"Dark blonde. Shorter than mine."

"Same age?"

"Maybe a little younger."

I felt a chill.

"Did Vanessa introduce her?"

"No."

"Did the woman say why she was there?"

Claire hesitated.

"She asked me questions."

"What questions?"

"About you."

My stomach tightened.

"About me?"

"Your routines. Your favorite places. How you spoke to Lily."

I stared at her.

"Why?"

"I didn't know."

Claire began trembling.

"At first, I thought Vanessa was trying to frighten me."

"How?"

"By showing me someone who could replace me."

The words struck me.

For eighteen months, Vanessa had gradually stepped into Claire's place.

She had helped raise Lily.

Managed the household.

Attended events with me.

Comforted me when I believed my wife had abandoned us.

But what if Vanessa hadn't been the only person intended to take Claire's place?

"What happened to the woman?" I asked.

Claire looked away.

"I don't know."

"Did she visit often?"

"Several times during the first few months."

"And afterward?"

"Less often."

I swallowed.

"Did you ever hear her name?"

Claire hesitated.

"Once."

My heart accelerated.

"What was it?"

She closed her eyes.

"Emily."

I froze.

Emily.

The name Lily said Sophie sometimes used.

The name associated with the child who wasn't supposed to remember her real identity.

I stared at Claire.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded.

"Vanessa called her Emily."

I felt the room grow colder.

Two people.

One name.

A little girl and a mysterious adult woman.

Someone was recycling identities.

Or deliberately confusing them.

At noon, Detective Harris arrived with an investigator specializing in missing-person cases.

Her name was Detective Olivia Grant.

She was in her late thirties, with dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail and an expression that suggested she disliked speculation.

She sat opposite Claire.

"Mrs. Mercer, I understand you've remembered another visitor."

Claire nodded.

Grant placed a notebook on the table.

"Did this woman ever physically harm you?"

"No."

"Did she threaten you?"

"Not directly."

"What did she do?"

"She asked questions."

"About your husband?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

Claire hesitated.

"She asked about Lily."

Grant looked up.

"What specifically?"

"Whether Lily would recognize me if my appearance changed."

I felt my stomach tighten.

Grant remained calm.

"How did you respond?"

"I told her my daughter would always know me."

Claire's voice broke.

"She laughed."

I clenched my fists.

Grant continued.

"Did she ever ask you to imitate someone?"

Claire shook her head.

"No."

"Did she imitate you?"

Claire hesitated.

"Once."

My heart accelerated.

"What happened?" Grant asked.

Claire stared at the blanket.

"She repeated something I'd said."

"What?"

"My daughter's bedtime song."

I stopped breathing.

Claire looked at me.

"The one I used to sing during thunderstorms."

I remembered it.

A ridiculous little song Claire had invented when Lily was a toddler.

She sang it off-key.

Lily loved it.

"How did the woman know it?" Grant asked.

Claire shook her head.

"I don't know."

Then she whispered, "She sang it in my voice."

After the interview, Harris asked me to step into the hallway.

"Daniel, we need to consider another possibility."

"What?"

"Someone may have been gathering information to impersonate Claire."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"Access. Financial authorization. Personal influence. We don't know."

I thought about the forged email that had convinced me Claire left voluntarily.

The documents bearing her signature.

The mysterious woman who resembled her.

And the financial transfers conducted while Claire was imprisoned.

"Could someone have used a substitute to sign documents?"

"Potentially."

"Or appear at meetings?"

"Possibly."

I felt sick.

"Then Claire's identity may have been used while she was locked inside that room."

Harris nodded.

"That's one of the possibilities we're investigating."

I looked through the glass panel.

Claire sat quietly beside the window.

She looked exhausted.

"Detective, if someone was impersonating her, why keep her alive?"

Harris hesitated.

"Perhaps they needed information only she knew."

"Or signatures."

"Or cooperation."

I closed my eyes.

Then Harris added, "There's something else."

My pulse quickened.

"What?"

"We reviewed footage from a charity event held fourteen months after Claire disappeared."

I frowned.

"What event?"

"A Mercer Hospitality fundraiser."

I remembered it.

Vanessa had accompanied me.

I had been reluctant to attend.

Marcus insisted the company needed stability.

"Was Vanessa there?"

"Yes."

"Then what?"

Harris showed me a photograph.

It depicted the ballroom.

Guests in formal clothing.

A stage decorated with flowers.

I stood near the podium.

Vanessa was beside me.

And in the background, partially obscured by a column, stood a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair.

She wore a black evening gown.

Her face was turned toward the camera.

I stared at it.

She looked like Claire.

"Who is that?"

Harris shook his head.

"We haven't identified her."

I enlarged the photograph.

The resemblance was disturbing.

The same narrow face.

Similar eyes.

The same delicate jawline.

But something was different.

Her expression.

Claire had always smiled with her entire face.

This woman smiled only with her mouth.

"Did she speak to anyone?" I asked.

"We're reviewing the footage."

"Did she approach me?"

"Not in the portion we've examined."

I looked at the photograph again.

For eighteen months, I had believed Claire was gone.

Yet someone who looked like her had attended one of my company's events.

And I hadn't noticed.

"Detective, did Marcus invite her?"

"We don't know."

"Then find out."

Harris nodded.

"We will."

I stared at the woman's face.

A thought occurred to me.

"What if she wasn't there to impersonate Claire?"

Harris looked at me.

"What do you mean?"

"What if she was there to watch me?"

He considered it.

"That's possible."

I swallowed.

"And what if she was watching Vanessa too?"

Harris didn't answer.

At three, Rachel called.

Her voice sounded tense.

"Mr. Mercer, I found something in the archived guest list."

My heart accelerated.

"What guest list?"

"The fundraiser Detective Harris asked about."

I straightened.

"Did you identify the blonde woman?"

"Maybe."

"Who?"

Rachel hesitated.

"She was registered under the name Emily Vale."

I froze.

Emily.

Vale.

My biological father's surname.

The same name Claire remembered hearing in the chamber.

The same name Lily said Sophie sometimes used.

"Rachel, are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Who invited her?"

"That's the strange part."

"What?"

"Her invitation was issued through the executive office."

I felt my stomach tighten.

"Mine?"

"Yes."

I stared at the wall.

"That's impossible."

"I know."

"Who approved it?"

Rachel hesitated.

"The approval was recorded under your credentials."

I closed my eyes.

Someone had used my identity.

Again.

First to enter my office.

Now to invite a mysterious woman to a fundraiser.

"Rachel, preserve the records and send them to Harris."

"Already done."

Then she lowered her voice.

"Mr. Mercer, there's something else."

"What?"

"Emily Vale attended three company events."

My pulse quickened.

"Three?"

"Yes."

"Which ones?"

Rachel listed them.

The fundraiser.

A private investor dinner.

And a board reception.

I remembered all three.

"Did she speak to Marcus?"

Rachel hesitated.

"According to the seating records, she sat beside him at the investor dinner."

My stomach tightened.

"Then he knows her."

"Possibly."

I stared at the wall.

"Rachel, don't confront him."

"I won't."

I ended the call.

Then I called Detective Harris.

At five thirty, Harris questioned Marcus again.

I wasn't present.

But later, Harris called with an update.

"Marcus admits meeting Emily Vale."

My pulse accelerated.

"Who is she?"

"He claims she was a consultant."

"For what?"

"Financial compliance."

I stared at the wall.

"Did he know she resembled Claire?"

"He says he noticed a resemblance."

I felt anger rise.

"And he didn't tell me?"

"He claims he didn't think it was relevant."

I laughed bitterly.

"My wife had disappeared. A woman who looked like her attended company events. And Marcus thought it wasn't relevant?"

Harris remained silent.

"What else did he say?"

"He claims Emily was introduced to him by Evelyn Shaw."

I closed my eyes.

Evelyn.

Again.

The missing trustee.

The woman who authorized Project Meridian's neonatal placements.

The woman whose name appeared on documents involving both Lily and Sophie.

"Did Marcus know Emily's real identity?"

"He says Emily Vale was the only name he knew."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Do you believe him?"

"We're verifying his account."

Then Harris said, "Daniel, we found a photograph of Emily taken outside Ashcroft House."

My pulse quickened.

"When?"

"About eight months ago."

"Was Sophie with her?"

Harris hesitated.

"Yes."

I stopped breathing.

"Send it."

A moment later, the image arrived.

Emily stood beside a black sedan.

She wore a dark coat.

Sophie stood next to her, holding a stuffed rabbit.

Not Bunny.

A different rabbit.

White, with a blue ribbon.

Emily's hand rested on the little girl's shoulder.

I stared at the photograph.

The woman who resembled Claire.

The child who resembled Lily.

They looked like a mother and daughter.

But something about the scene felt wrong.

Sophie's expression was frightened.

Emily's hand gripped her shoulder too tightly.

I enlarged the image.

Then I noticed something.

A crescent-moon pendant hung around Emily's neck.

The same symbol associated with Natalie Cross.

At seven that evening, I visited Eleanor.

She was staying at the private residence where we had reunited.

Harris had arranged for officers to remain nearby after the suspicious phone call involving Thomas.

When I entered, Eleanor was sitting beside the fireplace.

She looked pale.

"Daniel."

I remained standing.

"Who is Emily Vale?"

Her expression changed instantly.

"What?"

"Don't pretend you don't know."

She lowered her eyes.

I stepped closer.

"She looks like Claire."

Eleanor said nothing.

"She attended my company events."

Still nothing.

"She was photographed with Sophie."

Eleanor closed her eyes.

I felt anger rise.

"Mom."

She whispered, "Emily was never supposed to become involved."

My heart accelerated.

"Then you know her."

Eleanor nodded.

"Yes."

"Who is she?"

She looked at me.

"Someone who helped us during the early years of Ashcroft House."

I frowned.

"A doctor?"

"No."

"An employee?"

"At first."

"What does that mean?"

Eleanor hesitated.

"Emily had a talent for becoming whoever people needed her to be."

I stared at her.

"Impersonation?"

She looked away.

"Sometimes."

My stomach tightened.

"Did she impersonate Claire?"

Eleanor didn't answer.

I stepped closer.

"Did you send her to my house?"

"No."

"Did you send her to the fundraiser?"

"No."

"Then who did?"

Eleanor's voice trembled.

"Richard."

I closed my eyes.

My father.

Again.

"Why?"

"Because he wanted to test whether she could pass as Claire."

I stared at her.

"Pass as Claire?"

Eleanor nodded.

"At a distance. In photographs. In brief encounters."

My stomach turned.

"Why would he need that?"

She looked at me.

"To make people believe Claire was alive and moving freely."

I froze.

"While she was imprisoned?"

Eleanor nodded.

"Yes."

I stared at the floor.

The cruelty of it was almost beyond comprehension.

Claire had been trapped behind a steel door.

And someone had been sending a woman who resembled her into public places.

Not to rescue her.

But to create evidence that she wasn't missing.

At nine fifteen, I returned to the hospital.

Claire was asleep.

I sat beside her bed, watching her breathe.

I thought about everything she had endured.

The darkness.

The isolation.

The uncertainty.

The knowledge that someone was using her identity while she remained imprisoned.

I reached for her hand.

She stirred.

"Dan?"

"I'm here."

She smiled faintly.

"Did you find anything?"

I hesitated.

"Emily Vale."

Her smile vanished.

"What?"

"We identified the woman who visited you."

Claire's fingers tightened around mine.

"Where is she?"

"We don't know yet."

She looked frightened.

"Dan, please don't let her near Lily."

"I won't."

Claire closed her eyes.

"She was obsessed with Lily."

My pulse quickened.

"What do you mean?"

"She asked about her constantly."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Did she ever say anything about Sophie?"

Claire hesitated.

"Once."

I leaned forward.

"What?"

"She said the girls were never supposed to meet."

My stomach tightened.

"Why?"

Claire looked at me.

"Because they would recognize each other."

I frowned.

"Recognize each other?"

She nodded.

"That's what she said."

I thought about Lily's photograph.

Two little girls sitting together.

Both smiling.

Both wearing matching dresses.

They had met.

They had played.

And someone had tried to conceal it.

"Claire, did Emily ever explain what she meant?"

She shook her head.

"No."

Then she whispered, "But she said something else."

My pulse accelerated.

"What?"

"She said one of the girls had been given the wrong name."

I stopped breathing.

At 10:42 p.m., Harris called.

His voice was urgent.

"Daniel, we found Emily Vale."

I stood.

"Where?"

"At a private apartment downtown."

"Is she in custody?"

"She's being interviewed."

My pulse quickened.

"Did she admit impersonating Claire?"

"Not yet."

"Did she know Sophie?"

"Yes."

My heart hammered.

"Where is Sophie?"

Harris hesitated.

"She claims the