Chapter 22 - The Third Man in the Photograph
# Chapter 22 - The Third Man in the Photograph
The man in the third photograph had spent thirty years waiting for someone to discover that he existed.
He had watched two strangers carry his name, watched his father build an empire from stolen identities, and watched innocent children disappear into laboratories designed to erase their pasts.
But now Alexander Vance had finally realized his greatest mistake.
The original Nathan was still alive.
And he had never forgotten a single thing.
At the original research facility, Alexander stared at the third photograph on his computer.
The man was in his late forties, with silver-streaked dark hair, a narrow face, and the unmistakable gray eyes of the Vance family.
He stood outside a modest house surrounded by trees.
The photograph had been taken three weeks earlier.
Alexander leaned forward.
"Where?"
The physician beside him hesitated.
"Sir?"
"Where was this photograph taken?"
The physician checked the metadata.
"A rural property approximately ninety miles north of the city."
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"Who owns it?"
The physician typed rapidly.
"Registered to a man named Michael Rowan."
Alexander stopped breathing.
"Michael Rowan."
He repeated the name slowly.
Then he laughed.
Not with amusement.
With disbelief.
"Of course."
The physician looked confused.
"Sir?"
Alexander stared at the photograph.
Michael Rowan.
The identity Eleanor Bell had created after Nathan's disappearance.
The name she had hidden in a sealed file.
The man Alexander had spent decades searching for without realizing he was living under an ordinary name in an ordinary town.
"Prepare a vehicle," Alexander ordered.
The physician hesitated.
"Sir, the police are investigating the facilities."
Alexander stood.
"Then we have very little time."
He reached for his coat.
The physician looked toward the screen.
"Should we notify Mr. Vance?"
Alexander stopped.
"Which one?"
The physician frowned.
"Charles."
Alexander smiled coldly.
"No."
He looked back at the photograph.
"This is a family matter."
At Whitmore House, Victoria sat beside Emily while Detective Elena Brooks listened to Nathan's explanation over the phone.
The girl had been given a blanket and a cup of tea.
For the first time since escaping the underground facility, she appeared almost calm.
But Victoria's attention remained fixed on the conversation.
"Three men?" she asked.
Nathan's voice sounded strained.
"Yes."
"All connected to the same identity?"
"According to the archive."
Elena leaned closer.
"Can you explain the distinction?"
Nathan took a breath.
"The records suggest that Alexander used Nathan Vance as an identity assigned to more than one subject."
Victoria frowned.
"But you remember being Nathan."
"Yes."
"And Daniel Mercer?"
"He has memories connected to the same childhood."
Elena looked toward Victoria.
"That doesn't establish that either man's memories are accurate."
Nathan agreed.
"I know."
Victoria closed her eyes.
She had spent the entire day discovering that almost everything she believed about her family could be questioned.
Now even the identity of the man who had helped save her as a child was uncertain.
"Who is the third man?" she asked.
Nathan hesitated.
"Michael Rowan."
Victoria froze.
The name was familiar.
Not from the Vance family.
Not from the foundation.
From her childhood.
A man who used to visit Whitmore House.
He brought books.
Small wooden toys.
And once, a white stuffed rabbit.
Victoria's heart pounded.
"Michael?"
Nathan went silent.
"You know him?"
Victoria closed her eyes.
A memory surfaced.
A sunny afternoon.
A garden.
A man kneeling beside her.
He was young then, perhaps eighteen or nineteen.
He smiled and handed her a small wooden box.
Keep this safe, Vicky.
She remembered laughing.
What's inside?
He had touched her forehead gently.
Something important.
Victoria opened her eyes.
"Oh, God."
Elena caught her arm.
"What?"
Victoria looked toward the phone.
"Michael gave me the rabbit."
Nathan stopped breathing.
"What?"
"The white rabbit."
Her hands trembled.
"He gave it to me when I was little."
A long silence followed.
Then Nathan whispered:
"Victoria, that means he knew about the archive before the Nathan incident."
At St. Catherine's Medical Center, Rebecca Reed watched the three boys sleep.
Thomas had curled up on a couch.
Noah rested in his hospital bed.
Daniel sat in a chair with his head against a pillow.
For the first time in hours, the room was peaceful.
Rebecca stood near the window, holding her phone.
Daniel Mercer had not answered her last three calls.
That worried her.
He had promised to investigate the original identity transfer records.
Now he had disappeared.
She dialed again.
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then someone answered.
"Rebecca."
She exhaled.
"Daniel, where have you been?"
A pause.
Then he said:
"I found something."
Her stomach tightened.
"What?"
"My childhood records."
Rebecca closed her eyes.
"Daniel—"
"They're fake."
She stopped.
"What?"
"The school records. The photographs. The medical history."
His voice trembled.
"Some were created years after the dates they claim."
Rebecca gripped the phone.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
A long silence followed.
Then he whispered:
"Rebecca, I don't know who I am."
Her heart broke.
"Daniel..."
"I remember growing up with Adrian."
She swallowed.
"I know."
"I remember our father."
"Yes."
"I remember our house."
His voice cracked.
"But the original records say I wasn't there."
Rebecca closed her eyes.
She had seen children suffer through identity confusion before.
She knew how frightening it could be.
But Daniel was an adult.
A man who had built his life around investigating lies.
Now he had discovered that his own history might be one of them.
"Where are you?" she asked.
He hesitated.
"At my apartment."
"Stay there."
"Why?"
"Because you shouldn't be alone right now."
Daniel laughed bitterly.
"That's what Adrian used to say."
Rebecca flinched.
He continued.
"Whenever I remembered something that didn't make sense, he told me I was confused."
She swallowed.
"Daniel, I'm not trying to control you."
"I know."
His voice softened.
"I'm just frightened."
Rebecca closed her eyes.
"So am I."
Then he whispered:
"There's something else."
"What?"
"I found a photograph."
Her heart pounded.
"Of what?"
"Me."
She frowned.
"From when?"
"Thirty years ago."
Rebecca stopped breathing.
Daniel continued.
"I look exactly the same age I remember being in the photograph."
She felt a chill.
"That's impossible."
"I know."
He swallowed.
"But the photograph is dated thirty years earlier."
Rebecca stared at the wall.
"Daniel, send it to me."
A pause.
Then her phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared.
A boy approximately ten years old.
Dark hair.
A narrow scar beside his eyebrow.
Standing beside Alexander Vance.
Rebecca stared at it.
Her hands began trembling.
Because the boy was not Daniel Mercer.
He was Nathan Vance.
At the Vance estate, Catherine Bell stood beside Charles as he reviewed the latest police notifications.
Officers had entered Whitmore House.
Emily and Sophia were safe.
Edward was being questioned.
Margaret had been located in the west wing.
And Victoria was finally receiving answers.
But Charles looked increasingly troubled.
Catherine noticed.
"What is it?"
He looked up.
"Alexander is leaving the original facility."
"Where is he going?"
"I don't know."
Catherine frowned.
"Can you track him?"
Charles hesitated.
"Possibly."
He opened a secure map.
A vehicle appeared moving north.
Catherine leaned closer.
"Where is he headed?"
Charles enlarged the route.
A rural road.
A small town.
A property registered under an unfamiliar name.
Michael Rowan.
Charles stopped breathing.
Catherine noticed.
"You know him?"
He stared at the screen.
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
Charles's hands trembled.
"My brother."
Catherine froze.
"Nathan?"
Charles nodded.
"The real Nathan."
She stared at him.
"But the man at your estate—"
"He's not the original."
Catherine felt sick.
"Then who is he?"
Charles looked toward the window.
"I don't know."
She stepped closer.
"Charles, how can you not know?"
His expression hardened.
"Because Alexander controlled the records."
Catherine looked toward the map.
"And now he's going after Michael."
Charles nodded.
"Yes."
She felt a chill.
"Why?"
Charles closed his eyes.
"Because Michael knows what happened in the green room."
At Whitmore House, Emily sat beside Sophia in a quiet reception room.
The woman in the green coat had been taken aside for questioning.
Edward remained under police supervision.
For the first time, the girls were alone.
Sophia stared at her hands.
"I don't know what to do."
Emily looked toward her.
"About what?"
"Everything."
Sophia laughed bitterly.
"I thought finding my real family would make things better."
Emily said nothing.
"Instead, I found out my name was assigned to me, my memories might not be mine, and the man I trusted most helped hide it."
Emily looked down.
"I know."
Sophia turned toward her.
"Do you?"
Emily nodded.
"For years, I thought I was sick."
She swallowed.
"The doctors told me my memories were unreliable."
Sophia's eyes filled.
Emily continued.
"Sometimes I remembered a garden. Sometimes a woman singing. Sometimes a little boy crying."
She looked toward the window.
"I thought I was imagining things."
Sophia wiped her tears.
"And now?"
Emily hesitated.
"Now I don't know which memories are real."
Sophia looked at her.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Sophia whispered:
"Maybe we don't have to know everything today."
Emily turned.
Sophia smiled sadly.
"Maybe we can start with what we know now."
Emily frowned.
"Like what?"
Sophia reached for her hand.
"You're Emily."
The girl looked down.
"And you're Sophia."
Sophia nodded.
"Yes."
Emily's eyes filled.
Sophia continued.
"And neither of us deserved what happened."
Emily began crying.
Sophia moved closer.
The two girls embraced.
For years, they had been treated as interchangeable subjects.
Now, for the first time, they were choosing to see each other as individuals.
At 6:14 p.m., Richard Hale received a call from an unfamiliar number.
He was standing beside Victoria outside Whitmore House.
He answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A man's voice spoke.
"Richie."
Richard froze.
Nobody had called him that in decades.
His hands began trembling.
"Who is this?"
The man hesitated.
Then said:
"You used to hide biscuits beneath your pillow."
Richard stopped breathing.
A memory surfaced.
Two boys in a bedroom.
A wooden toy train.
A small tin box filled with stolen biscuits.
He whispered:
"Nathan?"
The voice softened.
"Hello, little brother."
Richard began crying.
For several seconds, he could not speak.
Then he asked:
"Where are you?"
"At home."
Richard frowned.
"Home?"
"The place Eleanor took me."
His heart pounded.
"Michael Rowan?"
A pause.
"Yes."
Richard closed his eyes.
"You're alive."
The man laughed softly.
"Apparently."
Richard wiped his face.
"Why didn't you come back?"
A long silence followed.
Then Michael whispered:
"Because Alexander told me you'd died."
Richard froze.
"What?"
"He said the procedure killed you."
Richard stared at the wall.
Michael continued.
"And when I tried to return, Eleanor told me Alexander would take me back."
Richard felt sick.
For thirty years, two brothers had lived believing the other was dead.
Both manipulated by the same man.
Both deprived of the family they might have had.
Richard swallowed.
"Michael, Alexander is coming for you."
The voice went silent.
Then:
"I know."
Richard's heart pounded.
"Get out."
Michael hesitated.
"Richie..."
"Please."
The man sighed.
"I can't."
Richard closed his eyes.
"Why?"
"Because I have something he wants."
"The archive?"
"No."
Richard froze.
"What?"
Michael's voice became quiet.
"The original witness."
Richard stared at the phone.
"What witness?"
A long silence followed.
Then Michael whispered:
"The child who was in the green room with Victoria."
Richard felt a chill.
"Who?"
Michael looked toward the doorway of his rural home.
A woman stood there.
Older.
Auburn hair streaked with gray.
Pale green eyes.
She held a cup of tea.
Michael smiled sadly.
"Her mother."
Richard stopped breathing.
"Eleanor?"
"Yes."
Richard stared toward Victoria.
"But Eleanor is at the original facility."
Michael went silent.
Then whispered:
"No, Richie."
Richard felt his stomach drop.
"The woman at Alexander's facility isn't Eleanor."
At the original research facility, Alexander entered the medical room where the woman identified as Eleanor Bell lay in bed.
She looked up.
"Alexander."
He smiled.
"Hello."
She stared at him.
"Did Victoria come?"
"Not yet."
Her expression changed.
"Why?"
Alexander approached.
"Because someone interfered."
She looked frightened.
"Who?"
He hesitated.
Then smiled.
"An old friend."
The woman stared at him.
Alexander sat beside her bed.
"Tell me something."
She swallowed.
"What?"
"Do you remember your name?"
She looked confused.
"Eleanor."
He nodded.
"Good."
"Why are you asking?"
Alexander smiled.
"Because we're almost finished."
The woman began trembling.
"Finished with what?"
He leaned closer.
"The experiment."
Her eyes widened.
"Please..."
Alexander touched her hand.
"You've done very well."
She shook her head.
"No."
He smiled.
"You remembered everything we taught you."
The woman began crying.
"Please don't make me forget again."
Alexander looked toward the door.
A physician entered.
"Sir?"
Alexander stood.
"Prepare her for transfer."
The woman grabbed his sleeve.
"Alexander!"
He looked down.
She whispered:
"Am I really Eleanor?"
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then he answered:
"No."
The woman began sobbing.
Alexander turned away.
"Your name is Anna."
At Michael Rowan's rural home, Richard's voice trembled through the phone.
"Michael, I need you to tell me the truth."
Michael stood beside the window.
Outside, the evening sky was darkening.
A car approached along the gravel road.
He recognized it immediately.
Alexander.
Michael closed his eyes.
"Richie, listen carefully."
Richard gripped the phone.
"I'm listening."
"The woman at Alexander's facility is a replacement subject."
Richard felt sick.
"And Eleanor?"
"She's here."
Richard closed his eyes.
"Alive?"
"Yes."
Tears filled his eyes.
Michael continued.
"She's been hiding with me for years."
Richard looked toward Victoria.
His sister.
The woman who had spent the day discovering that nearly everyone in her family had been declared dead, replaced, or manipulated.
He swallowed.
"Michael, Alexander is approaching your house."
"I know."
"Then leave."
Michael looked toward the driveway.
The black car stopped.
Alexander stepped out.
Two men followed.
Michael's expression hardened.
"I can't."
Richard's voice rose.
"Why?"
Michael looked toward Eleanor.
She was standing beside the kitchen table.
Her hands trembled.
But her eyes were determined.
"Because Eleanor has the original recording."
Richard froze.
"What recording?"
Michael swallowed.
"The one showing what happened to Victoria when she was seven."
Richard felt a chill.
"Send it to me."
Michael hesitated.
Then nodded.
"I will."
He ended the call.
Eleanor stepped closer.
"Is he coming?"
Michael looked toward the driveway.
"Alexander's already here."
She closed her eyes.
For thirty years, she had feared this moment.
Now it had arrived.
Michael reached beneath the kitchen table.
He removed a small metal box.
Inside was a storage drive.
Eleanor stared at it.
"The original?"
Michael nodded.
"Yes."
She looked toward the window.
Alexander was approaching the front door.
Eleanor's hands trembled.
"Then send it."
Michael connected the drive to his laptop.
A transfer window appeared.
UPLOADING.
Ten percent.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Outside, someone knocked.
Michael ignored it.
Forty percent.
Fifty.
Alexander's voice sounded through the door.
"Nathan."
Michael closed his eyes.
Sixty percent.
"Open the door."
Seventy.
Eleanor gripped the edge of the table.
Eighty.
A heavy impact struck the door.
Ninety.
Michael stared at the screen.
Ninety-five.
Then the door burst inward.
Alexander entered.
His eyes immediately moved toward the laptop.
"Stop that."
Michael stepped between him and the computer.
"No."
Alexander's expression hardened.
"Nathan."
Michael smiled sadly.
"That's not my name anymore."
The upload reached ninety-nine percent.
Alexander lunged toward the desk.
Michael grabbed his arm.
The two men struggled.
Eleanor screamed.
Then the laptop chimed.
TRANSFER COMPLETE.
Michael laughed.
Alexander froze.
For the first time in thirty years, the old man looked genuinely defeated.
"What have you done?"
Michael stared at him.
"Something you should have done a long time ago."
Alexander's face darkened.
Michael continued.
"I told the truth."
At Whitmore House, Victoria's phone vibrated.
A new file had arrived.
ORIGINAL GREEN ROOM RECORDING.
She stared at it.
Detective Brooks approached.
"Victoria?"
Her hands trembled.
"It's from Michael."
Elena looked toward the screen.
"Do you want to watch it?"
Victoria hesitated.
For thirty years, she had been searching for pieces of a childhood she could barely remember.
Now the original recording was finally in her hands.
She took a breath.
"Yes."
Elena nodded.
"Then we'll watch it together."
Victoria pressed play.
The screen showed a hospital room.
Green curtains.
A medical bed.
A seven-year-old girl standing beside Eleanor Bell.
Victoria.
A boy lay on the bed.
Nathan.
Alexander stood near the doorway.
Edward was beside him.
The recording continued.
Nathan suddenly stopped breathing.
An alarm sounded.
Victoria rushed toward the console.
She pressed the blue button.
A door opened.
Eleanor entered.
But then something happened that made the adult Victoria freeze.
The little girl turned toward the camera.
She looked directly into the lens.
And spoke.
I know what you're doing.
Victoria stopped breathing.
On the recording, Alexander approached her.
What did you say?
The little girl stepped backward.
You're making people forget.
Alexander froze.
Edward looked horrified.
Victoria continued.
You made Mommy forget.
Eleanor began crying.
Alexander stepped closer.
Victoria, stop talking.
But the little girl shook her head.
No.
She pointed toward the medical bed.
You made Nathan forget his name.
Then she pointed toward the door.
And you made the other boy think he was Nathan.
The adult Victoria stared at the screen.
Her heart pounded.
Another boy?
The recording continued.
Alexander grabbed the little girl's arm.
Enough.
She screamed.
Eleanor rushed forward.
Let her go!
Alexander shoved her aside.
Then the little girl shouted something that made everyone in the room freeze