Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Office
My father moved first.
“Lock the office remotely.”
The security chief hesitated.
“We can’t.”
Jonathan stopped.
“What?”
“The system says the door is already under administrative control.”
“Whose?”
Another pause.
“Yours.”
My father’s face hardened.
“That’s impossible.”
Damian laughed nervously.
“Looks like your perfect system isn’t so perfect.”
Jonathan did not even glance at him.
“Evelyn.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“She mentioned the warehouse.”
“That is exactly why you’re staying here.”
“I spent six months finding that warehouse.”
“And I spent thirty-two years trying to keep you alive.”
That sentence struck harder than I expected.
Before I could respond, the ballroom screens changed again.
The warehouse photograph disappeared.
A live camera feed appeared.
My father’s office.
Rebecca Shaw stood behind his desk.
She appeared to be in her early forties.
Dark hair.
Black evening gown.
No panic.
No hurry.
She looked directly into the camera.
Then she smiled.
“Hello, Evelyn.”
My blood went cold.
Damian stared at the screen.
“She knows you?”
“I’ve never seen her before tonight.”
Rebecca lifted something from the desk.
A small black drive.
My father’s breathing stopped.
“Dad?”
He said nothing.
Rebecca continued.
“I imagine Jonathan is standing beside you.”
My father stepped toward the screen.
Rebecca smiled wider.
“You look older, Jonathan.”
The entire ballroom turned toward him.
I did too.
“You know her.”
His jaw tightened.
Rebecca answered for him.
“He does.”
Arthur Cross suddenly stepped away from the group of nineteen.
My father noticed.
“Arthur.”
Arthur froze.
Jonathan’s voice hardened.
“Do not move.”
Rebecca looked toward something outside the camera.
Then back.
“The warehouse was never the real secret.”
My heart pounded.
“What is she talking about?”
Jonathan ignored me.
Rebecca held up the drive.
“This is.”
My father whispered,
“No.”
I had never heard that tone from him.
Fear.
Real fear.
Rebecca pressed the drive into the computer.
The ballroom screens went black.
Then a folder appeared.
PROJECT ORPHEUS.
I stared at my father.
“What is Orpheus?”
He did not answer.
Arthur did.
“A mistake.”
Damian looked at him.
“What mistake?”
Arthur lowered his head.
“One we buried twenty-three years ago.”
Rebecca opened the folder.
Photographs filled the screens.
Children.
Dozens of them.
Medical charts.
Identification numbers.
Adoption records.
Payments.
My stomach twisted.
I looked at my father.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing to those children.”
“Then explain this.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Rebecca interrupted.
“Jonathan didn’t create Orpheus.”
My father stared at the screen.
She continued.
“But he helped destroy the evidence.”
The ballroom erupted.
Reporters began recording.
Politicians shouted.
Damian stepped toward Arthur.
“What the hell was Orpheus?”
Arthur said nothing.
I looked at Rebecca.
“Why are you doing this?”
Her expression changed.
The smile disappeared.
“Because one of those children survived.”
She clicked another folder.
A photograph appeared.
A little girl.
Seven years old.
Dark hair.
Hazel eyes.
A silver bracelet around her wrist.
I stared at the image.
Something about her face felt familiar.
Then Rebecca enlarged the identification record.
My knees nearly gave out.
SUBJECT 017.
FEMALE.
ORIGINAL NAME UNKNOWN.
ADOPTIVE PLACEMENT APPROVED.
ADOPTIVE FAMILY.
JONATHAN AND ELIZABETH VALE.
May you like
I stopped breathing.
The little girl on the screen was me.
