Chapter 3 - THE DAUGHTER ELEANOR WAS WILLING TO SACRIFICE
Chloe had hated Sarah for years.
That did not mean Sarah could leave her to die.
Agent Hale ordered a tactical response.
The photograph’s metadata was stripped.
No location.
No identifiable background.
Only concrete walls.
A chair.
Chloe.
And Eleanor.
Sterling stared at the image longer than anyone.
“She took her own daughter.”
Sarah looked at him.
“Or Chloe went willingly.”
Hale nodded.
“Possible.”
But Sarah had seen Chloe’s face.
There had been terror there.
Real terror.
Not performance.
The federal team moved Sarah to a secure residence outside the city.
She hated every second.
The house was comfortable.
Clean.
Protected.
And unbearable.
David’s toothbrush was still at home.
His coffee mug.
His jacket hanging behind the kitchen door.
Grief was strange.
People thought funerals were the worst part.
They were wrong.
The worst part was discovering that the world continued after someone vanished from it.
Sarah sat alone in the protected house that night, touching her belly.
“I’m sorry your father isn’t here.”
The baby moved.
She smiled through tears.
Then she remembered the recording.
Eleanor was not David’s biological mother.
The entire Whitmore family history had become uncertain.
At 2:13 a.m., Sterling called.
“They found Chloe.”
Sarah stood immediately.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“David’s old hunting property.”
Sarah frowned.
“He sold that place.”
“Apparently not.”
Two hours later, Sarah arrived at a small county hospital under federal escort.
Chloe was conscious.
Bruised.
Furious.
And demanding to speak with Sarah.
When Sarah entered, Chloe looked away.
For several seconds neither woman spoke.
Finally Sarah said, “Did Eleanor hurt you?”
Chloe laughed bitterly.
“You mean my mother?”
“Is she?”
Chloe looked at her.
“So you found it.”
“Yes.”
“My whole life is apparently a lie.”
Sarah sat carefully.
“What happened?”
Chloe swallowed.
“After she ran from the cathedral, she called me.”
“You followed her.”
“She said she needed help.”
“And?”
“She drove me to the hunting property.”
Chloe stared at the hospital blanket.
“She told me David had destroyed everything.”
Sarah said nothing.
“She said the family fortune would disappear. The company would be seized. We would lose the houses.”
“That worried you?”
Chloe looked ashamed.
“It did.”
At least she admitted it.
“Then she asked me to help her burn documents.”
Sarah leaned forward.
“What documents?”
“Medical records.”
“Whose?”
“I don’t know.”
“Chloe.”
“I don’t know!”
Her voice cracked.
“She wouldn’t let me read them.”
“What happened after that?”
“I refused.”
Sarah had not expected that.
Chloe laughed again.
“You look surprised.”
“I am.”
“I’m terrible, Sarah. I know that.”
She looked directly at her.
“But I’m not a murderer.”
Sarah waited.
Chloe continued.
“She said David had been asking questions about a clinic.”
“What clinic?”
“Saint Catherine’s.”
Sterling had mentioned no clinic.
“Where?”
“It closed twenty-six years ago.”
Chloe hesitated.
“Mother said that if David’s investigation reached the clinic, everything would come apart.”
Sarah felt cold.
“Then?”
“She hit me.”
“Eleanor?”
“She had never hit me before.”
A tear appeared.
Chloe wiped it angrily.
“She tied me to the chair. Took the photograph. Then she left.”
“She left you alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Chloe looked at Sarah.
“Because she wanted you to find me.”
Sarah stared.
“Why?”
“I think there was something under the chair.”
Hale had entered quietly behind Sarah.
“What?”
Chloe looked toward him.
“A metal box.”
Federal investigators returned to the hunting property.
They found it beneath the floorboards.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens.
Newborn babies.
Hospital bracelets.
Mothers.
Doctors.
Several photographs included Eleanor.
Others showed a younger Dr. Rebecca Sloan.
Sarah examined them at the federal office.
One photograph made her stop breathing.
A woman held a newborn baby.
Written beneath it:
DAVID.
The woman was not Eleanor.
She had dark blond hair.
Gentle features.
And military dog tags around her neck.
Sarah turned the photograph over.
One name.
MARGARET HALE.
Agent Marcus Hale, standing three feet away, dropped his coffee.
Sarah looked at him.
His face had gone completely white.
“What?”
Hale picked up the photograph with trembling fingers.
“That’s my mother.”
Nobody spoke.
Sarah stared.
“Your mother gave birth to David?”
Hale shook his head.
“She had one child.”
“You?”
“That’s what I was told.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
Sterling stepped closer.
“Marcus.”
Hale barely heard him.
“She never mentioned another baby.”
Sarah studied the dates.
David was forty.
Hale was forty-three.
Possible.
Brothers.
Half-brothers.
Or something else.
Another photograph showed Margaret Hale holding two babies.
One bracelet read DAVID.
The other bracelet was turned away.
Sarah whispered, “There were two.”
Hale stared.
The room became silent.
Then his phone rang.
He answered automatically.
“Hale.”
His expression changed.
“When?”
He looked at Sarah.
“We have a location on Eleanor.”
Sarah stood.
“Where?”
Hale lowered the phone.
“She just walked into a police station.”
Sterling frowned.
“She surrendered?”
“No.”
May you like
Hale’s face tightened.
“She says Sarah murdered David.”
