Chapter 18 - Evelyn
Claire forgot the bank request.
Forgot the room.
Forgot to breathe.
Daniel watched her through the screen.
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
“My mother died.”
“No.”
“I saw her body.”
“You saw a closed casket.”
Claire’s skin went cold.
He was right.
Evelyn had died after a supposed car fire.
The body had been badly damaged.
The family had been advised not to view it.
Harold had insisted on a closed funeral.
Claire had been twenty-one.
Grieving.
Confused.
She had never questioned it.
“Where is she?”
Daniel smiled sadly.
“That is the account.”
Claire stared.
“What?”
“The reserve isn’t just money. It funds her protection.”
Peter stepped forward.
“Daniel, stop.”
Daniel heard him through the call.
His face changed.
“So you found him.”
Peter said, “Let Owen go.”
“Tell Claire.”
Peter looked at Claire.
She backed away.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No more careful versions. No more protection. Tell me.”
Peter’s voice shook.
“Your mother survived the attack.”
“What attack?”
“The car fire.”
Claire felt the world tilt.
“It wasn’t an accident?”
“No.”
“Who did it?”
Peter looked at the floor.
“The network.”
“And you?”
“I helped hide her afterward.”
Claire stared at him.
“For twelve years?”
“She believed you were safer if everyone thought she was dead.”
“Dad knew?”
“Yes.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
“Owen?”
“No.”
Nathan?
Nathan’s face answered.
“You knew too.”
He whispered, “For the last four years.”
Claire turned away.
Everyone had known pieces of her life except her.
Daniel said through the phone, “Evelyn controls the second key to the reserve.”
Claire looked back.
“Where is she?”
The next minutes moved fast, and every answer only exposed a deeper part of Daniel’s plan.
The screen went black.
Claire screamed Owen’s name.
Rachel pressed her earpiece.
Seconds stretched.
Then she looked at Claire.
“Owen is alive.”
Claire almost collapsed.
“And Daniel?”
Rachel’s expression changed.
“He escaped through a service tunnel.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Of course he did.
Then a new number called her.
She answered.
A woman’s voice whispered:
“Claire?”
Claire froze.
The voice was older.
Softer.
But she knew it.
May you like
She had heard it in dreams for twelve years.
“Mom?”
