Chapter 5 - VICTORIA’S REAL SECRET
Arthur Vale was sixty-one years old.
Victoria was thirty-four.
When we married, she was twenty-six.
Arthur had been present at nearly every important event in her life.
Birthday dinners.
Graduations.
Our engagement.
Our wedding.
For years Victoria introduced him as the man who had stepped in after her father died.
Her protector.
Her mentor.
Her godfather.
Now the photographs in my head looked different.
Too many touches.
Too many private conversations.
Too many decisions Arthur made for her.
Marcus drove while I contacted police.
An Amber Alert went out.
Victoria’s photograph circulated.
So did Sophie’s.
Arthur Vale’s lake house became our primary destination.
Police were already moving toward it.
I called Arthur.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Finally:
“Daniel.”
Arthur sounded calm.
Almost bored.
“Where is Victoria?”
“I have no idea.”
“Where’s Sophie?”
Silence.
Then:
“So you found out.”
“You’re her father.”
Another silence.
“I suppose Victoria finally told you.”
“She didn’t have to.”
Arthur sighed.
“This conversation cannot happen over the phone.”
“Then tell me where you are.”
“No.”
“Police are searching your house.”
“They won’t find anything.”
“Is Victoria with you?”
“No.”
“Is Sophie?”
“No.”
“Arthur.”
His voice hardened.
“You should think very carefully about what you do next.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m warning you.”
“About what?”
“Victoria.”
The answer surprised me.
Arthur continued.
“She is not stable.”
“Don’t diagnose her for me.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re the reason this happened.”
“You know nothing about what happened.”
“You fathered a child with the woman who called you her godfather.”
Silence.
I heard Arthur breathe.
Then he said:
“I am not Victoria’s godfather.”
I stared through the windshield.
“What?”
“Her mother invented that story.”
Marcus glanced at me.
Arthur continued.
“I met Victoria when she was twenty-two.”
“That doesn’t make this better.”
“No.”
“At least we agree.”
“She was an adult, Daniel.”
“And married to me when Sophie was conceived.”
“Yes.”
No apology.
No shame.
Nothing.
“Did Rachel Bennett steal Sophie?”
Arthur became quiet.
“No.”
My heart accelerated.
“So Victoria lied.”
“Rachel rescued her.”
I closed my eyes.
“From whom?”
“Victoria.”
Arthur’s voice changed.
Less controlled.
“She wanted the baby gone permanently.”
“What does permanently mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
My stomach turned.
“She wanted Sophie killed?”
“She wanted no evidence.”
Marcus heard.
His jaw tightened.
Arthur continued.
“I couldn’t allow it.”
“You altered records.”
“Yes.”
“You paid people.”
“Yes.”
“You arranged for the Harrisons.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened Rachel.”
Silence.
“That part became complicated.”
“Did you hurt her?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
Arthur didn’t answer.
“WHERE IS RACHEL?”
“She disappeared before I could find her.”
“That’s not what Caleb heard.”
Arthur inhaled sharply.
“Caleb?”
“You forgot about the kid hiding upstairs.”
For the first time, Arthur sounded afraid.
“What did he hear?”
“Enough.”
I ended the call.
Marcus said, “He slipped.”
“How?”
“He asked what Caleb heard instead of denying being at the house.”
I nodded.
Marcus contacted detectives.
Arthur had just moved much higher on their list.
We reached Lake Candlewood after dark.
Police surrounded the Vale estate.
No Victoria.
No Sophie.
But in the detached garage, investigators discovered a hidden room.
Inside were file boxes.
Medical records.
Financial documents.
Photographs of Victoria.
And surveillance images.
Emily.
Caleb.
The Harrisons.
Me.
Even the twins.
Arthur had been watching all of us.
Then an officer emerged carrying a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a woman’s driver’s license.
Rachel Bennett.
Emily’s missing sister.
It had expired four years earlier.
Marcus stared at it.
“This is bad.”
A detective approached.
“We also found blood.”
“Old?”
“Appears to be.”
My phone vibrated.
Emily.
I didn’t want to answer.
I did anyway.
“Daniel?”
Her voice sounded fragile.
“Have you found Sophie?”
“No.”
“Rachel?”
I looked at the evidence bag.
“We found something connected to her.”
“What?”
I couldn’t lie to her.
“Her license.”
Silence.
“Where?”
“Arthur’s lake house.”
Emily began breathing quickly.
“Anything else?”
“Emily…”
“What else?”
“Old blood.”
She stopped breathing altogether.
I closed my eyes.
“We don’t know whose it is.”
“Yes, you do.”
“We don’t.”
“He killed her.”
“We don’t know that.”
“He killed Rachel.”
Her voice cracked.
“I spent four years wondering if she hated us enough to disappear.”
“Emily.”
“And she was probably dead.”
“We don’t know.”
She cried quietly.
Then said something that changed everything.
“Caleb remembered something else.”
“What?”
“He remembered a woman was with Dr. Vale that night.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Victoria?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t recognize her then.”
“And now?”
Emily whispered:
“He saw her picture on television tonight.”
My mouth went dry.
“What picture?”
“Victoria’s mother.”
I knew Victoria’s mother.
Margaret Whitmore.
Elegant.
Wealthy.
Cold.
She lived in Palm Beach and had supposedly been in Florida when the twins were born.
“What did Caleb say?”
“He said Margaret was the one who told Arthur, ‘The nurse knows too much.’”
A movement near the garage caught my attention.
An investigator opened another box.
Inside were letters.
Hundreds.
The top envelope had Victoria’s name.
But the handwriting wasn’t Arthur’s.
The return name was Margaret Whitmore.
I opened the first letter with gloved hands.
Victoria,
Daniel can never learn that Arthur is Sophie’s father.
If he does, your marriage is over, and the Cole fortune disappears with it.
Handle the nurse.
Handle the child.
Do whatever must be done.
Family survival requires sacrifice.
Mom.
I stared at the page.
This was no longer about an affair.
Or a cruel wife.
Or even a missing baby.
This was a conspiracy.
And the woman I had thought was simply Victoria’s overbearing mother appeared to have been directing it.
Then Marcus’s phone rang.
He listened.
His expression darkened.
“What?”
He covered the receiver.
“They found Victoria’s car.”
“Where?”
“Outside Margaret Whitmore’s private airfield.”
My blood froze.
“She has a plane?”
Marcus nodded.
“And it took off eighteen minutes ago.”
“For where?”
He looked me in the eyes.
“The Bahamas.”
Sophie was no longer in Connecticut.
My wife was taking her out of the country.
May you like
And she wasn’t traveling alone.
Margaret Whitmore was on the plane.
