Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW MY NAME
The photograph was impossible.
I knew what I looked like at six.
Round cheeks.
Dark bangs.
A gap between my front teeth.
The child in the photograph had all three.
But I had no memory of Evelyn Marlowe.
None.
“Where did you get this?”
Agent Bell did not answer immediately.
“From a storage unit connected to Simon.”
I looked at Patricia in the photograph.
She appeared maybe thirty-five.
Younger than I remembered her.
But unmistakable.
“She knew me?”
Agent Bell folded his hands.
“That is what we are trying to determine.”
“My parents would know.”
Daniel spoke before I could call them.
“Wait.”
I turned.
“Why?”
“Because Patricia specifically wrote that you should not learn why your name was chosen.”
He nodded toward the photograph.
“We need to assume this reaches farther back than your relationship.”
I suddenly felt cold.
Agent Bell asked about my childhood.
Where I grew up.
Where my parents worked.
Whether I had ever lived elsewhere.
Whether my family knew the Harts before I met Simon.
“No.”
Then I stopped.
At least I thought no.
Simon and I had always joked that our families came from different worlds.
My parents lived outside Columbus.
His mother grew up in Pittsburgh.
We met at college.
Randomly.
At least that was the story.
Agent Bell asked my mother’s name.
“Carol Carter.”
His partner looked up sharply.
“What?”
I asked.
The agents exchanged a glance.
Agent Bell spoke carefully.
“Has your mother ever used another surname?”
“Her maiden name was Mercer.”
His partner wrote something.
“Carol Mercer?”
“Yes.”
Agent Bell’s face became unreadable.
“What?”
He looked at Daniel.
Daniel nodded slightly.
Tell her.
Agent Bell took out another page.
It was a list of names connected to an old investment company.
Marlowe Asset Strategies.
Evelyn Marlowe.
Patricia Hart.
Leonard Voss.
And Carol Mercer.
My mother.
I stared at the name.
“No.”
Nobody spoke.
“No.”
I said it louder.
“My mother was a teacher.”
“Was she always?”
“Yes.”
Then I remembered something.
She hadn’t started teaching until I was eight.
Before that, she had always said she worked in administration.
I never asked where.
Children rarely interrogate their parents about résumés.
Agent Bell continued.
“Marlowe Asset Strategies collapsed in 2001.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Several investors lost significant money.”
“How much?”
“Roughly fourteen million dollars.”
Leonard sat down.
“I remember that case.”
Agent Bell looked at him.
“You should.”
Leonard frowned.
“Why?”
“Your father was one of the investors.”
Leonard went silent.
The room suddenly felt too small.
I looked at the old photograph again.
Patricia.
Evelyn.
Me.
“What happened to the money?”
“Most was never recovered.”
“Was my mother involved?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was she charged?”
“No.”
“Evelyn?”
“No.”
“Patricia?”
“No.”
“Then who was?”
“A man named Thomas Mercer.”
My stomach dropped.
Mercer.
My mother’s maiden name.
“Who was he?”
Agent Bell held my gaze.
“Your grandfather.”
I stood so quickly my chair hit the wall.
“My grandfather died when I was little.”
“Yes.”
“He worked in insurance.”
“According to public records, he also served as financial controller for Marlowe Asset Strategies.”
I grabbed my phone.
Daniel stood.
“Rachel.”
“I’m calling my mother.”
“Think first.”
“I have thought enough.”
I dialed.
My mother answered on the second ring.
“Sweetheart.”
Her voice nearly broke me.
For my entire life, that voice meant safety.
I walked toward the corner.
“Mom, do you know Patricia Hart?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Silence.
Everything inside me fell.
“Mom?”
“Where are you?”
“Do you know her?”
“Rachel, where are you?”
“Answer me.”
She exhaled.
“Yes.”
The room disappeared.
“How?”
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“How do you know Patricia?”
“It’s complicated.”
I laughed.
That phrase again.
Apparently every liar in my life had been issued the same vocabulary.
“Do you know Evelyn Marlowe?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
My knees weakened.
“Why is there a photograph of me with them when I was six?”
My mother stopped breathing.
“How did you get that?”
“Answer me.”
“Rachel.”
“How did Simon know about them?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
Her voice finally broke.
“Simon was not supposed to know.”
Agent Bell looked at me.
Daniel was already taking notes.
“What does that mean?”
My mother began crying.
“Come home.”
“What does that mean?”
“I made a mistake.”
Twenty-seven years collapsed into that sentence.
A mistake.
“What mistake?”
“I told Patricia where you were going to college.”
My eyes shut.
“What?”
“She asked.”
“Why?”
“She said she wanted to know you were doing well.”
“Why would she care?”
My mother sobbed.
“Because she always cared about you.”
I looked at the photograph.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Another long pause.
Then my mother said the sentence that split my life into before and after.
“Because Patricia almost raised you.”
I couldn’t speak.
“What?”
“Your father and I separated for almost a year when you were little.”
“You never told me that.”
“No.”
“Why would Patricia raise me?”
“Because I wasn’t doing well.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Everything that happened with my father.”
“With Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“And Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
I pressed my free hand against the wall.
“Was Patricia your friend?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she act like she met me through Simon?”
My mother cried harder.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I swear I don’t.”
“Did you introduce me to Simon?”
“No.”
“Did Patricia?”
“I don’t know.”
I thought of college.
Orientation week.
Simon bumping into me outside the student union.
Coffee spilled across my notebook.
Him apologizing.
Me laughing.
Our first conversation.
Our first date.
The story we had told for nine years.
A coincidence.
A romantic accident.
I looked at Agent Bell.
“Did Simon know who I was before college?”
The agent did not answer.
My mother heard me.
“What did you say?”
I repeated the question.
“Did Simon know me before we met?”
My mother whispered.
“Oh, God.”
That was not an answer.
But it was enough.
I hung up.
Agent Bell slid one more page across the table.
A printed email.
Sent by Patricia Hart.
Date: August 18, nine years earlier.
Recipient: Simon Hart.
Subject: RACHEL.
The message contained only four lines.
She’ll be at orientation Friday.
Do not mention me.
Do not mention Evelyn.
Just meet her naturally.
May you like
The last line made my hands shake.
Once she trusts you, the rest will be easy.
