"What child?"
My question echoed through the room.
My father didn't answer.
He simply stared at me.
I looked at my mother's empty bed, then at the open window.
"Father, what child disappeared in that fire?"
He remained silent.
My uncle stepped forward.
"Tell her."
My father glared at him.
"You've done enough."
"No. You have."
My uncle turned toward me.
"There was a child at the warehouse that night."
"Whose child?"
He looked at my father.
"His."
My heart stopped.
"My father's?"
My uncle nodded.
"A baby."
I felt dizzy.
"Why would there be a baby at a warehouse?"
Nobody answered.
I looked at Adrian.
He seemed just as confused.
Then my uncle spoke.
"Because the child was being used as leverage."
"Leverage for what?"
"The money."
My stomach tightened.
"The three families had been negotiating over a fortune. Your father wanted complete control. Samuel wanted his share. Richard wanted his."
He paused.
"Then someone discovered that your father had secretly moved the money."
My father interrupted.
"Stop."
But my uncle continued.
"That night, everything went wrong."
I stared at him.
"What happened to the baby?"
He looked at me sadly.
"Nobody knows."
A cold feeling spread through me.
"You mean the child disappeared?"
"Yes."
"Was the child found?"
"No."
"Then why is someone asking me about it now?"
My uncle didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at the photograph on the table.
"The person who sent those messages wants you to discover something."
"What?"
"The child may not have died."
My heart raced.
"Then where is the child?"
My uncle looked toward the hallway.
"That's what everyone has been trying to find out."
Suddenly, Adrian grabbed my arm.
"Wait."
I looked at him.
"What?"
He was staring at the old photograph.
"Look closely."
I leaned over.
The photograph showed the warehouse from ten years ago.
My father.
Richard.
Samuel.
And the fourth man.
But behind them, barely visible through the smoke, was a woman holding something.
A baby.
I stared at it.
"Who is that woman?"
My uncle took the photograph.
His hands began shaking.
"I don't know."
My father immediately reached for it.
"Give it to me."
My uncle pulled it away.
"No."
My father stepped forward.
"I said give it to me."
"No more secrets."
The two brothers stared at each other.
Then my uncle looked at me.
"Your mother knows who that woman is."
My heart dropped.
"Mom?"
"Yes."
"But she's missing."
My uncle nodded.
"Which means whoever took her doesn't want you to hear what she has to say."
I felt tears forming.
"What if she's in danger?"
Adrian squeezed my hand.
"We'll find her."
My father suddenly turned toward him.
"You will stay away from this."
Adrian stared back.
"No."
My father stepped closer.
"This has nothing to do with you."
Adrian's voice was calm.
"It has everything to do with me."
My father frowned.
"Why?"
Adrian looked at me.
"Because I think I know who that child is."
The room went completely silent.
I stared at him.
"What?"
He looked at the photograph again.
Then at me.
"I think the child survived."
My heart pounded.
"How?"
Adrian's expression was troubled.
"Because three days ago, I met someone who claimed to know where the child is."
"Who?"
He hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Samuel Morgan."
I froze.
"Samuel?"
Adrian nodded.
"And he told me something I never forgot."
"What?"
Adrian looked directly into my eyes.
"He said the missing child grew up believing she was someone else."
My blood ran cold.
"Who?"
Before Adrian could answer, my father's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
Then he slowly looked at me.
"The child has been found."
I stopped breathing.
"Where?"
My father lowered the phone.
"Here."
He pointed toward the hallway.
And suddenly, footsteps began approaching from the darkness.