Chapter 5 - THE THIRD DAUGHTERThe storage unit smelled like dust and paper.
Police had already photographed everything by the time Marcus brought me inside.
Metal shelves filled the narrow space.
Boxes were marked by year.
Some went back nearly three decades.
Victor had kept secrets the way other men collected wine.
Detective Lena Torres, who had taken over the criminal investigation, handed me latex gloves.
“Don’t touch anything without these.”
I pulled them on.
On a folding table sat six photographs.
The woman in them looked so much like my mother that my knees weakened.
Same dark eyes.
Same mouth.
Same high cheekbones.
But she was younger.
Maybe thirty-five.
In the first photo she stood outside a diner.
In another she entered an apartment building.
The final photograph showed her holding hands with a little girl.
“Rebecca?”
Torres nodded.
“Taken eleven years ago.”
“Before the fire.”
“Yes.”
I picked up the photograph.
“She had a child.”
“We believe so.”
My throat tightened.
“Who is she?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Marcus opened a file.
“Victor hired investigators to track Rebecca for years.”
“Why?”
“We haven’t gotten that answer.”
Torres handed me another photograph.
The girl was older here.
Maybe fourteen.
She had Rebecca’s eyes.
My mother’s eyes.
My eyes.
I sat down.
“I have a niece.”
Marcus said nothing.
I looked at him.
“You knew?”
“Ten minutes before you did.”
“Where is she?”
“Unknown.”
Torres flipped through another file.
“The records stop eighteen months before the fire.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
I looked around the storage unit.
“What was Victor protecting?”
Marcus opened another box.
Inside were medical files.
One folder was marked ELEANOR.
My mother.
Another was marked REBECCA.
A third was marked CAROLINE.
Then one marked JULIETTE.
My stomach turned.
“Why does he have our medical records?”
Torres carefully opened my file.
Childhood blood tests.
Dental records.
Hospitalizations.
My appendectomy.
Everything.
Then Marcus found a page from a private genetics laboratory.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He handed it to Torres.
She read it.
Then looked at me.
“Caroline, we need to verify this.”
“Verify what?”
Nobody answered.
I ripped the paper from her hands.
It was a DNA kinship report.
Three names had been redacted.
But the conclusion remained visible.
Probability of full sibling relationship: 0.02%.
Probability of half sibling relationship: 99.97%.
I looked at Marcus.
“What does this mean?”
He spoke carefully.
“It means two people everyone believed had the same father actually didn’t.”
“Who?”
“We need the original sample numbers.”
My thoughts went wild.
Rebecca obviously had another father.
Everyone knew that now.
But then why keep the test hidden?
Torres found a handwritten note attached to the report.
D.M. must never know.
My pulse stopped.
Douglas Mercer.
My father.
I stared at the report.
“This isn’t about Rebecca.”
Marcus said nothing.
“It’s about me or Juliette.”
Torres looked toward the evidence team.
“We’ll need court-authorized testing.”
I laughed.
Five years ago, someone stopped a DNA test because they were afraid of the truth.
Now DNA was everywhere.
My sister.
My father.
My mother.
Rebecca.
The unknown girl.
The dead body that had vanished from a grave.
Everything came back to blood.
Marcus opened another folder.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Juliette Mercer.
Mother: Eleanor Mercer.
Father: Douglas Mercer.
Nothing unusual.
Then he held it toward the light.
“There’s something under the ink.”
Forensics photographed the page.
A technician used specialized imaging equipment.
Minutes later, an earlier typed entry appeared beneath the corrected name.
Father: Victor Lang.
Nobody spoke.
I looked at Marcus.
“No.”
He stared at the document.
“Looks like Victor wasn’t just your family’s attorney.”
I felt sick.
Juliette was not my father’s daughter.
She was Victor’s.
Suddenly decades of tension made terrifying sense.
Victor protecting her.
Victor helping with estate transfers.
Victor forging documents.
Victor sacrificing everything after the fire.
I whispered:
“He did it for Juliette.”
Marcus nodded.
“At least some of it.”
Torres’s phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Then looked at us.
“Victor is asking for Caroline.”
“What does he want?”
“He says he’ll tell you where Rebecca’s daughter is.”
My heart hammered.
“What does he want in return?”
May you like
Torres stared at me.
“He wants to speak to you alone.”
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