“Possibly.”
“Quit?”
“Possibly.”
“Then why did she disappear afterward?”
Daniel closed the folder.
“That's what we're going to find out.”
They left the clinic just before sunset.
The three of them drove back to the hotel without speaking much.
Maya sat in the back seat.
She held the hospital bracelet she had found in Rebecca’s old box.
Baby L.W.
The letters had become almost sacred to her.
For twenty-five years she had been Maya Carter.
Now she knew that name had not been the beginning of her life.
It had been the name someone gave her after stealing another one.
Lily.
The name felt strange.
Yet somehow familiar.
She whispered it under her breath.
“Lily.”
Eleanor heard her.
She turned around from the passenger seat.
“Yes?”
Maya looked out the window.
“Do you think I should start using it?”
Eleanor was silent for a moment.
“Only if you want to.”
“But that's who I was.”
“Yes.”
“And I'm still Maya.”
“Yes.”
Maya looked down at her hands.
“Can I be both?”
Eleanor's eyes softened.
“You don't have to choose.”
Maya looked at her mother.
Eleanor smiled faintly.
“You spent twenty-five years being told who you were. Maybe now you get to decide.”
That sentence stayed with Maya.
For the first time since learning the truth, she felt something other than grief.
She felt possibility.
Daniel found Claire Carter two days later.
Or rather, he found someone who knew where she was.
Her name was Margaret Bell.
She was seventy-four years old and lived in a small town nearly three hours from Denver.
Daniel called her first.
Then he called Eleanor.
Then Maya.
“I found a connection,” he said.
Maya stood in the middle of Eleanor’s hotel suite.
“Claire?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Margaret Bell was Claire Carter's closest friend when they worked together at the clinic.”
Eleanor immediately asked, “Does she know what happened?”
Daniel paused.
“She knows something.”
Maya felt the familiar tightening in her chest.
“What did she say?”
“She asked me one question.”
“What question?”
“Why are you looking for Claire?”
Maya looked at Eleanor.
“Tell her the truth.”
Daniel had already anticipated that.
“I did.”
“And?”
“She agreed to meet.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Maya exhaled.
“Then tomorrow morning we find out what happened.”
Margaret Bell lived in a white house surrounded by pine trees.
She opened the door herself.
She was a small woman with silver hair and sharp blue eyes.
Her gaze moved from Daniel to Eleanor.
Then to Maya.
When she saw Maya, something changed in her expression.
It lasted less than a second.
But Eleanor saw it.
So did Daniel.
Margaret stepped backward.
“Come in.”
They entered.
The house smelled like coffee and old books.
Margaret directed them toward the living room.
She sat in an armchair.
Daniel sat across from her.
Eleanor and Maya sat together on the sofa.
Margaret studied Maya.
“You look like her.”
Maya's voice was quiet.
“Rebecca?”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
She looked at Eleanor.
“Her father.”
Eleanor stiffened.
“Charles?”
Margaret nodded.
“Charles Whitmore.”
Maya frowned.
“Why would you know my father?”
Margaret's expression became guarded.
“Because twenty-five years ago, your father came to the clinic.”
The room went silent.
Eleanor leaned forward.
“What did he want?”
Margaret looked at her.
“I think you already know.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “I don't.”
Margaret folded her hands.
“He wanted information.”
“What kind?”
“About your daughter.”
Eleanor's face went pale.
Maya stared at Margaret.
“My father knew?”
Margaret looked at Maya.
“Your father knew much more than that.”
Eleanor stood.
“You're telling me Charles knew where Lily was?”
Margaret didn't answer immediately.
Finally, she said:
“He knew Lily was alive.”
Eleanor covered her mouth.
A sound escaped her that was almost a sob.
“You knew?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I suspected.”
“Suspected?”
“I wasn't part of what happened.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
Margaret looked down.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of whom?”
Margaret looked directly at Eleanor.
“Charles Whitmore.”
Maya stood.
“My grandfather?”
Margaret nodded.
“He had money. Influence. People who owed him favors.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Let's go back to the beginning.”
Margaret nodded.
“Rebecca Carter worked at the clinic. Claire worked there too. Rebecca was a medical records assistant. Claire was a nurse.”
Maya listened.
“Rebecca was good at her job,” Margaret continued. “Quiet. Careful. But she had debts.”
“What kind of debts?” Daniel asked.
“Medical bills. Family expenses. Her husband was unemployed for a while.”
“Daniel?” Maya asked.
Margaret nodded.
“Daniel Carter.”
Maya closed her eyes.
“That's my adoptive father.”
“Yes.”
“Were they poor?”
Margaret hesitated.
“They were struggling.”
Maya nodded.
That part of the story was familiar.
Rebecca had always told her that life was hard but that they had enough.
Margaret continued.
“About a month before the disappearance, Rebecca began receiving money.”
Eleanor stared at her.
“From Charles?”
“We never proved it.”
“But you suspected.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Daniel asked:
“Did Rebecca ever tell you why?”
Margaret looked toward the kitchen.
“She said it was temporary.”
“What was temporary?”
“The arrangement.”
Maya felt cold.
“What arrangement?”
Margaret's eyes filled with sadness.
“She said she was helping someone.”
“Who?”
Margaret looked at Eleanor.
“You.”
Eleanor froze.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
Margaret nodded.
“I know.”
“Explain.”
“Rebecca told me that you were in danger.”
“Danger from whom?”
“Your husband.”
Eleanor stared.
“Charles?”
Margaret nodded.
“She said there was a custody dispute coming.”
“There wasn't.”
“Rebecca believed there would be.”
“Why?”
Margaret sighed.
“Because Charles wanted Lily.”
Maya's heart began pounding.
“Why?”
Margaret looked at her.
“Because of the Whitmore inheritance.”
The explanation came slowly.
Twenty-five years earlier, Charles Whitmore had been the heir to a financial empire.
But there had been a condition attached to his inheritance.
The Whitmore family trust contained a clause.
If Eleanor and Charles had a biological child, that child would become the primary beneficiary of a separate family foundation.
If the child died or could not be located, control would eventually pass to Charles.
At the time, almost nobody knew about the clause.
But Charles knew.
And he wanted control.
Maya stared at Margaret.
“So he took me?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don't know if he personally took you.”
“Then who did?”
“We need Claire.”
“Where is she?”
Margaret looked at Daniel.
“I can tell you where she used to live.”
Daniel nodded.
“We found that address.”
Margaret looked at Maya.
“She left Colorado because she believed someone was following her.”
“Who?”