Richard reached for a folder on the table.
His hand trembled.
He opened it.
Inside were several documents.
Medical reports.
Photographs.
A DNA test.
Emma's heart began beating faster.
“What is this?”
Richard looked directly at her.
“I asked my people to find you.”
“Why?”
“Because when I woke up in the hospital, I remembered something.”
“What?”
“That I had spent twenty years looking for someone.”
Emma stared at him.
“Who?”
Richard slid a photograph across the table.
Emma looked down.
And stopped breathing.
The photograph showed a little girl.
Perhaps four years old.
She was standing beside a woman near a beach.
The child had dark brown hair.
Bright eyes.
A small smile.
Emma's hands began trembling.
She looked closer.
There was a tiny birthmark near the girl's chin.
The exact same birthmark Emma had.
“No.”
Richard said nothing.
Emma looked at him.
“Who is she?”
Richard's eyes filled with tears.
“My daughter.”
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
Richard reached for another document.
“The DNA test was completed tonight.”
Emma stared at the papers.
“Why would you test my DNA?”
Richard's voice broke.
“Because I suspected.”
Emma's mind raced.
“This doesn't make sense.”
Richard slowly pushed the report toward her.
The conclusion was unmistakable.
Probability of parent-child relationship: 99.9998%.
Emma's vision blurred.
“No.”
Richard whispered:
“Emma…”
She looked up.
“You're my daughter.”
The room seemed to disappear.
The fireplace.
The furniture.
The ocean.
Everything.
Emma could hear only her own heartbeat.
“My father died when I was six.”
“I know.”
“My mother raised me.”
“I know.”
“My name has always been Emma Carter.”
“I know.”
“Then you're wrong.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“I wish I were.”
Emma stood.
“This is impossible.”
“Your mother changed your name.”
“Why?”
Richard looked at the photograph.
“Because twenty years ago, someone stole you from me.”
Emma felt cold.
“Stole me?”
“During a custody battle.”
“Who?”
Richard didn't answer immediately.
Then his expression changed.
Fear replaced sadness.
Before Emma could ask another question, a violent crack shattered the window.
Glass exploded across the room.
Emma screamed.
Richard collapsed.
Security alarms began blaring.
Someone shouted outside.
Emma dropped to the floor.
“Mr. Weston!”
Blood spread across Richard's white shirt.
Then a figure stepped from the shadows near the hallway.
A woman.
She was holding a gun.
Her face was covered by a black mask.
Emma froze.
The woman pointed the weapon directly at her.
Then she slowly removed the mask.
Emma stared.
Her entire body went numb.
It was her mother.
Lisa Carter.
And her mother whispered:
“You were never supposed to find out.”
The Woman Behind the Mask
For a few seconds, Emma couldn't move.
She simply stared.
The woman holding the gun was older than the mother Emma remembered.
Her hair was streaked with gray.
Her face was thinner.
There were lines around her eyes that Emma had never noticed.
But there was no mistaking her.
“Mom?”
Lisa's hand trembled.
“Emma.”
Richard groaned on the floor.
Emma turned toward him.
Blood covered his shirt.
“Help him!”
Lisa shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
“You shot him!”
“I didn't mean to kill him.”
“You shot him!”
Security guards were shouting somewhere beyond the hallway.
Lisa stepped closer.
“Emma, listen to me.”
“No.”
“Listen!”
Emma backed away.
“Put the gun down.”
Lisa's eyes filled with tears.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because if I do, they will kill you.”
“Who?”
Lisa looked toward the doorway.
“Everyone.”
Then the mansion lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
A second later, emergency lights flickered red along the hallway.
Security personnel rushed toward the study.
Lisa disappeared.
Emma heard footsteps.
Then a voice.
“Ms. Carter, get down!”
She dropped beside Richard.
A security officer ran into the room.
“Is he alive?”
“I don't know!”
The man checked Richard's pulse.
“He's alive.”
Another guard entered.
“Where's the shooter?”
“Gone.”
They searched the room.
There was no sign of Lisa.
No broken door.
No open window large enough for a person.
Nothing.
It was as if she had disappeared into the walls.
Richard survived surgery.
The bullet had passed through his upper shoulder.
It had missed his heart by less than an inch.
Emma spent the night in the hospital.
She refused to leave.
Detectives questioned her repeatedly.
“What did the shooter say?”
Emma answered.
“She said she was my mother.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Why would your mother shoot Richard Weston?”
“I don't know.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don't know.”
The detectives exchanged looks.
One of them placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Lisa Carter twenty years earlier.
Emma stared at it.
Her mother had looked younger.
But there was another detail.
Standing beside her was a man Emma didn't recognize.
“Who's that?”
The detective looked at her.
“That's Daniel Carter.”
Emma's father.
She knew him from photographs.
He had died in a car accident when Emma was six.
“Why is he here?”
“Because this photograph was taken two months before your father died.”
Emma stared.
“So?”
The detective pointed to the background.
“Look at the license plate.”
Emma leaned closer.
A black Mercedes was parked behind them.
The plate was partially visible.
“What's important about it?”
“That Mercedes belonged to Richard Weston.”
Emma felt her stomach twist.
“Why would my father know him?”
“We don't know yet.”
The detective paused.
“That's what we're trying to find out.”
Richard woke the next morning.
Emma was sitting beside his bed.
He opened his eyes.
“You're still here.”
“Where else would I go?”
He tried to smile.
“Your mother.”
Emma's expression hardened.
“Tell me everything.”
Richard looked at the ceiling.
“I met your mother twenty-five years ago.”
“How?”
“She worked for one of my companies.”
“Doing what?”
“Legal administration.”
Emma frowned.
“My mother told me she was a secretary.”
“She wasn't.”
“What happened?”
Richard sighed.
“I was married at the time.”
“To my mother?”
“No.”
“Then who?”