“Know what?”
Daniel looked at Thomas.
Then at Emily.
Then back at Margaret.
“Your daughter didn't die in that fire.”
Thomas suddenly lunged toward him.
“Enough!”
Daniel didn't move.
“You should have told her twenty-two years ago.”
Thomas's face turned pale.
Margaret whispered:
“Thomas?”
Daniel reached inside his coat.
Thomas stepped back.
But Daniel pulled out a folder.
He handed it to Margaret.
“Read it.”
Margaret opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph of Clara.
A hospital photograph.
The baby was wearing a white blanket.
And on her tiny left hand was a heart-shaped mark.
Margaret's knees weakened.
Under the photograph was a document.
A transfer record.
Female infant.
Born September 14.
Transferred September 16.
Destination:
Saint Anne's Children's Home.
Margaret looked up.
“Who signed this?”
Daniel's eyes filled with tears.
“Your husband's sister.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
And Emily suddenly understood.
The man she had spent twenty-two years believing was a stranger might have been her father.
But the man standing beside Margaret might have known all along.
The Man in the Black Car
Daniel Mercer sat with them in a private room upstairs.
The restaurant manager had closed the room to everyone else.
Emily sat opposite Margaret.
Thomas stood near the window.
Daniel placed another folder on the table.
“There are things you need to understand before you accuse anyone.”
Margaret stared at him.
“I have spent twenty-two years wondering whether my daughter was alive.”
“I know.”
“No, Daniel. You don't know.”
Daniel lowered his eyes.
“You're right.”
Emily looked at him.
“Who are you?”
Daniel hesitated.
“I was a hospital administrator at St. Vincent Medical Center.”
Margaret stared.
“The night of the fire?”
“Yes.”
“You were there?”
“I was.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
Daniel's face tightened.
“Because I was threatened.”
“By whom?”
He looked at Thomas.
Thomas said nothing.
Emily felt a chill.
Daniel continued.
“The fire wasn't an accident.”
Margaret stopped breathing.
“What?”
“The official investigation said faulty wiring.”
“It wasn't?”
“No.”
Daniel opened another folder.
Inside were copies of maintenance reports.
“Three days before the fire, the electrical system was inspected.”
He pointed at a signature.
“Everything was operational.”
Margaret looked at the report.
“Then what caused it?”
“An accelerant.”
Emily leaned forward.
“Someone started the fire?”
Daniel nodded.
“Someone wanted a specific room destroyed.”
Margaret's voice became faint.
“Clara's room.”
Daniel nodded.
“Why?”
“Because your daughter wasn't supposed to survive.”
Silence.
Thomas finally spoke.
“This is speculation.”
Daniel turned toward him.
“No. I have evidence.”
Thomas's expression hardened.
“You have copies of old documents.”
“And an eyewitness.”
“Who?”
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
Then the door opened.
An elderly woman entered.
She wore a gray coat and carried a cane.
Margaret recognized her immediately.
“Eleanor.”
Thomas's sister stopped.
Her eyes went directly to Emily.
For several seconds she couldn't speak.
Emily stared at her.
“You know me.”
Eleanor began crying.
Margaret stood.
“You know her.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I do.”
Thomas stepped toward his sister.
“Eleanor, don't.”
She looked at him.
“You've had twenty-two years.”
Her voice trembled.
“I've had twenty-two years of nightmares.”
Thomas whispered:
“Stop.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“I can't anymore.”
She turned to Emily.
“You were so small.”
Emily's eyes filled.
“Did you take me?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Eleanor sat down.
“The fire began shortly after midnight. I was at Saint Anne's because one of the sisters had called me. She told me there was an emergency.”
Margaret listened.
“She had a baby with her.”
“My baby?”
Eleanor nodded.
“She told me the child had been rescued from the hospital.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Why didn't you bring her to me?”
Eleanor looked at Thomas.
“Because your husband told me you didn't want her.”
Margaret opened her eyes.
“What?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“He said the baby had been exposed to smoke and might have neurological damage. He told me you couldn't handle another tragedy.”
“That is a lie.”
“I know.”
“Why did you believe him?”
“I didn't.”
Margaret stared at her.
“Then why?”
Eleanor began to cry.
“Because Thomas threatened my son.”
Emily's expression changed.
“What?”
Eleanor explained that her teenage son had been involved in an accident.
Thomas had used family connections to keep him out of serious legal trouble.
Then he demanded silence.
“He told me if I said anything, my son would go to prison.”
Margaret looked at Thomas.
“Why?”
Thomas's face was unreadable.
“Because I wanted to protect our family.”
“From what?”
He didn't answer.
Daniel did.
“From the truth.”
Margaret turned toward him.
“What truth?”
Daniel opened the final folder.
Inside was a financial report.
Thomas Ashford had been involved in a massive insurance dispute involving the hospital.
A fire that destroyed certain records would trigger a substantial insurance payment.
But Daniel pointed to another page.
“There was also a confidential adoption arrangement.”
Emily's heart pounded.
Thomas had secretly arranged for the baby to disappear.
Margaret stared at him.
“You sold our daughter?”
Thomas finally spoke.
“No.”
“Then explain.”
He looked exhausted.
“I didn't sell her.”
“What did you do?”
“I gave her to people who could protect her.”
Margaret's voice rose.
“You stole my child!”
Thomas slammed his hand against the table.
“I SAVED HER!”
The room went silent.
Thomas was breathing heavily.
He looked at Emily.
“I knew something was coming.”
Margaret shook her head.
“What was coming?”
“A scandal.”
“What scandal?”
Thomas didn't answer.
Daniel did.
“Thomas had discovered that the hospital was hiding a drug trial involving premature infants.”
Margaret stared.
“What does that have to do with Clara?”
“Your daughter had been included in the trial without proper consent.”
Emily went pale.
Margaret whispered:
“She was experimented on?”
Daniel nodded.
“The fire was intended to destroy the records.”
Thomas said:
“I tried to get her out.”
Margaret looked at him.
“Then why did you tell me she died?”
Thomas's eyes filled with tears.