Chapter 7: The Man Wearing My Father's Ring
I stared at the photograph until the edges blurred.
The man standing behind Evelyn wore a gold signet ring engraved with the Bennett family crest. My father had worn that ring every day of his life. I remembered its heavy face tapping against his coffee cup at breakfast, the way it flashed beneath the lights at Christmas dinner, and how he once let me try it on when I was little.
It had been buried with him six years ago.
“David,” I whispered, “who is that man?””
My husband took the phone from me.
For several seconds, he didn't speak. Then he zoomed in on the photograph, studying the man's hand.
“No,” he murmured.
“What?””
He backed away from the table.
“That ring belonged to Arthur.””
“I know who it belonged to. I want to know who is wearing it.””
Richard snatched the phone.
He examined the photograph, then swore under his breath.
“That's not possible.””
I was tired of hearing those words.
“Someone explain what is happening!””
Richard set the phone down carefully.
“Arthur had an identical ring made for his attorney. A man named Thomas Voss. He handled the private trusts, the hospital payments, and every document your father wanted kept away from public records.””
“Where is he now?””
Richard hesitated.
“According to the records, he died three years ago.””
I laughed without humor.
“Of course he did.””
Mae sat motionless beside the window, the silver hair clip resting in her palm. She hadn't spoken since David admitted he'd taken one of the babies from the hospital.
Now she looked up.
“Thomas,” she whispered.
We all turned toward her.
“Do you remember him?”” I asked.
She nodded slowly.
“He came to the hospital. He wore a gray suit and carried a black umbrella. He told me my daughter had died.””
Her fingers began to tremble.
“When I asked to see her body, he said the fire had destroyed everything.””
David closed his eyes.
“He lied to you.””
Mae looked at him with an expression so full of pain that I almost looked away.
“You knew that.””
“I suspected it.””
“You let me spend twenty-three years believing my child was dead.””
David had no answer.
Mae stood.
For the first time since she'd entered our house, she didn't look like a frightened woman waiting for someone to tell her what to do.
She looked like a mother who had finally found something worth fighting for.
“Where is he?”” she demanded.
Richard picked up his briefcase.
“If that photograph is recent, Thomas has been alive this entire time. We need to find Evelyn before he moves her.””
“Then let's go,” I said.
David stepped in front of me.
“Claire, you're not going anywhere near that man.””
I stared at him.
“You don't get to protect me from the consequences of your own lies.””
“He's dangerous.””
“So are you, apparently.””
The words struck him hard.
He lowered his head.
“I deserve that.””
“You deserve much worse. But we can discuss it after we get my sister back.””
I grabbed my coat and headed toward the garage.
Richard followed.
Mae reached for the door, but David gently touched her shoulder.
She spun around and slapped his hand away.
“Don't touch me.””
He withdrew immediately.
“I wasn't going to hurt you.””
“You've already hurt me.””
She walked past him.
David remained in the foyer, staring after us.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Then I remembered the hospital records, the stolen babies, and the twenty-three years Mae had spent believing her children were dead.
I kept walking.
Richard drove us toward Hartford in a dark SUV he'd parked behind our house. The sky was bruised purple, and rain streaked the windshield.
Mae sat in the back seat beside me, holding the silver hair clip between her fingers.
“Do you remember the motel?”” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No. But I remember the sound of a train.””
Richard glanced at us in the rearview mirror.
“The old St. Agnes facility was near a freight line. There were several motels nearby.””
“Can you narrow it down?””
He nodded.
“There's one still operating beside the abandoned hospital. The original name was the Hartford Rest Inn.””
I checked the time.
Eleven twenty.
We had forty minutes before midnight.
My phone buzzed.
A message from David.
Please answer. Thomas isn't working alone.
I ignored it.
Another message arrived.
Your father left instructions for this night. If Thomas has Evelyn, he'll want the original records. Don't give him the folder marked E.M.
I stared at the screen.
The folder marked E.M.
The original records were still in the mansion's basement.
I had left them on the table.
“Richard,” I said, “we need to go back.””
He shook his head.
“We don't have time.””
“David says there's a folder Thomas wants.””
Richard's hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“What folder?””
“I don't know. E.M. Something about Evelyn.””
He looked at me through the mirror.
“Don't tell me you believe your husband now.””
“I believe he knows something that might help us save my sister.””
Richard said nothing.
A few minutes later, he pulled into the motel parking lot.
The building stood behind a row of dying maple trees, its neon sign flickering in the rain. Several rooms had boarded-up windows. A rusty ice machine sat beside the office door.
Mae stared at the building.
Then she grabbed my wrist.
“Claire.””
“What is it?””
“I've been here before.””
Her voice shook.
I followed her gaze to Room 17.
The curtains were closed.
A light glowed behind them.
Richard reached beneath his coat and pulled out a small flashlight.
“Stay behind me.””
We crossed the parking lot.
The door to Room 17 stood slightly open.
Inside, a television played silently. A coffee cup sat on the bedside table, still steaming.
Evelyn was gone.
Mae rushed into the room.
“No!””
She searched the bathroom, the closet, and beneath the bed, calling her daughter's name.
I noticed a piece of paper lying beside the telephone.
My name was written across the front.
I opened it.
Claire, if you're reading this, Thomas has taken me to the place where everything began. Don't bring the police. He has someone inside the department.
Beneath the message was an address.
The abandoned St. Agnes Children's Center.
And below that, in a different handwriting, were six words.
Ask your husband who opened the door.
Richard read the note over my shoulder.
His expression changed.
“Who opened what door?”” I asked.
He didn't answer.
I grabbed his sleeve.
“Richard!””
He looked toward Mae, who was still searching the room.
Then he lowered his voice.
“The night of the fire, someone locked the east stairwell from the outside. The hospital's security report named one person who had access to that door.””
“Who?””
Richard looked me straight in the eyes.
“David Bennett.””
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“No.””
“He had a key.””
“He told us he was trying to save Rebecca.””
“Maybe he was. But someone locked that door.””
I stepped away from him.
David had lied about his name, his family, his involvement in the hospital transfer, and the children who had been taken from their mother.
What else had he lied about?
Then I noticed something beneath the bed.
A small black box.
Inside lay a key, a photograph, and a folded hospital report.
The photograph showed a young David standing outside the hospital's east entrance on the night of the fire.
His face was turned toward the camera.
Behind him, smoke poured from a broken window.
On the back, someone had written:
He chose which child would live.
I stared at the words.
Mae appeared beside me.
She took the photograph from my hand.
For a long moment, she simply looked at David's younger face.
Then she whispered, “I remember now.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“He came into my room carrying one baby. He said he would bring the other one back.””
She looked at me.
“But he never did.””
My phone rang.
David's name flashed across the screen.
I answered.
“Tell me the truth,” I said.
His breathing sounded ragged.
“Claire, where are you?””
“At the motel. Evelyn is gone.””
“Listen to me carefully. Thomas is taking her to St. Agnes. You cannot go there.””
“Why?””
“Because he wants you to come.””
I gripped the phone.
“What does he want?””
“The folder marked E.M.””
My stomach tightened.
“What's in it?””
David went silent.
Then he said, “The original record of which twin was born first.””
I looked at Mae.
She was staring at the hospital report, her lips moving as she read the faded words.
Then she looked up at me, horrified.
“Claire,” she whispered, “if this report is real, then you aren't the child your father told everyone you were.””
Before I could respond, David spoke again.
“There's something else. Thomas knows you're coming.””
May you like
His voice broke.
“And he's not planning to let either of you leave.””
