Chapter 6 - THE BOY WHO KNEW MY NAME
The boy's name was Evan.
Seven years old.
He lived in a small therapeutic foster home outside Richmond.
And according to the records, Isaac Vance had been paying for his care for six months.
I couldn't understand it.
“Why would Isaac help a child?”
Marcus looked at the payment records.
“Because someone told him to.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
Noah looked at me.
“We can find out without involving the boy.”
I nodded.
That mattered.
Whatever the truth was, Evan had done nothing wrong.
Two hours later, we were in Richmond.
The foster home was modest.
A yellow house.
Small garden.
Wind chimes near the porch.
A woman named Denise met us at the door.
She had kind eyes and the cautious expression of someone accustomed to protecting children from adults with complicated stories.
“We're here about Evan.”
She looked at me.
“You're Flora?”
I froze.
“How do you know my name?”
Denise hesitated.
“Evan knows it.”
My heart tightened.
“Why?”
“He has a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
She led us into the living room.
Evan was sitting at a small table drawing.
He looked up.
His eyes moved to me.
He stared.
Then he stood.
“You're her.”
My throat tightened.
“Who?”
“Flora.”
He said my name like he had known it forever.
I crouched several feet away.
“Hi, Evan.”
He smiled cautiously.
“I've seen you.”
“Where?”
He pointed to his drawing.
“My picture.”
I looked down.
He had drawn five men.
One woman.
And a little boy.
“Who are these people?”
He pointed.
“Those are the brothers.”
My heart stopped.
“Which brothers?”
“The Sterling brothers.”
Noah slowly sat down.
“Who told you about us?”
Evan shrugged.
“Mr. Isaac.”
I looked at Noah.
Isaac had known about Evan.
But why?
I sat beside the table.
“Evan, do you know why Isaac helped you?”
The boy nodded.
“He said my mom wanted me safe.”
“Who is your mom?”
He looked confused.
“I don't know.”
Denise stepped forward.
“We have no confirmed maternal information in his file.”
I looked at Evan.
“What do you call your mother?”
“Mom.”
His answer was simple.
Painfully simple.
He opened a small wooden box.
Inside was a photograph.
A young woman holding a baby.
I recognized her.
I nearly dropped the picture.
It was my mother.
But she was holding an infant I had never seen.
Noah stared over my shoulder.
“Flora…”
I couldn't speak.
On the back was a date.
Seven years before my father died.
And three words.
Protect our son.
I looked at Evan.
“No.”
He watched me.
“What's wrong?”
I forced a smile.
“Nothing.”
But everything was wrong.
My mother had another child.
A son.
And if the photograph was genuine, he was seven years younger than me.
Noah looked at Denise.
“Do you know the identity of the child's biological father?”
She shook her head.
“No confirmed record.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“Then we need to determine how this photograph entered the file.”
Denise nodded.
“I can show you the intake records.”
We reviewed them.
There was no mother listed.
No father.
No family contact.
Only one emergency contact.
Isaac Vance.
I stared at the name.
“Why was my husband listed?”
Denise looked uncomfortable.
“He said he was responsible for the child's financial care.”
“Did he ever visit?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Every few months.”
“What did he tell Evan?”
Denise hesitated.
“That his family would come for him when it was safe.”
My heart broke.
“Did he ever say when?”
“No.”
Evan tugged at my sleeve.
I turned.
“Do you know me?”
He nodded.
“Mr. Isaac showed me your picture.”
“When?”
“A long time ago.”
“How long?”
He thought.
“Before my seventh birthday.”
I looked at Noah.
“Why would he show you my picture?”
Evan reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small bracelet.
It was silver.
With a tiny engraved flower.
My mother's bracelet.
The one I thought had disappeared.
I stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“Mr. Isaac gave it to me.”
“Why?”
“He said it belonged to my family.”
My hands began shaking.
The bracelet contained the old security charm.
The same one used to access the Sterling archive.
But now I understood something else.
Isaac hadn't stolen it for himself.
He had given it to Evan.
“Did he tell you what the bracelet does?”
Evan shook his head.
“He said it was a promise.”
“A promise of what?”
“That nobody would forget me.”
I couldn't breathe.
Noah knelt beside him.
“Evan, do you know who your father is?”
The boy looked at him.
Then pointed at the photograph.
“The man beside Mom.”
I looked.
My mother was holding the baby.
Beside her stood a young man.
My father.
But there was something wrong.
The baby looked nothing like my father.
Marcus enlarged the image.
Then he looked at me.
“Flora.”
“What?”
“This photograph is not seven years old.”
“What do you mean?”
“The film stock is older.”
He checked the edges.
“This was printed recently from an older negative.”
My stomach turned.
“Then who created it?”
Marcus looked at the photograph.
“Someone who had access to your father's archive.”
Evan suddenly spoke.
“Mr. Isaac said I should give you this if you came.”
He reached beneath the table.
Pulled out an envelope.
My name was written on it.
I opened it.
Inside was a bus ticket.
Richmond to Raleigh.
Tomorrow morning.
And beneath it was a handwritten sentence.
Ask Claire Bennett why she knows the Sterling family.
I stared at the words.
Claire Bennett.
A name I had never heard.
Noah took the ticket.
Marcus looked at the date.
“Tomorrow.”
Caleb frowned.
“Someone expects us to go.”
I nodded.
Then Evan asked softly,
“Are you my family?”
I looked at him.
For the first time that night, I didn't know what to say.
So I told him the truth.
“I don't know yet.”
His face fell.
I reached across the table.
“But I'm going to find out.”
Evan took my hand.
His fingers were tiny.
Warm.
He squeezed once.
Then he whispered,
“Mr. Isaac said you would.”
I looked toward the window.
Outside, a black car had stopped across the street.
Caleb stood immediately.
The vehicle pulled away.
But not before I saw the passenger.
May you like
Clover.
And she was holding another photograph.
