Chapter 4 - THE TRUTH ABOUT MY DAUGHTER'S DISAPPEARANCE
The police wanted me to stay at the station.
I refused.
Not because I didn't trust them.
Because I knew something they didn't.
Florence knew my habits.
She knew my home.
She knew my office.
She knew my daughter's apartment.
She knew my family.
She even knew which restaurants I preferred.
If Christina was alive, whoever had her might expect me to follow the obvious path.
I wasn't going to.
Martin drove.
Detective Grant followed in an unmarked vehicle.
Leo stayed with my longtime housekeeper, Mrs. Collins, who had cared for him since he was born.
Before leaving the station, Grant had given me one instruction.
“If Florence contacts you, don't meet her alone.”
I promised.
Then my phone rang.
Florence.
I stared at the screen.
Martin looked at me.
“Don't answer.”
I answered.
“Jonathan.”
Her voice was soft.
Almost broken.
“Where is my daughter?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“Please.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“I can explain everything.”
“You had two years.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“From what?”
“From people you don't know.”
“You mean the people you're working with?”
Silence.
“Florence.”
“I made mistakes.”
“Where is Christina?”
“I don't know.”
“Then there's nothing left to discuss.”
“Jonathan, wait.”
I almost hung up.
Then she said,
“Your daughter is alive.”
I froze.
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Where is she?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because if I do, they'll kill her.”
I looked at Martin.
His expression changed.
“Who?”
Florence whispered,
“Thomas.”
Then the call ended.
I immediately gave the phone to Grant.
He listened to the recording.
“We'll trace it.”
“Can you?”
“Maybe.”
Five minutes later, we had a location.
A parking garage near Navy Pier.
We arrived twenty minutes later.
The garage was nearly empty.
Concrete pillars.
Flickering lights.
Rows of abandoned cars.
Grant drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
We moved slowly.
Then I heard a voice.
“Dad?”
I stopped.
“Christina?”
She stepped from behind a concrete pillar.
Her face was bruised.
Her left wrist was wrapped in cloth.
But she was alive.
I ran toward her.
She collapsed into my arms.
“Oh, Dad.”
I held her like she was still a little girl.
“I thought I lost you.”
“I thought I was never going to see you again.”
I pulled back.
“Where were you?”
“Florence's people took me.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
“Thomas and two others.”
“Why?”
“Because I found the records.”
“What records?”
She looked at Grant.
“The original plan.”
“What plan?”
She swallowed.
“To take everything from you.”
She reached into her coat.
And pulled out another USB drive.
“This is the real one.”
I stared at it.
“The one Leo gave me?”
“That's only part of it.”
“Why did you split them?”
“Because I knew they might search me.”
She looked toward the garage entrance.
“I hid the second drive with Rebecca.”
My heart tightened.
“Rebecca?”
Christina nodded.
“She helped me.”
Everything suddenly made sense.
My sister hadn't been jealous of Florence.
She had been suspicious.
She had been trying to protect Christina.
“Where is Rebecca now?”
Christina looked away.
“I don't know.”
Grant stepped forward.
“When did you last see her?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“Was she afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Did she mention Thomas?”
Christina nodded.
“She said she had proof that he was working with Florence.”
I looked at Martin.
“Then we need to find Rebecca.”
Christina grabbed my sleeve.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Florence wasn't the person who started this.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Someone hired her.”
“Who?”
She shook her head.
“I never found out.”
Then she whispered,
“But I found a name.”
She handed me a folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
One name was written there.
EDWARD PRESCOTT.
My father's name.
I stared at it.
“That can't be.”
Christina shook her head.
“I know.”
“My father died fifteen years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why is his name here?”
She looked at me.
“Because the plan started before you inherited the company.”
My mind raced.
My father had always been strict.
Private.
Demanding.
But he loved our family.
At least I thought he did.
Martin took the paper.
His expression changed.
“Jonathan…”
“What?”
“This isn't your father's signature.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“This is a signature stamp.”
“Meaning?”
“Someone forged his approval.”
I felt relief for half a second.
Then it disappeared.
Because beneath the signature was another name.
MATTHEW PRESCOTT.
My older brother.
Dead for twenty years.
I stared at the paper.
“My brother died when he was thirty-two.”
Christina whispered,
“That's what everyone was told.”
The garage suddenly seemed colder.
Grant looked at her.
“Are you saying your uncle is alive?”
“I don't know.”
“But you found evidence?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Bank records.”
She pulled out several printed pages.
An offshore account.
The beneficiary was listed as:
M. Prescott.
The account had been receiving money for twenty years.
Twenty years.
My entire adult life.
My marriage.
My career.
My children's lives.
Everything.
I had spent decades believing my brother was dead.
And now I was looking at evidence that someone using his identity had been moving money around the world.
Then my phone rang again.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice said,
“Jonathan.”
I knew that voice.
I had heard it only once.
At my father's funeral.
A distant family friend.
But now I recognized it.
“Who are you?”
The man laughed.
“You really don't remember me?”
“Tell me where Rebecca is.”
“She is safe.”
“For now.”
I clenched my fist.
“What do you want?”
“Your signature.”
“For what?”
“The Prescott Trust.”
I looked at Christina.
She immediately understood.
The man continued.
“Sign control over the trust, and everyone you love walks away.”
“And if I don't?”
“You already know what happens to people who refuse.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Christina was crying.
“Dad…”
I put my arm around her.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“We're not giving them anything.”
“But they have Rebecca.”
“And they think that makes us weak.”
I looked at the two USB drives.
Then at my daughter's bruised face.
Then at the name of my supposedly dead brother.
“They made one mistake.”
“What?”
“They told me what they want.”
May you like
I smiled.
“And now we know exactly where to hurt them.”
