Chapter 5: The Man in the Reflection
Daniel pulled the car to the side of the road so abruptly that my seat belt locked across my chest.
“What do you mean, he's supposed to be in prison?””
He didn't answer.
Instead, he zoomed in on the reflection in my phone, enlarging the shadowy figure behind my father.
The man wore a dark jacket and stood with one hand resting on the back of Richard's chair. His face was partially obscured by the glare from the window, but the shape of his jaw and the scar near his left eyebrow were unmistakable to Daniel.
“That's Marcus Vale,” he finally said.
I searched my memory.
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who is he?””
“A former financial adviser. He worked with your father before Vanessa came into the picture.””
“Why would he be in prison?””
“Fraud. Embezzlement. Falsifying investment records.”” Daniel rubbed a hand over his face.
“He was accused of helping siphon money from several development companies. Your father's company was one of them.””
“Was he convicted?””
“Yes. Three years ago.””
“Then how is he standing in Dad's study?””
Daniel stared at the photograph.
“That's what we're going to find out.””
I grabbed his sleeve.
“Shouldn't we call the police?””
“We should. But first, we need to know whether your father is in immediate danger.””
“He could be!””
“I know.””
“Then why are we sitting here?””
Daniel looked at me, and I saw the exhaustion in his face.
“Because if Vanessa has brought Marcus back into this, she may be trying to force your father to sign something. If we rush in without understanding what she wants, we could make things worse.””
I hated how reasonable that sounded.
I hated even more that I couldn't think of a better plan.
My phone vibrated again.
Another message from the unknown number.
*You have until midnight. Bring the original documents. No police.*
Daniel read it and swore under his breath.
“They know you have the papers.””
“Vanessa must have seen me take them.””
“Possibly. But this number isn't hers.””
“How do you know?””
“Vanessa doesn't threaten people anonymously when she can humiliate them in person.””
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
Then the reality of the situation settled over me again.
My father was somewhere inside that house with a convicted criminal, while my stepmother had threatened to move him somewhere I could never find him.
I looked at the time.
11:17 p.m.
“Where can we get help?”” I asked.
Daniel took out his phone and called someone.
The conversation was brief.
“Yes, it's Daniel Mercer. I need an emergency consultation tonight. Financial fraud, possible coercion, and a potential threat to a family member.””
He listened.
“No, I don't have the original trust agreement yet. I have copies of the transfers and evidence of a possible forgery.””
Another pause.
“Understood. We'll be there in twenty minutes.””
He ended the call.
“My attorney, Catherine Shaw. She specializes in trust disputes and financial misconduct. She's going to meet us at her office.””
“And the police?””
“We'll contact them as soon as Catherine has heard the facts. If your father is in immediate danger, we won't wait.””
I nodded, although every instinct in my body told me to turn the car around.
As we drove toward the city, I kept looking at the photograph.
The man in the reflection seemed almost unreal, a dark figure in a room I had known my entire life.
Then I noticed something else.
The photograph had been taken from outside the study window.
Whoever had sent it had been standing in the garden.
I zoomed in on the lower corner.
A small white mark appeared near the window frame.
It looked like a reflection from a wristwatch.
My father had owned a watch with a silver face and a cracked leather strap for as long as I could remember. He wore it almost every day.
The watch in the reflection was different.
Black.
Square.
I showed Daniel.
“Does Marcus wear a watch like this?””
He glanced at the image.
“I don't know.””
“Then who took the picture?””
“Someone who wanted you to see it.””
“But why?””
Daniel didn't answer.
At 11:39 p.m., we arrived at Catherine Shaw's office in a converted townhouse downtown. Most of the windows were dark, but a light glowed on the second floor.
Catherine met us at the door wearing a gray sweater and black trousers. She was in her early fifties, with short silver-streaked hair and a calm expression that made the chaos of the evening seem almost manageable.
“Daniel,” she said, ushering us inside.
“Tell me everything.””
We sat around a conference table.
I laid out the papers I'd found, including my mother's letter, the photocopies from the wall cavity, and the document Vanessa had tried to make me sign.
Catherine examined each page carefully.
When she reached the declaration, she stopped.
“Did you sign this?””
“No.””
“Good. Did anyone witness Vanessa presenting it to you?””
“Daniel did.””
Catherine nodded and turned to him.
“Can you confirm the circumstances?””
“Absolutely.””
She placed the declaration in a clear folder.
“Keep this. It's important evidence of an attempt to obtain a waiver of her rights.””
Then she examined the transfer records.
“These documents suggest a serious problem,” she said.
“But we need the original trust agreement, the full amendment history, and certified property records before we can establish exactly what happened.””
“Can you freeze the transfers?”” I asked.
“If we establish a credible basis for an urgent court application, we may be able to seek an injunction. But that takes evidence, and time is not on our side.””
“Vanessa says she's taking my father somewhere tomorrow.””
Catherine looked up sharply.
“Did she say where?””
“No.””
“Has your father been diagnosed with a condition that would make him vulnerable to coercion?””
“Not that I know of.””
Daniel leaned forward.
“He had a minor stroke eighteen months ago. He recovered well, but he's been under considerable stress recently.””
Catherine made a note.
“Has anyone independent of Vanessa spoken to him about the trust transfers?””
“No,” Daniel said.
“She controls access to most of his records.””
“Then we need to establish his current condition and whether he's acting freely.””
I took out my phone and showed her the threatening messages.
Catherine's expression hardened.
“This changes things.””
She picked up her own phone.
“I'm contacting the police now. A threat to a family member combined with evidence of possible financial coercion is not something we should handle privately.””
Daniel nodded.
“Agreed.””
While Catherine made the call, I opened the envelope my mother had left.
The brass key lay in my palm.
“There's something else,” I said when she returned.
“My mother mentioned a basement in our first house. She said to look there if the blue folder was missing.””
Catherine studied the key.
“Do you still own that house?””
“No. My parents sold it when I was eight.””
“Do you know who bought it?””
I shook my head.
Daniel took out his phone.
“I might be able to find the old property records.””
He searched for several minutes.
Then he frowned.
“That's strange.””
“What?”” I asked.
“The house was sold to a property company twelve years ago. Then it was transferred twice. The current owner is a company called Northbridge Holdings.””
Catherine leaned over his shoulder.
“Who owns Northbridge?””
Daniel opened another page.
His face changed.
“Marcus Vale.””
Silence fell over the room.
My mother's instructions had pointed directly to a property owned by the same man who was apparently standing in my father's study.
“How could Mom have known?”” I whispered.
Catherine tapped the key gently against the table.
“Perhaps she left something there before she died. Something important enough that someone went to the trouble of acquiring the property.””
“Can we go there?”” I asked.
“Not tonight without a clear plan,” Catherine replied.
“If Marcus is connected to the threat, the house may be monitored. We need to protect you and preserve whatever evidence might exist.””
I looked at the clock.
11:52 p.m.
Eight minutes until midnight.
My phone rang.
The unknown number.
I answered before anyone could stop me.
“Where is my father?””
A man's voice replied.
“Safe for the moment.””
“Let me speak to him.””
“That depends on whether you've brought what we asked for.””
“Who are you?””
“You already know the name.””
“Marcus?””
A low chuckle came through the speaker.
“Your mother was a clever woman, Emily. Clever enough to understand that paper can be more dangerous than a gun.””
I stood.
“What did you do to her?””
The laughter stopped.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then he said, “Ask your father why he never told you how she died.””
My knees weakened.
“My mother died in a car accident.””
“That's the story you were given.””
Daniel rose from his chair.
Catherine motioned for me to put the call on speaker.
I did.
The man continued.
“Bring the original trust agreement to your childhood home. Come alone. If you bring the police, your father will suffer the consequences.””
“You can't threaten me and expect me to obey.””
“Can't I?””
A faint sound came through the phone.
A chair scraping.
Then my father's voice.
“Emily? Don't come here!””
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen.
Catherine immediately began giving instructions to the police dispatcher, explaining the threat and the possibility that my father was being held against his will.
Daniel paced beside the table.
I couldn't move.
My father had told me that my mother died in an ordinary accident. He had sat beside me at her funeral, held me while I cried, and promised that nothing would ever take her place.
Had he lied to me about that, too?
Catherine ended her call and faced me.
“Emily, I need you to understand something. We are not going to follow an anonymous threat blindly. The police are coordinating a response, and we will do everything possible to locate your father.””
“But if he knows something about Mom's death—”
“We'll find out. But we cannot let Marcus control the situation.””
I looked down at the brass key.
For eight years, my mother had been a memory. A photograph. A name I spoke quietly when I missed her.
Now the past was reaching into the present, and every person who claimed to have loved her seemed to be hiding something.
At 11:58 p.m., Daniel received a message.
He read it once.
Then again.
“Emily,” he said slowly, “you need to see this.””
He turned his phone toward me.
It was a photograph of the basement in our first house.
The room was empty except for a wooden workbench and a small metal cabinet.
On the cabinet sat a blue folder.
Beside it was a handwritten note.
*The truth is inside. But only one of you is allowed to leave with it.*
I stared at the image.
Then I noticed a second detail.
Pinned to the wall above the cabinet was a photograph of my mother.
She was standing beside a man in a dark suit.
The same scar ran across his left eyebrow.
May you like
Marcus Vale had known my mother long before he met my father.
And whatever she had hidden in that basement was important enough for him to come back for it.
