Chapter4
1837 Words
THE MISSING DAUGHTER
Michael didn't sleep.
He sat on the edge of his bed until the sky outside his window slowly changed from black to grey.
The message was still on his mind.
You want to know what happened to your sister?
He had read it so many times that the words no longer looked real.
His sister.
He had never had a sister.
At least, that was what he had always believed.
Growing up, there had been five brothers in the Williams family. Their father had never mentioned another child. Their mother had never spoken about one.
Even the family photographs showed only the five boys.
So how could there be a sister?
Michael picked up his phone again.
The unknown number was still there.
He typed a message.
Who are you?
He stared at the screen.
Then pressed send.
No response.
He waited.
One minute.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Nothing.
He threw the phone onto his bed.
"Forget it."
But he couldn't.
Something about the message felt different from the other threats surrounding his family.
It wasn't simply meant to frighten him.
It was meant to make him search.
And Michael knew exactly where he needed to start.
His father's study.
---
At 7:15 a.m., Michael walked quietly through the hallway.
The house was still asleep.
Or at least, he hoped it was.
He reached the study and tried the door.
Locked.
He looked around.
Nobody was there.
He pulled a small metal object from his pocket.
A paper clip.
His father had taught him how to open simple locks when he was a child.
Back then, it had been a game.
Now, he wished he had never learned.
After several attempts, the lock clicked.
Michael opened the door.
The study was dark.
He switched on the lamp.
Everything looked exactly as it had the previous evening.
The desk.
The bookshelves.
The large leather chair.
His father's old clock.
Michael walked toward the desk.
He began opening drawers.
Nothing.
Documents.
Pens.
Business cards.
Receipts.
Then he found a small wooden box.
He recognized it immediately.
His father had kept important personal items inside it.
Michael tried to open it.
Locked.
"Of course."
He searched the desk again.
Nothing.
Then he remembered something.
His father always kept a spare key inside the grandfather clock.
Michael hurried toward it.
He opened the small compartment beneath the clock.
There it was.
A tiny silver key.
He returned to the box.
The key fit.
Click.
The box opened.
Inside was a collection of old photographs.
Michael picked them up one by one.
His hands began shaking.
There were pictures of Chad as a child.
Stephen.
Prince.
Matthew.
Then Michael.
He kept searching.
At the bottom was a photograph he had never seen before.
A little girl.
She couldn't have been more than three years old.
She was sitting on Richard Williams' lap.
And he was smiling.
Not the businessman's smile.
Not the smile he used at charity events.
A genuine smile.
Michael stared at the photograph.
On the back was a name.
Amara.
He whispered it.
"Amara."
His sister had a name.
And his father had loved her.
At least once.
Michael turned the photograph over again.
There was something written beneath the name.
My little girl.
His eyes filled with tears.
Then he noticed something else.
A date.
Twenty-two years ago.
Michael's heart raced.
He grabbed his phone and took a picture of the photograph.
Suddenly—
Footsteps.
Michael froze.
Someone was coming.
He quickly returned the photograph to the box, closed it, and hid the key.
The door opened.
Chad stood there.
The two brothers stared at each other.
"What are you doing here?" Chad asked.
Michael forced a smile.
"Couldn't sleep."
"At seven in the morning?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
Chad stepped into the room.
His eyes moved toward the wooden box.
Michael noticed.
"You know about this?"
Chad didn't answer.
Michael's expression hardened.
"Who is Amara?"
Chad's face changed.
Michael knew immediately.
He had his answer.
"You know her."
Chad looked toward the door.
"Keep your voice down."
"Why?"
"Because you don't know what you're getting yourself into."
"She's our sister."
Chad stepped closer.
"Michael, listen to me."
"No."
"You need to forget about her."
"Why?"
"Because Dad wanted it that way."
Michael laughed.
"Our father is dead, Chad."
"I know."
"So why are you still protecting his secrets?"
Chad's jaw tightened.
"Because some secrets don't die with the people who keep them."
Michael stared at him.
"What happened to her?"
Chad looked away.
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You knew about her."
"Yes."
"Then tell me."
Chad remained silent.
Michael grabbed his arm.
"Tell me!"
Chad pulled away.
"She was taken away."
Michael froze.
"By who?"
"I don't know."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"Why?"
Chad's voice dropped.
"Because Dad believed she was in danger."
Michael stared at him.
"From who?"
Chad looked him directly in the eyes.
"I don't know."
A sound came from the hallway.
Both brothers turned.
Nobody was there.
When they looked back at each other, Chad was already walking toward the door.
"Forget Amara."
Michael shook his head.
"No."
Chad stopped.
"I'm going to find her."
Chad didn't turn around.
"Then be prepared for what you find."
He walked away.
Michael remained in the study.
His eyes fell on the wooden box.
He knew one thing now.
His father had lied to them.
For twenty-two years.
---
Across town, Detective Chris sat in his office studying the birth record.
The document had been issued twenty-two years ago.
The mother's name was Margaret Williams.
Richard Williams' wife.
But the father's name was different.
Daniel Carter.
Chris stared at the name.
"Daniel Carter."
He searched his database.
Nothing.
He searched again.
Still nothing.
Chris frowned.
Someone had gone to great lengths to erase this man.
He called Maya.
"Find me everything you can on Daniel Carter."
"Who is he?"
"That's what I want to know."
"Was he connected to Richard Williams?"
"Possibly."
"And the daughter?"
"Her name is Amara."
Maya paused.
"Amara Williams?"
"That's what we're trying to determine."
"Does Richard's wife know about her?"
Chris looked at the birth record.
"She was the mother."
"Then she definitely knows."
"Exactly."
Chris stood.
"I'm going back to the mansion."
---
At the Williams estate, Naomi sat alone in the chapel.
The small room had been built by Richard years earlier.
He had always claimed it was for family prayers.
Naomi knew better.
It was where Richard went when he needed to think.
She opened her Bible.
A folded piece of paper fell from between the pages.
She stared at it.
She didn't remember putting it there.
Slowly, she unfolded it.
There was only one sentence.
Amara is alive.
Naomi's breathing stopped.
She looked around the room.
Nobody.
She turned the paper over.
Nothing.
Her hands trembled.
Amara was alive.
For twenty-two years, everyone had believed she was gone.
But someone knew where she was.
Naomi quickly folded the paper and put it inside her Bible.
Then she heard footsteps.
She looked up.
Matthew stood at the doorway.
"Naomi?"
She smiled quickly.
"Yes?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Praying."
Matthew looked at her.
"You've been acting strangely."
"I'm worried."
"About Dad?"
"About everything."
Matthew stepped inside.
"Do you know something?"
Naomi looked away.
"No."
"You're lying."
She looked at him.
"Matthew—"
"You lied to the police yesterday."
"I told them the truth."
"You said you didn't know anything about my father."
Naomi's eyes filled with tears.
"I didn't say I knew nothing."
Matthew stepped closer.
"Then tell me."
She opened her mouth.
But before she could speak, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a distorted voice spoke.
"Tell your husband the truth."
Naomi froze.
"What truth?"
"You know."
The call ended.
Matthew stared at her.
"Who was that?"
"No one."
"Naomi."
She stood.
"I need to go."
Matthew grabbed her wrist.
"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's happening."
She looked at him with tears in her eyes.
"I am trying to protect you."
"From what?"
She whispered:
"From your family."
---
Detective Chris arrived at the mansion twenty minutes later.
He found Matthew outside the chapel.
"Detective."
"Where's your wife?"
"I don't know."
Chris noticed the tension in his face.
"Is something wrong?"
"My wife is hiding something."
Chris's expression changed.
"About the murder?"
"I don't know."
Chris looked toward the chapel.
"Where is she?"
"She left."
"When?"
"Just now."
Chris immediately pulled out his phone.
"Call her."
Matthew did.
No answer.
Chris looked at him.
"Don't tell her I'm asking about her."
"Why?"
"Because if she's hiding something, I want her to reveal it herself."
---
Meanwhile, Naomi sat inside a taxi.
Her hands were shaking.
She opened her Bible.
The note was still there.
Amara is alive.
She stared at it.
Then her phone vibrated.
Another message.
You have until midnight.
Her heart raced.
Another message followed.
Tell them where she is, or another Williams will die.
Naomi covered her mouth.
"No."
She looked out of the window.
The city moved around her, completely unaware that a family's darkest secret was about to explode.
---
Back at the mansion, Chris entered Richard's study.
He walked directly to the desk.
Something bothered him.
The previous search had been too clean.
Whoever had entered the room hadn't simply been looking for money.
They had been looking for something specific.
Chris opened the drawers.
Nothing.
He checked the shelves.
Nothing.
Then he noticed a tiny scratch beneath the desk.
He crouched.
There was a hidden compartment.
Chris pressed the wooden panel.
It opened.
Inside was a small envelope.
He pulled it out.
His name was written on the front.
FOR DETECTIVE CHRIS.
Chris stared at it.
Someone had known he would investigate the murder.
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Richard Williams standing beside a young woman.
The woman was holding a baby.
On the back was a handwritten message.
Chris read it slowly.
The murder didn't begin with Richard.
He turned the photograph over again.
His eyes widened.
The young woman was Margaret Williams.
And the baby was Amara.
But standing beside them was another man.
Daniel Carter.
Chris stared at his face.
He finally understood why the name had been erased.
Daniel Carter wasn't a stranger.
He was the man Richard Williams had spent twenty-two years trying to hide.
And if the photograph was real, then the biggest secret in the Williams family wasn't the murder.
It was the identity of Amara's father.
Chris slipped the photograph into his evidence folder.
Then his phone rang.
"Detective Chris?"
"Yes?"
The voice on the other end was trembling.
"I know who killed Richard Williams."
Chris stood immediately.
"Who?"
There was a pause.
Then the caller whispered:
"One of his sons."
The line went dead.
Chris stared at his phone.
Five sons.
Five secrets.
One murder.
And now, someone was ready to point the finger.
TO BE CONTINUED...
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD