Chapter 6
I stared at the photograph until my eyes burned.
Amara.
Alive.
Somewhere.
I enlarged the picture.
There was a small scar near her eyebrow.
I remembered how she got it.
We had been twenty-four.
She tripped while carrying groceries into our first apartment.
She laughed even while I panicked.
The scar had always been there.
And now I could see it.
My wife was alive.
I called Agent Foster immediately.
She instructed me not to respond to the threat.
I forwarded the message and photograph.
Within an hour, investigators were examining the image.
They found details suggesting it had been taken inside a medical facility.
A wall sign.
A window design.
A partial reflection in the glass.
The image alone couldn't prove the location.
But Nathan's reference to Saint Catherine's gave them somewhere to start.
I wanted to drive there immediately.
Dana told me not to.
"If the people involved believe you're approaching, they may move her again."
I hated every word.
But I stayed.
That night, I sat beside Lily's bed.
She had been quiet since dinner.
Malik had returned to Rose's house with Andre nearby.
Lily held the old photograph of them dancing.
"Daddy?"
I looked up.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Are you sad?"
I swallowed.
"A little."
She touched my hand.
"Because of Mommy?"
I stared at her.
She was ten years old.
She had already experienced more grief than most adults.
I didn't want to give her false hope.
But I couldn't keep lying through silence.
"Sweetheart, we're learning some things about what happened."
Her eyes widened.
"What things?"
I took a breath.
"There's a chance Mommy survived the accident."
Lily went completely still.
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Then she whispered, "What?"
I squeezed her hand.
"We don't know everything yet."
Her eyes filled.
"Is she alive?"
"I think she may be."
She covered her mouth.
Then began crying.
I pulled her into my arms.
"Daddy, where is she?"
"We're trying to find her."
"Did she forget me?"
My heart broke.
"No, baby."
"Then why didn't she come home?"
I swallowed.
"I think someone stopped her."
Lily pressed her face against my chest.
For a long time, she cried.
I held her.
Then she whispered something that stunned me.
"I remember the hospital."
I pulled back.
"What?"
"After the accident."
I stared at her.
"Tell me."
She looked frightened.
"There was a lady."
"What lady?"
"She was wearing blue."
I waited.
"She told me Mommy was sleeping."
My heart pounded.
"What else?"
"She said I couldn't see her."
I felt cold.
Lily closed her eyes.
"Then Uncle Nathan came."
I tightened my grip on her hand.
"What did he say?"
"He told me Mommy had gone away."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I kept asking when she was coming back."
I couldn't speak.
"And he said never."
I pulled her into my arms again.
"I'm so sorry."
She shook her head.
"I thought it was a dream."
I kissed her forehead.
"It wasn't your fault."
She looked up.
"Will Mommy still love me in my wheelchair?"
The question nearly destroyed me.
I held her face gently.
"Lily, your mother loves you because you're her daughter."
She looked down.
"But I'm different now."
"You're still Lily."
Her lips trembled.
"Really?"
"Always."
She leaned against me.
And I promised myself that when Amara came home, nobody would ever make our daughter question that love again.
The following morning, Dana called.
Investigators had identified a possible connection between Saint Catherine's and Victor Price.
The facility was privately operated through a company tied to one of his former business partners.
They were seeking the necessary legal authority to inspect records and locate Amara.
Meanwhile, Nathan had disappeared.
His phone was off.
His office was empty.
His apartment had been cleared of several personal items.
I felt a sick sense of familiarity.
It reminded me of the days after Amara vanished.
Except now I had evidence.
And people who believed me.
Two days later, Dana called again.
"We located an employee willing to speak."
My heart accelerated.
"About Amara?"
"Yes."
"Is she there?"
"The employee says a patient using another name was transferred recently."
I gripped the phone.
"Transferred where?"
"We're verifying that."
I closed my eyes.
"Please don't tell me we've lost her again."
Dana's voice softened.
"We're still following the trail."
That evening, Charles came to my house.
He carried a folder.
"Marcus, there's something else."
I looked at him.
"What?"
He placed several documents on the table.
"They involve the foundation."
I frowned.
"More stolen money?"
"Yes. But there's a pattern."
He showed me a series of transfers.
Each occurred shortly before important events in my life.
The month Amara disappeared.
The month I sold our old house.
The month Lily began rehabilitation.
And the week of the gala.
I stared.
"Why would they keep using the foundation?"
Charles looked serious.
"Because Nathan still had financial authority."
I felt sick.
"He was stealing while helping me raise money for injured children?"
Charles nodded.
"Investigators believe significant funds were diverted."
I stared at the amounts.
Money donors believed was helping children buy wheelchairs.
Receive therapy.
Pay medical bills.
Money that could have changed lives.
My brother had helped steal it.
I felt ashamed.
Not because I had knowingly allowed it.
Because it happened under my name.
I stood.
"Freeze everything."
Charles nodded.
"We've already begun working with the bank and investigators."
I looked toward Lily's room.
"Those families trusted us."
"I know."
"We have to make it right."
"We will."
That night, I made a decision.
If I ever got Amara back, I wouldn't simply rebuild our family.
I would rebuild the foundation properly.
Every dollar would be accounted for.
Every family would know where the money went.
And no one, not even someone carrying my last name, would ever be allowed to use vulnerable children as a source of profit again.
The next morning, Malik arrived with Rose.
He carried a folded piece of paper.
"Mr. Bennett?"
I turned.
"What is it, son?"
He looked nervous.
"I remembered something."
I crouched beside him.
"Tell me."
"The day before the accident, Miss Amara gave me something."
My heart accelerated.
"What?"
"A letter."
"Where is it?"
He looked at Rose.
She nodded gently.
Malik unfolded the paper.
It was a child's drawing.
Two stick figures dancing.
A yellow sun.
A blue house.
And beneath the picture, written in Amara's handwriting, was a sentence.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS, REMEMBER WHERE WE DANCED.
I stared at the drawing.
"Where did you dance?"
Malik pointed at the blue house.
"At Grandma's old place."
I looked at Rose.
She nodded.
"We moved after the accident."
My pulse quickened.
"Is the house still there?"
"Yes."
I stood.
"Then we need to go."
But Malik grabbed my sleeve.
"Wait."
I looked down.
He swallowed.
"There's something else about that house."
"What?"
His eyes filled.
"Miss Amara hid a box under the floor."
I felt my heart stop.
"Did she tell you what was inside?"
Malik shook his head.
"No."
May you like
Then he looked directly at me.
"But she said it was the only thing that could bring her home."
