Chapter 6 - The Photograph Hidden in His Office
I didn't go to Willow Creek Road alone.
I considered it for approximately fourteen seconds before remembering that my last independent adventure had ended with someone trying to force my kitchen window.
Instead, I marched downstairs and knocked on Adrian's office door.
It was almost midnight.
"Come in."
He sat behind a dark wooden desk, reading a document beneath a brass lamp.
I held out my phone.
"Explain this."
He examined the message.
The moment he saw the little girl, his expression changed.
"Where did you get this?"
"Anonymous number. Same person, I assume, who followed us from my apartment."
He enlarged the photograph.
The child looked around six years old.
Dark curls framed a pale face.
Her small fingers clutched a worn stuffed rabbit.
Behind her was a wooden door with a distinctive brass handle shaped like a flower.
"Do you recognize her?" I asked.
"No."
"But you recognize something."
Adrian looked up.
"The necklace."
"What about it?"
"It belonged to Elizabeth Vale."
I sat opposite him.
"Then why would a child be wearing it?"
He didn't answer.
I looked around his office, taking in the shelves, framed certificates, and enormous painting behind his desk.
A smaller photograph stood beside his computer.
In it, Adrian and a young woman were standing at a charity event.
Her dark hair was pulled into an elegant bun.
She wore a silver necklace.
My pulse quickened.
"Is that Elizabeth?"
Adrian followed my gaze.
"Yes."
I stood and approached the photograph.
"You kept her picture?"
"She was a friend."
"Only a friend?"
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"Are you interrogating me about an eleven-year-old photograph?"
"You're avoiding the question."
For a moment, he looked genuinely amused.
Then his expression softened.
"Elizabeth was married to Thomas Vale. They were expecting their first child. She was one of the few people who challenged my father's decisions openly."
I looked at her smiling face.
"Was her husband involved in the company?"
"He worked in financial compliance. After she disappeared, he became convinced that someone had abducted her."
"What happened to him?"
Adrian's expression hardened.
"He died six months later."
"Another accident?"
"Officially, yes."
I sank into the chair.
Two deaths.
One disappearance.
One child in a photograph.
And a foundation carrying the name of a secret project.
I studied the message again.
"Willow Creek Road. Do you know it?"
Adrian opened a property database on his computer.
His fingers stopped moving.
"What?"
He turned the screen toward me.
Seventeen Willow Creek Road was registered to a holding company.
That company belonged to the Nightjar Foundation.
"Of course it does," I muttered.
Marco entered minutes later.
Adrian handed him the information.
"I want this passed to the investigators. We need a welfare check at that address, especially if a child may be inside."
Marco nodded.
"I'll make the calls."
I glanced at Adrian.
"You're not going there yourself?"
"Not without coordination. Someone clearly wants us to react without thinking."
I appreciated the restraint.
But something about the photograph bothered me.
The girl looked frightened, yet her clothing was clean and expensive.
The room behind her appeared well maintained.
It didn't resemble the setting I'd imagined.
Then I noticed something in the bottom-right corner.
A strip of pink paper taped to the wall.
I enlarged the image.
Only three words were visible.
FOR MY EMMA.
My breath caught.
"Adrian."
He leaned closer.
"What is it?"
I pointed.
"That's my father's handwriting."
He looked at me.
"Are you certain?"
"I've been reading his letters since I was a child."
We sat in silence.
Why would a room containing a frightened little girl also contain a message from my father?
I reached into my overnight bag and retrieved the photographs we'd found inside the clock.
I compared the writing.
The slanted capital E.
The unusually long crossbar on the letter A.
Identical.
"Something about this is wrong," I whispered.
Adrian rose and moved toward a locked cabinet behind his desk.
He opened it with a key from his watch chain.
Inside were several document boxes.
He removed one labeled HALCYON — PRIVATE INVESTIGATION.
"I haven't shown you everything," he admitted.
I looked at him sharply.
"Why not?"
"Because some of it concerns my own family, and I wanted independent confirmation before telling you."
"Adrian."
"I know."
He opened the box.
Inside were photographs of warehouses, bank records, and copies of witness statements.
At the bottom lay a small envelope.
He handed it to me.
"Your father left this with me four months before his death."
I stared.
"You said you only recently found his message."
"The final message. This one was different."
"What's inside?"
"I couldn't open it."
I turned the envelope over.
Across the seal were two lines:
Only Emma can decide.
Not even Adrian.
My stomach tightened.
"Why didn't you give me this before?"
"Because I couldn't find you safely. By the time I learned where you worked, I believed someone was watching anyone connected to Daniel."
I opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a birth certificate.
At first, I thought it belonged to Elizabeth's unborn child.
Then I read the name.
LUCY ELIZABETH SHAW.
Date of birth: eleven years earlier.
Mother: Elizabeth Vale.
Father: Daniel Shaw.
I stopped breathing.
"No."
Adrian looked at the document.
His expression was as shocked as mine.
I read the name again.
Daniel Shaw.
My father.
The room seemed to tilt.
"That's impossible."
But attached to the certificate was a handwritten note.
Emma, if you ever find Lucy, please protect her.
May you like
And suddenly, the little girl in the photograph wasn't merely part of a mystery.
She might be my sister.
