Chapter 4 - Rachel's Name
Rachel Vance had supposedly died in a car accident.
That was everything I knew.
Daniel said it happened on a rainy night outside Portland. He had told the story only once, early in our relationship.
After that, he refused to discuss it.
I had respected his grief.
Now respect felt dangerously similar to ignorance.
Marcus found the public records.
Rachel had indeed died after a single-car collision.
But there were details Daniel had omitted.
She had filed for divorce seventeen days earlier.
I stared at the screen.
“No.”
Marcus turned it toward me.
Petitioner: Rachel Anne Vance.
Respondent: Daniel Thomas Vance.
The petition had been dismissed after her death.
My skin prickled.
“What was the divorce about?”
“The public filing doesn't say.”
“Can we find out?”
“Possibly.”
I thought of Sophie’s note.
Ask what happened to my mom.
“Do it.”
Marcus contacted an investigator in Oregon.
Meanwhile, the embassy process for replacing my passport moved forward. The local police documented the theft. Daniel’s recorded admission that he possessed it became important.
But Daniel didn't call again.
Evelyn did.
Her voice arrived through the resort phone like poison wrapped in silk.
“You've caused quite a spectacle.”
“I've caused it?”
“You involved police.”
“You stole my passport.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Daniel admitted he has it.”
Silence.
Then she recovered.
“Families handle disagreements privately.”
“Kidnapping someone's identity document isn't a family disagreement.”
“Don't use ridiculous language.”
“What happened to Rachel?”
That ended everything.
For five full seconds, Evelyn said nothing.
Then:
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Sophie.”
It was a bluff.
But Evelyn reacted.
“You stay away from that girl.”
My pulse quickened.
“Why?”
“She has been through enough.”
“What did she see?”
“Vanessa.”
Her voice changed.
The softness disappeared.
“You are making a mistake.”
“So did Rachel, apparently.”
The call ended.
Marcus had heard the conversation.
“She knows you're looking.”
“Good.”
“No. Not necessarily good.”
He was right.
But I was tired of being frightened by people who relied on fear.
That evening, the investigator called.
Rachel had not merely filed for divorce.
She had requested an emergency protective order.
The request alleged financial control, intimidation, and threats involving custody of Sophie.
No criminal finding had resulted.
Rachel died before the allegations could be fully litigated.
I forced myself to remember that.
Allegations were not proof.
But they mattered.
Especially now.
“There's more,” the investigator said.
Rachel had contacted an attorney the day before she died.
The attorney was still practicing.
Her name was Helen Mercer.
We called.
At first, Helen refused to discuss a former client.
Then Marcus explained that Rachel’s daughter might currently be in danger.
The silence on the other end lasted a long time.
Finally Helen said, “Is Sophie with Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Singapore, we believe.”
Helen exhaled.
“Rachel was trying to leave him.”
My chest tightened.
“She believed Daniel was hiding assets and using her identity to secure loans. She also believed Evelyn was helping him.”
“Did she have evidence?”
“She said she did.”
“What happened to it?”
“I never received it.”
“Why?”
“She died the night she was supposed to bring it to me.”
I closed my eyes.
Again: coincidence was not proof.
But the pattern was becoming unbearable.
“Was Daniel suspected in her death?”
“The police investigated. There was no evidence he caused the crash.”
That mattered too.
I refused to transform suspicion into certainty.
“Then why did Sophie tell me to ask what happened?”
“I don't know.”
Helen paused.
“But Rachel told me something during our final meeting.”
“What?”
“She said Sophie had seen more than Daniel realized.”
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At 2:13 a.m., Maya knocked on my door.
She held a printed email.
“It came to the resort's general address.”
No sender name.
Only a newly created account.
The message contained seven words.
I'm safe. Grandma doesn't know I wrote.
My heart stopped.
Sophie.
A second message appeared moments later.
Dad says you're going to sign tomorrow.
I looked at Marcus.
Then a third.
Please don't.
May you like
And finally:
He has Mom's old laptop.
