Chapter 3

"What photo? What are you talking about?"

Lucas looks completely lost. Obviously doesn't remember.

Of course he doesn't. He's taken thousands of photos over the years — work events, award ceremonies, commendations. Why would he remember one unremarkable group shot?

But that photo was my only family portrait.

After Audrey was confirmed as the real Sinclair daughter, both families took one photo together. My adoptive parents and my birth parents — all smiles. All clustered around Audrey. Not one of them willing to stand within arm's reach of me.

But even that lopsided, heartbreaking picture — I kept it like treasure. Carried it with me for ten years.

After I went back to my birth parents, they couldn't even be bothered to smile at me.

To be closer to Audrey, they gave up everything and moved to Ashford.

Even when they came back to Bridgeport for the holidays — just one day a year — they'd sigh the entire drive, complaining about the three-hour detour.

"If only there were a bridge connecting the two cities. Then we could see Audrey every day."

That one sentence. That's all it took.

I turned down an offer from a Fortune 500 firm overseas. Poured everything I had into getting the bridge project approved.

The day it was greenlit, I walked out of the construction trailer I'd lived in for over two hundred days. Went home to tell my birth parents the good news — for the first time.

I was so happy I didn't notice the man following me.

By the time I saw the knife in his hand — by the time I tried to run back inside — the front door had a new lock. A new code. My parents had changed it without telling me.

I was locked out.

I died on my own doorstep. That half-inch threshold felt like a mountain I couldn't climb as I collapsed.

"Oh, sweetheart — Mommy and Daddy are so sorry we're late!"

An elderly couple stumbles into the courtroom, wailing at the camera.

"You've been overseas for ten years — do you really still resent us?"

"Baby, just let it go."

I've heard that line a thousand times.

Haven't I let go enough?

I let go of being the Sinclair heiress. Went home without a fight.

I let go of my dream job overseas — threw myself into building that bridge.

I let go of the blueprints I'd slaved over for months — handed the credit to Audrey without a word.

And for Lucas, I let go of my life.

What else is there left to let go of?

Lucas slaps the table impatiently, glaring at the killer. "Talk. Now."

The killer glances at him with open contempt — then pounds the table so hard it shakes.

"You're trying to fool me with actors? Those aren't her parents!"

I freeze. Then laugh at myself.

Ten years. I've forgotten what my own parents look like. I can't even tell these are imposters.

A vein pulses at Lucas's temple.

"Her birth parents are in Bridgeport! Her adoptive parents are in Ashford! The bridge doesn't open until tomorrow and there's a goddamn hurricane out there — how am I supposed to get them here?"

The killer grins to himself.

"Then thank you, Officer, for giving me a reason to recant."

"You've got six minutes."

The chat is furious on my behalf — calling Lucas heartless, cruel.

Thousands of people across both cities start searching for my parents on their own.

Lucas, terrified of the backlash spiraling further, has no choice. He calls in a police helicopter to fly both sets of parents in.

"Thirty seconds left."

The killer props his feet up on the table, counting down with obvious pleasure.

"Three..."

"Two..."

"One!"

The courtroom doors burst open on the final second. Everyone exhales.

But my birth parents and adoptive parents stroll in — unhurried, arm in arm.

All four pairs of eyes go straight to Audrey.

"Oh, baby girl — you came in the rain? Look at you, you're soaked!"

"Are you cold, sweetheart?"

When someone mentions me, all they do is scoff.

"Nora, dead? Please. She's probably sunbathing on some beach abroad."

Lucas snaps. Grabs the killer by the collar. Roars in his face.

"TALK!"

The killer looks around the room — at all of them — and suddenly smiles. Quiet. Almost sad.

"She really was pitiful..."

The audience holds its breath. Then the killer lifts his head and finally says it:

"Her body is inside the central pillar of the Ashford-Bridgeport Bridge. Sealed in concrete."