“Why would that matter?” I asked.
Brenda looked at me then, really looked at me.
“Because Daniel told me six months ago that someone inside Elias’s family was asking questions about Jonathan Wilson’s daughter.”
The garden seemed to fall silent.
Even the fountain felt farther away.
Rebecca’s voice sharpened. “What kind of questions?”
“Where she lived. Whether she used another name. Whether she was engaged. Whether she owned property in San Francisco.” Brenda’s words came faster now, as though she had been holding them back so long they were escaping without permission. “Daniel thought it was corporate gossip at first. Then he realized the person asking wasn’t from work. It was Cynthia.”
My skin went cold.
“That’s impossible,” I said. “Cynthia didn’t know.”
Brenda’s face crumpled with something like regret. “I think she suspected before Elias did.”
Rebecca stepped closer. “How?”
Brenda shook her head. “I don’t know. But Daniel said she had a photograph.”
“A photograph of what?” I asked.
“Of you and your father. From years ago. Maybe at some charity event.”
I gripped the edge of the pergola bench.
I had been so careful. No social media under my legal name. No public family events after college. No obvious connections.
But careful did not mean invisible.
“My father’s company hosts dozens of charity events,” I said. “There are photos everywhere.”
“Cynthia had one printed,” Brenda said. “Daniel saw it on her kitchen table. She told him she was trying to confirm whether the girl in the picture was Elias’s fiancée.”
Rebecca’s expression had gone still in the way that meant she was assembling a timeline.
“Why would Daniel tell you this?”
Brenda looked away. “Because he’s the father of my baby. And because he disappeared three weeks ago.”
A chill moved through me.
“Disappeared?” I repeated.
“He stopped answering calls. His apartment was cleared out. HR said he resigned, but Daniel wouldn’t leave like that. Not without telling me. Not when…” She placed one hand over her stomach. “Not when he knew.”
Rebecca’s voice lowered. “Did you file a missing persons report?”
“Yes. The police said adults are allowed to leave. There was no evidence of a crime.”
My father appeared at the edge of the garden then, as if he had heard enough from wherever he had been waiting. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on Brenda.
