“When did Daniel work for me?” he asked.
Brenda startled.
“Mr. Wilson,” she said, taking a step back.
“When?” he repeated.
“In acquisitions research. I think. He started last year.”
My father looked at Rebecca.
She nodded once. “We’ll verify.”
Brenda turned back to me, desperation rising in her voice. “I came because Cynthia called me after you left. She was furious. She said you had ruined everything by running to your father. Elias didn’t understand at first. He kept asking what father. Then she told him.”
My chest tightened.
“What did she tell him?”
“That you weren’t Ella Morris. That you were Eleanor Wilson.” Brenda’s voice dropped. “And then she said something strange.”
Rebecca’s pen paused.
“She said, ‘If the girl knows, find the old file before Jonathan does.’”
My father went very still.
“The old file,” he said.
“You know what that means?” I asked him.
He did not answer immediately.
That frightened me more than if he had.
Rebecca turned toward him. “Jonathan?”
My father looked suddenly older beneath the garden lights.
“Not here,” he said.
Brenda shook her head. “There’s more.”
My father’s eyes moved back to her.
“Cynthia told Elias to keep you emotional. To make you call him. She said if he could get you to meet alone, he should apologize, cry, say whatever he needed. But mostly, he had to find out how much you recorded.”
I let out a slow breath.
That part, at least, sounded exactly like Cynthia.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
Brenda’s eyes shone now. “Because I helped her hurt you by staying quiet. Because I wanted to believe Elias was confused instead of cruel. Because Daniel is missing, and I think Cynthia knows why.” She swallowed hard. “And because last night, after you disappeared, Elias said something I can’t forget.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘If Ella turns out to be worth what Mom thinks, Brenda doesn’t matter anymore.’”
The words settled softly, devastatingly.
Brenda looked ashamed, afraid, and painfully young.
For the first time since crawling out from under that hotel bed, I felt something other than anger toward her.
Not forgiveness.
Not trust.
But recognition.
She, too, had believed she was special to someone who saw people as ladders.
Rebecca closed her notebook. “You need representation.”
Brenda gave a hollow laugh. “I can’t afford someone like you.”
