Chapter 3

During my recovery, the investigators delivered the evidence to me piece by piece—five years' worth.

And I finally learned what had happened after I left.

The first Christmas, the servants set a place for me at the Whitmore dining table, same as always.

When my mother saw it, her eyes went red on the spot.

Celeste started crying too.

She asked:

"Does it only count as a real family if Elena comes back?"

My mother's heart ached for her. She immediately had the servants clear away my place setting and gave Celeste my favorite seat.

My father had my third-floor suite—the one I'd lived in for sixteen years—redecorated and given to Celeste.

That night, she slept in my bed.

And I knelt on the frozen ground outside Soren's warehouse until my knees went numb.

Celeste's birthday was one day apart from mine.

My mother threw her a lavish charity gala and clasped our grandmother's diamond necklace around her throat.

She rode my old chestnut mare through the estate grounds, basking in the guests' compliments.

She even asked Adrian if she looked good in red.

Adrian was quiet for a long time. In the end he only said:

"It suits you."

Then he went to the stables alone and stayed there until dawn.

In his hand was the leather keychain I'd given him before I left.

He did miss me.

But the next day—my birthday—he didn't send me a single message.

Because Celeste had wept and said that if he kept openly pining for me, everyone would see her as the spare, the one the Whitmore family didn't really need.

My mother urged him:

"Elena has always been understanding. She won't hold it against you."

"When she comes home, you can make it up to her properly."

So Adrian deleted the email he'd spent all night writing.

And on that same day, Soren locked me in a shipping container and let the guests at an underground auction hurl wine bottles at me through the bars for sport.

In the third year, Adrian began organizing a rescue.

That was the original deadline they'd promised to bring me home.

But just before the operation launched, Celeste jumped from the rooftop of the Whitmore Building.

Adrian broke his right arm catching her.

When Celeste came to, she clung to my mother and sobbed, saying she hadn't meant to stop the rescue—she was just terrified that the moment I came back, everyone would abandon her again.

My father sat at her bedside and ultimately ordered Adrian to stand down.

My mother said:

"Just a few more months."

"Our security people are still with her. Soren sends us her emails and video messages every month. She'll be fine."

They didn't know that those emails were written by Celeste, mimicking my voice.

The videos had been edited down to just a few sentences I'd been forced to read off a sheet of paper.

And the twelve security personnel assigned to protect me had been reassigned, bribed, or killed after the convoy left the airport. The last two died the night they tried to get me out.

In the fourth year, Celeste joined the group's board of directors and became executive chair of the foundation.

My father handed her the European shipping routes I'd once managed.

My mother began bringing her to every important event, formally introducing her as the sole heir of the Whitmore family.

It wasn't until the fifth year that Adrian intercepted an internal Soren transfer manifest.

The document showed I had long since ceased to be regarded as a negotiating envoy. I was listed as E-17, a "long-term asset," whereabouts unknown.

This time, no amount of tears or tantrums from Celeste could stop him.

Adrian turned the evidence over to federal investigators and coordinated a joint operation with Europol and the local prosecutor's office.

My father froze every relevant account the group held.

My mother flew to Port Castilla against her doctor's orders.

They'd prepared an entire planeload of things.

My favorite red riding jacket. State-of-the-art medical equipment. Lemon pie from that bakery in Boston. A freshly tailored gown.

My father had already ordered my room restored.

Adrian brought the engagement ring and a new prenuptial agreement. The agreement stipulated that even in the event of divorce, I would have more than enough to live independently.

They truly expected to bring me home.

The whole way there, they talked about how to make it up to me.

My father said he'd reinstate my inheritance rights.

My mother said she'd care for me personally, never let me out of her sight again.

Adrian said he'd be good to me for the rest of his life.

Now and then they worried I might have been hurt, but they'd quickly reassure one another.

"It'll be all right."

"As long as we get Elena back."

"We'll love her twice as much, and she'll go back to the way she was."

On the video, my mother was still sorting through the things they'd prepared for me.

She took a replica of the medal from the jewelry box, her face bright with hope:

"This is what I gave Elena the day she left."

"If she still has it, that means she still thinks of me as her mother."

"When we find her, I'll give her a new chain to go with it."

Adrian looked down at the ring.

"She kept it. I know she did."

"Elena was always the sentimental one."

Sitting in front of that screen, I wanted to tell them: yes, the medal was still there.

Only it had been ground into the mud under Soren's boot, caked with my blood.

Just then, the video erupted with the sound of frantic footsteps.

An operative burst into the management center, his face ashen.