The man with the briefcase smiled.
“You’ve made this much harder than it needed to be.”
Michael didn’t respond.
“You were supposed to disappear with Sarah.”
“I did.”
“No. You brought her back.”
The man glanced around.
“And you brought the boy.”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“He’s my son.”
The man laughed.
“No, Michael.”
He opened the briefcase.
“He’s the reason your father has been looking for Sarah all these years.”
My heart stopped.
Michael stepped forward.
“Don’t talk about Victor.”
“Why not?”
The man removed a folder.
“Victor is the only reason any of this happened.”
He dropped the folder onto the kitchen table.
Photographs spilled across the surface.
I couldn’t see all of them.
But I saw one.
A photograph of me.
Twenty-three years younger.
Standing beside my mother.
Then another.
Me holding a newborn baby.
My hands began to shake.
Noah wasn’t even born yet.
How could they have a photograph of me holding him?
