Maya's Visit

"Who is Simon Blackwood?"

My daughter’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of my panic. Maya stood in the kitchen doorway, her rain-soaked coat dripping onto the linoleum. She had driven home from university in a storm, fueled by a bounced tuition check and righteous indignation.

"Maya," I breathed, shoving the yearbook behind my back. "I didn't hear you come in."

"The back door was unlocked," she said, her eyes narrowing. "And you didn't answer my question. I saw the news alert. About the fire at the Carriage House. And I saw Simon Blackwood's car leaving the driveway."

She walked into the room, her gaze flicking from me to the closed library book on the table.

"He's the family lawyer," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "He handles... everything."

"Including my tuition?"

"Yes."

"Then why did the bursar say the check came from a company called Phoenix Holdings?"

I froze. "How do you know that?"

"Because I asked for a copy of the bounced check," she said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. "And because I looked them up. It's a shell company, Mom. Registered in the Caymans."

She slammed the paper onto the table.

"Are we broke?" she demanded. "Is that why Dad has been so weird? Is that why Grandpa is getting worse?"

"We're not broke," I said. "It's complicated."

"Complicated?" She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "I saw Uncle Richard today. In the woods."

My blood ran cold.

"Richard was at work," I said automatically.

"No, he wasn't. I drove past the estate on my way in. I saw him near the river. He was wearing... old clothes. And he was carrying a shovel."

She looked at me, her young face contorted with confusion and fear.

"Mom, he looked... wrong. He looked like he was burying something."

"He was gardening," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "The storm damaged the trees."

"In a hurricane?" She stepped closer. "And it wasn't just him. I saw someone else. In the window of the Carriage House. Before the fire started."

"Who?"

"A man. Tall. Dark hair." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He looked like the picture in the hallway. The one of Uncle Julian."

"Julian is dead, Maya. He died thirty years ago."

"I know!" she shouted. "But I saw him! And when I looked closer... he looked like Dad. Only older. And meaner."

She grabbed my arm.

"Mom, what is going on? Why is the Carriage House burning? Why is Dad digging holes in the woods? And who is Phoenix Holdings?"

I looked at my daughter. She was smart. Too smart. She had the Vance eyes—sharp, probing, relentless.

If I lied to her now, she would keep digging. She would find the truth on her own. And the truth would kill her.

I took a deep breath.

"Maya," I said. "Sit down."

She sat, her eyes never leaving my face.

"You're right," I said. "It's not complicated. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"There are things about this family you don't know. Things about your grandfather. And your father."

"And Uncle Julian?"

"Especially Uncle Julian."

I reached across the table and took her hand.

"You need to go back to school. Right now. Tonight."

"I'm not leaving you here!"

"You have to," I said. "Because if you stay... they'll use you against me."

"Who will?"

"The people who really own this house," I said.

I looked at the yearbook on the table. At the birth announcement. At Simon Blackwood's name.

"Maya," I said softly. "Have you ever wondered why you don't have any baby pictures from before you were six months old?"

She stared at me. "What?"

"We adopted you," I said. "It was a closed adoption. Through a private agency."

"I know that," she said, confused. "You told me when I was ten."

"I lied," I said. "It wasn't an agency."

I opened the yearbook to the page with the birth announcement.

"It was a cleanup operation."

I pointed to the date.

"You were born seven months after Sarah Miller died. And seven months after Julian Vance disappeared."

Maya looked at the date. Then at me.

"Mom," she whispered. "Are you saying..."

"I'm saying," I whispered back, "that the man in the Carriage House isn't your uncle. He's your father."