Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE THAT REMEMBERED EVERYTHING
Roman took Lily to the old Kane lake house two days later.
He didn't intend to involve her in the investigation.
But Lily had discovered something Arthur hadn't remembered.
Her grandmother, Rose Carter, had worked at the Kane estate for eighteen years.
Before her death, Rose had kept a collection of old letters.
One mentioned Elizabeth Kane.
Another mentioned Adrian Voss.
And a third referred to a place called The Orchard Room.
Roman had never heard of it.
Arthur had.
“The lake house,” he said. “Your mother had a room she called that.”
Roman frowned.
“Why?”
“She kept paintings there. Flowers. Fruit trees. Things like that.”
Roman looked at Lily.
She held the old letter carefully.
“My grandmother wrote that Mrs. Kane asked her to burn some papers.”
“Did she?”
Lily shook her head.
“She said she couldn't.”
Roman stared.
“Why?”
Lily looked at him.
“Because she thought they belonged to someone who'd been hurt.”
The lake house stood beside Lake Michigan, surrounded by bare trees.
Inside, the air smelled of cedar and dust.
Roman hadn't visited in fifteen years.
He led Lily upstairs.
At the end of the hallway stood a locked door.
Arthur's old key didn't fit.
Roman called the property manager.
Twenty minutes later, they opened it.
The Orchard Room was exactly as Arthur had described.
Paintings.
A writing desk.
A faded rug.
And a wall covered with framed botanical prints.
Lily studied the room.
Then noticed something.
“Roman.”
He turned.
“What?”
She pointed toward a painting.
An apple tree.
Its frame hung slightly crooked.
Lily approached.
“Someone moved this.”
Roman looked closer.
There were fresh scratches near the hook.
He lifted the painting.
Behind it was a small wall safe.
Roman stared.
Then smiled without humor.
“Of course.”
He called his security team.
By evening, the safe was opened.
Inside lay a passport.
A photograph.
And a sealed envelope.
The passport bore Elizabeth Kane's face.
But the name wasn't Elizabeth.
It was Evelyn Mercer.
Roman stared at it.
Then opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph of a little boy.
About six years old.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
Roman's eyes.
On the back, someone had written:
ADRIAN — 1992.
Roman looked at Lily.
“That's not me.”
She swallowed.
“Then who is he?”
Roman stared at the photograph.
May you like
He already knew the answer.
He just wasn't ready to say it.
