Chapter 2 - The Name She Shouldn't Have Known
I didn't sleep that night.
At 2:17 in the morning, I was sitting alone in my study with my wallet open on the desk and Julia's photograph beside it.
Renata knew my daughter's name.
There could have been an innocent explanation.
Julia had worked at Vance Holdings years earlier. Her name might still exist somewhere online. Perhaps Marisol had once met her.
But something bothered me.
Renata hadn't mentioned Julia to me.
Why?
At seven the next morning, I called Tom.
"Pull the lobby footage."
By eight, I was watching Renata's arrival.
She entered at 3:58 p.m., already soaked.
The receptionist leaned toward her.
There was no audio from that camera, but Tom had interviewed the receptionist.
"She asked, 'Does Julia Vance work here?'"
"And then?"
"When reception said no, Renata asked for you."
"Did she explain why she knew Julia?"
"No."
I stared at the screen.
"Find Marisol."
Tom hesitated.
"Professionally?"
"Public information only."
By noon, he brought me a thin folder.
Marisol Duarte was thirty-six.
She'd worked for eleven years as an administrative coordinator for a nonprofit organization.
Six months earlier, the nonprofit had closed after losing its primary funding.
Since then, Marisol had been applying everywhere.
Her record was spotless.
No lawsuits.
No arrests.
No suspicious debts.
Nothing dramatic.
"Why didn't she get yesterday's job?"
"There's something interesting about that."
Tom slid another page toward me.
"She was qualified. More than qualified, according to someone in the department."
"So?"
"They already had an internal candidate. Interviews were apparently procedural."
I felt irritation rise.
"She spent three hours interviewing for a job they had no intention of giving her?"
"Looks that way."
I thought about Renata standing outside.
Then I noticed something else.
"Where do they live?"
Tom told me.
South Austin.
A small apartment complex.
"Anything on Julia?"
"Nothing connecting them."
I leaned back.
That should have reassured me.
It didn't.
At noon, my assistant entered.
"Mr. Vance, your daughter is on line two."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"Julia."
For three years, Julia hadn't returned my calls.
Now she was calling the morning after Renata appeared.
I picked up.
"Julia?"
Silence.
Then:
"Dad."
One word.
It nearly broke me.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"Where are you?"
"Still in Houston."
I had a thousand questions.
Instead, I chose the safest.
"It's good to hear your voice."
Another silence.
Then she asked:
"Did a little girl find your wallet yesterday?"
I stood.
"How do you know that?"
Julia exhaled slowly.
"Her name is Renata, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"And her mother is Marisol."
"Julia, what's going on?"
"I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"Don't try to solve their lives with money."
The words stung because they were accurate.
"That's not what I'm doing."
"It's what you always do."
"I offered the girl a reward."
"Of course you did."
"And she refused."
That produced the faintest laugh.
"That sounds like Renata."
"You know her."
"Yes."
"How?"
"I know Marisol."
"From where?"
Julia went quiet.
Then she said, "Dad, some things are complicated."
I almost laughed from frustration.
"You haven't spoken to me for three years, and the first time you call, it's because an eight-year-old returned my wallet. I think I've earned something more than 'it's complicated.'"
"No. That's exactly the problem. You always think you've earned the right to answers."
There she was.
My daughter.
Still capable of finding the precise wound.
I lowered my voice.
"You're right."
Silence.
"I shouldn't have said that."
She seemed surprised.
So was I.
"Tell me only what you want me to know."
Another long pause.
"Marisol helped me when I needed somebody."
"When?"
"After I left Austin."
My hand tightened around the phone.
Three years earlier, Julia and I had fought in this very office.
She had been thirty-one.
She wanted to leave Vance Holdings and join a community development organization in Houston.
I told her she was throwing away her future.
She told me I cared more about the Vance name than about her.
I called her ungrateful.
She walked out.
I hadn't seen her since.
"How did Marisol help you?"
"She listened."
That simple answer hurt more than an accusation.
My daughter had needed someone to listen.
And it hadn't been me.
"Why does Renata know my name?"
"I've talked about you."
"I thought you hated me."
"I never hated you, Dad."
I sat down.
Those five words took all the air from the room.
"Then why—"
"Because loving someone doesn't mean being able to live inside the life they designed for you."
I closed my eyes.
"I'm trying to understand."
"I know."
"That's new."
A tiny pause.
"Yes."
I deserved that.
"Why did Renata ask for you?"
"She recognized your name from the driver's license. She's seen your picture."
"Where?"
"Marisol has a photograph."
My heart began beating harder.
"A photograph of me?"
"No."
"Then of what?"
"Dad, don't push."
"Julia—"
"Promise me you won't investigate them."
I looked at the folder on my desk.
Too late.
"I already asked Tom for public information."
She sighed.
"Of course you did."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
"Yes."
That was new too.
I looked at Julia's seventeen-year-old face in the photograph.
"Can I ask you something?"
"What?"
"Why did you call today?"
Her voice softened.
"Because Renata told me what happened."
"When?"
"Last night."
"So you still talk to them."
"All the time."
"Then you knew she had my wallet."
"Not until she'd returned it."
I hesitated.
"Would you have told her not to?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because returning it was the right thing to do."
There it was again.
That same stubborn moral clarity.
Marisol.
Renata.
Julia.
Three people tied together by something I couldn't see.
"Can I see you?"
Silence.
My heart sank.
Then Julia said, "Maybe."
It was the closest thing to hope I'd heard in three years.
"I'll take maybe."
She laughed softly.
For a moment, she sounded seventeen again.
Before hanging up, however, she said something that changed everything.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"If you see Marisol again, don't ask her about Renata's father."
"Why?"
The line remained quiet for several seconds.
Then Julia answered.
"Because that's the reason Marisol knows exactly who you are."
May you like
And she hung up.
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