Daniel’s expression changed so fast it was frightening. The calm authority vanished, replaced by something raw and almost panicked.
“It is just decoration,” he said quickly, moving his hand toward the frame.
“That is not true,” Avery whispered. “That is me, and my mother has that same photo in her bedroom.”
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “What is your mother’s name,” he asked, his voice barely steady.
“Grace Collins,” she answered. “Why do you have my picture.”
He stared at her like she had stepped out of a grave. “She told me you died,” he said slowly. “She sent a letter twenty years ago saying you had a fever and did not survive.”
Avery felt cold from the inside out. “I never had a fever like that, and we moved because she said my father did not want us.”
Daniel sank back into his chair, looking suddenly older. “I searched for you both for years,” he said. “I hired investigators and spent everything I had when I was still a junior partner.”
He covered his face with one hand before speaking again. “When that letter came, I believed her because I thought I deserved it.”