Forgive Me(99)

“I ended up getting more clients like them, these mafioso types. Eventually I needed to rob Peter to pay Paul, and my house of cards was teetering on collapse. I drained the bank accounts of men who threatened to skin me alive for what I did, but only after they killed you and your mother and made me watch. That was a direct threat, by the way. Not hyperbole. The only way I could protect my family was to go into hiding.

“I knew everything about their financial dealings, so I was valuable to the government. I could avoid paying for my crimes and save all our lives, but only by going into hiding after turning state’s witness.”

“Walter Odette,” Angie said. “That’s how you two became friends.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “He was my handler. He got us into the program. Relocated us from New York to Alexandria. Provided us with our new names, everything. I know you would have found all this out eventually, so that’s why I’m telling you the truth. You’re right, Angie. If you dig around enough, you could turn over the wrong rock. The people I stole from do not have short memories. Now, I’m counting on you. You’ve got to keep your promise and let this go. If we’re found out, we’ll both be dead.”

“By who? Who will kill us?”

“With the kind of money I stole, basically anyone who had ties to my crimes. A pound of our flesh for revenge.”

Angie forced herself to stand, hoping it would stop the room from spinning. It did not. “And Mom’s family, your family, nobody has heard from any of us all these years?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Not once. Not ever. It’s simply too dangerous.”

“My God, Dad, why didn’t you ever tell me?” But she knew the answer. Living as Angie DeRose had kept her out of danger. She was safely cocooned inside her phony identity. And what good was the truth, anyhow? She could have gone on living a lie and not suffered from his deception in the slightest.

She knew only what she’d been taught. She was Angie. She lived in Virginia. She was born and raised there. Her father grew up an orphan. Her mother had had a falling-out with her family. And those beliefs became rooted in her, woven deeply into the fabric of her being. Her father was right. Angie or Amelia, either way she would have ended up essentially in the same place—a girl from Virginia with no extended family to speak of. But would Amelia have become a private investigator? Would Amelia have gone to UVA? Would Amelia have become friends with Maddy and Sarah Winter? What kind of person would Amelia be?

Angie saw Amelia and the age-progressed image of Isabella Conti as one—two fictional personas existing only in a place of potential, a place of would have been, and could have been.

“Why did Mom write forgive me on the back of Isabella’s photo?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “I told you everything, Angie. I swear.”

She believed him, but didn’t believe he was right about her life not having turned out so differently if she had grown up knowing the truth. It was different now. And to think, all this was because of questions she’d raised about a mysterious photograph, a photograph with a connection to her mother she still didn’t understand, and perhaps never would.

But that wasn’t the worst part anymore. The worst part was living with the truth. Nothing Angie had learned could change the facts of her past. It had only changed her perception of the people she loved.

“How could you do this to me?” Angie said again, pressing her hands hard against the edge of kitchen table, readying to flee her father’s home in a hurry. “How could you?”

“You still don’t understand,” Gabriel answered in a breathy voice. “I didn’t do this to you. I did it for you.”

“No,” Angie said. Her father’s words rang hollow. “The charade you put on let you really escape one life for another. You weren’t hiding the truth from me, Dad. You were hiding it from yourself.”





CHAPTER 54



The office, as expected, was empty when Angie showed up, though the quiet offered no respite from the noise blaring in her head. Questions rolled and tumbled about her mind with the haphazardness of a dust storm. Outside her office window, the twinkle of city lights stood like stars against a black landscape, while the outlines of nearby buildings shone beneath the spotlight of a moonbeam.

Angie sat in darkness, with only a faint light cast from the glow of her computer monitor. She had several web pages open, and searches going on in various professional databases. She wanted to learn everything she could about William Harrington and Claire Connors. When did they get married? Where? She wanted details about her grandparents. Did she have any aunts and uncles? What about cousins?

It would take time to sort through, and she needed to be patient. One hour bled into the next and Angie hadn’t made much progress. The anger remained, but as a simmer. She reflected on her life. Happy memories returned, of times with her parents at Lake Anna and Bethany Beach, of picnics and road trips, of dance recitals and softball practices, of all the things her mom and dad would have done had she been Angie or Amelia.

The office door came open and Bao entered, rolling in on his long board, bracelets jangling rhythmically from his wrists. He wore a white T-shirt adorned with an intricate graphic design and a pair of loose fitting jeans. His long, dark hair splayed across narrow shoulders.