PART 2 — THE BOY IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Henry stared at Mason.
The teenager stood near the curtain separating first class from economy, his faded backpack hanging from one shoulder.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Then Henry looked down at the photograph again.
Claire.
His Claire.
She was standing beside Mason in front of a small wooden house Henry had never seen before.
She was smiling.
Not the polite smile she used at charity dinners.
Not the tired smile she gave him after long days.
It was the kind of smile Henry hadn't seen in years.
A real smile.
And beneath the photograph were four words written in her unmistakable handwriting.
Protect him for me.
Henry's throat tightened.
“Mason.”
The boy slowly turned.
“Yes, sir?”
“Where did you get this?”
Mason looked at the photograph.
Then at Henry.
“I didn't.”
Henry's eyes narrowed.
“It fell out of your backpack.”
“I know.”
“Then explain it.”
Mason's jaw tightened.
“I can't.”
Henry took one step toward him.
“My wife died three weeks ago.”
“I know.”
The answer hit Henry like a slap.
“How?”
Mason didn't respond.
The flight attendant approached nervously.
“Mr. Whitman, is everything all right?”
Henry didn't look away from Mason.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“Nothing is all right.”
Mason lowered his eyes.
“Please don't do this here.”
Henry's expression hardened.
“Then tell me the truth.”
Mason looked around the cabin.
Everyone was watching.
A few passengers had already begun whispering.
Mason finally said, “Can we talk somewhere private?”
Henry nodded toward the galley.
“Now.”
They walked behind the curtain.
Henry closed it.
For the first time, Mason seemed frightened.
Not of Henry's wealth.
Not of his authority.
But of something else.
Something Henry couldn't understand.
Henry held up the photograph.
“Who are you?”
“Mason Brooks.”
“I know your name.”
Henry's voice became sharper.
“Who are you to Claire?”
Mason swallowed.
“She helped me.”
“When?”
“About six months ago.”
Henry froze.
“Six months?”
Mason nodded.
“She found me outside a hospital.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Waiting.”
“For whom?”
Mason looked away.
“My mother.”
Henry waited.
“And?”
“She never came out.”
Silence filled the small space.
Henry's anger softened slightly.
“What happened to her?”
Mason shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“She disappeared.”
Henry studied him carefully.
“And Claire found you?”
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“She gave me money.”
Henry frowned.
“That sounds like Claire.”
Mason shook his head.
“She gave me something else.”
“What?”
“Her phone number.”
Henry's heart skipped.
“Why?”
“She told me that if I ever needed help, I should call her.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
Mason hesitated.
“Three.”
Henry's face changed.
“When?”
“The last call was two days before she died.”
Henry felt a cold sensation crawl down his spine.
“What did she say?”
Mason's eyes filled with uncertainty.
“She told me that something bad was going to happen.”
Henry's breathing stopped for a moment.
“What exactly did she say?”
Mason looked directly at him.
“She said, ‘If anything happens to me, don't trust the people around Henry.’”
Henry stared at him.
“Who?”
“She didn't say.”
“Did she mention a name?”
Mason shook his head.
“She only said that you were in danger.”
Henry stepped backward.
“No.”
Mason remained silent.
Henry shook his head.
“My wife died because of complications after childbirth.”
“I know what the doctors said.”
“Then why are you talking like she was murdered?”
“Because Claire didn't believe she was going to die naturally.”
Henry's face went pale.
“What are you saying?”
Mason reached into his backpack.
Henry immediately tensed.
But Mason pulled out a small envelope.
He placed it on the table.
“She gave me this.”
Henry stared at it.
His name was written across the front.
HENRY WHITMAN.
The handwriting was Claire's.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Henry unfolded it.
There were only a few lines.
Henry,
If you're reading this, something has happened to me.
Please don't believe everything they tell you.
Especially about Nora.
Henry's eyes stopped.
He read the final sentence.
Our daughter was never supposed to survive the first night.
His heart pounded.
He looked up.
“What does this mean?”
Mason said nothing.
Henry read the note again.
Then he noticed something written beneath the message.
A series of numbers.
17 — 04 — 29
Henry recognized them.
His wedding anniversary.
But why would Claire write their anniversary on a warning?
“What is this?”
Mason looked toward the cabin.
Then he whispered:
“It's not a date.”
“What is it?”
“It's a locker number.”
Henry's expression changed.
“Where?”
“Boston Central Station.”
Henry stared at him.
“You expect me to believe Claire hid something in a train station?”
“She told me that if she died, you would eventually find me.”
“Why?”
“Because I have the key.”
Mason reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small brass key.
Henry stared at it.
A tiny silver charm hung from the ring.
A crescent moon.
Henry recognized it instantly.
Claire had worn the same charm on a necklace throughout their entire marriage.
He had given it to her on their first anniversary.
“Where did you get that?”
“She gave it to me.”
Henry's hands curled into fists.
“When?”
“The night before she went into labor.”
Henry couldn't breathe.
Claire had known.
She had known something was coming.
And she'd prepared Mason.
Suddenly, a sound came from the other side of the curtain.
Footsteps.
Henry turned.
The flight attendant stood there.
“Mr. Whitman?”
“Yes?”
Her face had gone pale.
“There is a problem.”
“What?”
She glanced toward Mason.
Then lowered her voice.
“Someone has been trying to access your private travel information from the cockpit.”
Henry's eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
The flight attendant hesitated.
“But there is something else.”
“What?”
She handed Henry a small piece of paper.
It had been found underneath his seat.
Henry unfolded it.
Three words were written in black ink.
DON'T TRUST MASON.
Henry looked at the teenager.
Mason's face had gone completely white.
“I didn't write that.”
Henry said nothing.
Then Mason suddenly grabbed Henry's arm.
“Listen to me.”
His voice was barely a whisper.
“If you want Nora to stay alive, don't let anyone take her when we land.”
Henry's blood turned cold.
“What are you talking about?”
Mason looked toward the sleeping baby.
Then he whispered:
“Because the person who ordered Claire's death…”
He paused.
“And the person who wants Nora…”
Mason's eyes met Henry's.
“…is already waiting for us in Zurich.”
At that exact moment, Nora opened her eyes.
And around her tiny wrist was a bracelet Henry had never seen before.
A bracelet with the same crescent-moon charm Claire had given Mason.
Henry slowly reached toward it.
There was something engraved on the back.
Only five words.
SHE IS NOT YOUR ONLY CHILD.
