He began listing case numbers, client names, and even the exact temperature he preferred his coffee. Avery focused hard, but her eyes drifted despite her promise.
Near the corner of his desk sat a silver photo frame that did not match the polished perfection of everything else. The edges were slightly tarnished, and it looked like it had been handled often.
Her breath caught.
The photo inside showed a little girl in a white lace dress standing in a park, holding a sunflower almost as big as her head. The image was old and slightly faded, but she knew that dress and that crooked hem.
She knew the faint coffee stain in the lower corner because her mother had spilled it years ago. The girl in the picture was her.
The room seemed to tilt, and Daniel’s voice became distant. She did not remember standing, yet suddenly she was on her feet pointing at the frame.
“Where did you get that,” she asked, her voice shaking.
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.”
Silence filled the room, heavy and painful. Avery looked at the man who owned the building and realized he might be the father she had grown up imagining as a villain.
“She is sick,” Avery said quietly. “Her lungs are failing, and we cannot afford surgery.”
Daniel reached for his checkbook, but his hands shook. He pushed the photo toward her instead.