Chapter 76 The Photograph

Chapter 76 The Photograph
Tasha's POV
The note Val had slipped into my bag before I left Monaco hadn't left my thoughts for a single day.
Be careful who you trust at Vanguard.
I had read those words so many times that the paper had begun to soften along the folds. Every time I convinced myself I was overthinking it, something happened that made the warning echo through my mind again.
Carlos had become colder than ever.
Primo continued helping me investigate my father's past, but I knew he wasn't telling me everything.
Luigi remained kind, almost painfully so, never asking for more than I was capable of giving.
And then there was Lila.
Whenever I caught myself wondering whether Val had been trying to warn me about my roommate, guilt immediately followed.
Lila had done nothing that I could point to. Nothing concrete. Nothing that justified doubting someone who had shared a room with me for months.
I hated that a single sentence on a folded piece of paper had planted suspicion where trust used to live.
By the time my afternoon classes ended, my head ached from thinking.
I was halfway across the Engineering Building courtyard when someone called my name.
"Tasha!"
I turned and found Val jogging toward me with her backpack slung over one shoulder.
"You walk ridiculously fast," she complained as she caught up beside me.
"I wasn't aware I was being timed."
"You weren't. I was simply trying not to lose sight of you."
I smiled despite myself. "You make that sound dramatic."
"I like drama. As long as I'm not the one causing it."
I gave her a look.
She grinned without the slightest hint of guilt. "Fine," she admitted. "Sometimes I cause it."
"Sometimes?"
"Let's not argue over technicalities."
We fell into step together, heading toward one of the quieter pathways that wound behind the engineering laboratories. The afternoon sun filtered through rows of old trees, casting shifting patches of light across the pavement.
For several moments, neither of us spoke. It was comfortable.
That was one of the things I appreciated about Val. She never seemed to feel the need to fill every silence with conversation.
Eventually, she glanced sideways at me. "How are you really doing?"
The question caught me off guard. "I've been better."
"I figured."
"You did?"
She nodded. "You've been smiling with your mouth instead of your eyes."
I laughed softly. "I didn't realize there was a difference."
"There is." She looked ahead as she spoke. "People just don't usually notice."
I studied her for a moment. "You notice a lot."
"I try to."
There was no arrogance in her voice. Just quiet certainty.
After another few steps, she reached into her backpack. "I've actually been looking for you."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because I have something that belongs to you."
"I don't think you've ever borrowed anything from me."
"I didn't."
She unzipped one of the smaller compartments and carefully pulled out a weathered brown envelope.
The edges were worn with age, and the paper had yellowed enough to suggest it had been stored away for years.
My curiosity immediately sharpened. "What is that?"
Val didn't answer right away.
Instead, she held the envelope in both hands before offering it to me.
"I found this when I was helping my grandfather sort through some old storage boxes."
I accepted it carefully. "It's yours?"
"No."
"Then whose is it?"
"I honestly don't know." She hesitated before continuing. "But when I saw the photograph inside..." She met my eyes. "...I thought of you."
A strange feeling settled in my chest. Slowly, I opened the envelope. Inside was a single photograph. Old. Slightly faded. The corners had curled with age.
My breath caught the moment I turned it over. I recognized him instantly.
Ricardo Hamilton.
No matter how many pictures I had seen of my father over the past few months, seeing another one still made my heart ache.
He looked younger than I had expected. Relaxed and happy. His racing career hadn't yet been consumed by scandal.
The smile on his face wasn't the practiced expression reporters captured during interviews.
It was genuine.
Beside him stood Old Man Reyes, nearly twenty years younger but unmistakable with the same weathered face and kind eyes.
I smiled without meaning to. "They look happy," I whispered.
"They do," Val agreed quietly.
My attention shifted to the third man. He stood shoulder to shoulder with my father. One arm rested comfortably across Ricardo's back.
But his face… It had been partially obscured. Someone standing in the foreground blocked almost half of his features.
Only part of his jaw and one shoulder remained visible.
I frowned. "That's frustrating."
"What is?"
"I can't see who he is."
Val nodded. "I noticed that too."
"There were only three people?"
"I thought so."
I looked more carefully. "No..." My eyebrows slowly drew together. "There has to be someone else."
"What makes you say that?"
I pointed toward the edge of the photograph. Near the bottom corner, barely visible, was the tiny outline of a child's shoe.
Just one.
Almost completely cropped out.
If I hadn't been looking carefully, I would have missed it.
Val leaned closer. "I never noticed that."
"I almost didn't either."
The two of us stared at the picture in silence. Then something occurred to me. I turned the photograph over. There was writing on the back. The ink had faded but remained readable.
My heartbeat quickened as I slowly read the sentence aloud.
"‘The four of us. Monaco. Summer 2005.’"
Neither of us spoke. The words hung between us.
Finally, Val broke the silence. "Who's the fourth person?"
I looked at the photograph again. "There are only three adults."
"And the tiny shoe."
I nodded absentmindedly. The tiny shoe. A child.
A memory suddenly surfaced.
Summer 2005.
I quietly repeated the year to myself.
Then my entire body went still. "No..."
Val looked at me. "What?"
I swallowed. "I was born in 2005."
Her expression changed immediately. "What?"
"My birthday..." I looked back at the photograph. "It was taken only a few months after I was born."
Neither of us moved. The realization spread slowly between us.
My fingers tightened around the old picture. "No one was supposed to know I existed."
My voice sounded distant. Almost unfamiliar.
"Old Man Reyes told me that over and over."
Val remained silent.
I continued thinking aloud. "My father kept my existence secret." I looked down again. "The world believed he didn't have a child." Another pause. "Even after the accident."
I ran my thumb gently across the faded handwriting. Then I froze. My heart began pounding. 
"The four of us..." I whispered the words again. Not because I hadn't understood them. Because I finally had. "The person who wrote this knew."
Val frowned. "Knew what?"
"That there were four people." I lifted my eyes to hers. "My father. Old Man Reyes." The unidentified man." I took a slow breath. "And me."
Understanding slowly dawned across Val's face. "Whoever wrote that..."
"...knew I existed."
The sentence barely escaped my lips.
For months, I had believed only two people knew the truth about me. My father. Old Man Reyes.
Then Reyes admitted there had been someone else. Someone my father trusted. Someone who knew he had a daughter.
Now I was holding proof. Physical proof. The photograph confirmed it. Whoever had written those words hadn't guessed. They hadn't assumed. They had known.
I stared once more at the partially hidden face. The man stood comfortably beside my father.
Close enough to rest an arm across his shoulders.
Close enough to be photographed together.
Close enough to know the greatest secret my father had ever kept.
My pulse refused to slow. "He's closer than I thought," I murmured.
Val tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
I looked down at the faded photograph one last time. "If my father trusted him enough to let him know about me..."
I carefully slipped the picture back into its envelope. "...then the hidden witness wasn't just someone who happened to know the truth."
A chill ran down my spine as the full weight of the realization settled over me. "He was part of my family's life."
And for the first time since this investigation began, I found myself wondering whether the biggest secret surrounding Ricardo Hamilton had never been hidden from strangers.
It had been hidden from me.