CHAPTER 6 The Man Who Was Always Watching
CHAPTER 6
The Man Who Was Always Watching
The name on the document stared back at me.
THOMAS VALE.
For several seconds, my brain refused to accept it.
Thomas.
The man Eleanor called a family friend.
The man who helped redesign my house.
The man who had attended birthdays, dinners, and holiday gatherings.
The man who had held Maya as a baby and called her “little princess.”
That man.
The same man whose name appeared in a file called:
PROJECT MAYA.
I looked at Daniel.
“Tell me this is wrong.”
He didn’t answer.
That was worse.
“Daniel.”
He slowly shook his head.
“I verified the records.”
“How?”
“The payment accounts. The property documents. The communication logs.”
He placed several printed pages on the table.
“Thomas Vale wasn’t just helping Eleanor renovate the house.”
I looked down.
The documents showed payments.
Thousands of dollars.
Monthly transfers.
From Eleanor.
To Thomas.
For years.
“What was he doing?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Watching.”
The word landed like a stone.
“Watching who?”
He looked at me.
“Your daughter.”
I spent the next hour reading every file.
The more I learned, the less I recognized my own life.
Thomas had created reports.
Detailed reports.
Not normal notes.
Observations.
Maya’s emotional attachment to father remains excessive.
Child continues to resist replacement figure.
Mother’s memory remains dominant.
Intervention required.
I slammed the folder shut.
“Intervention?”
My voice shook.
“They were talking about my daughter like she was a problem.”
Daniel remained silent.
Because he knew.
There was nothing he could say.
I went upstairs to find Maya.
She was sitting on the floor drawing.
For a moment, I simply watched her.
She was drawing our family.
Three people.
Me.
Her.
Sarah.
I smiled sadly.
“You still draw Mommy.”
Maya looked up.
“She likes when I draw her.”
My heart tightened.
“She does?”
Maya nodded.
“She told me once that people don’t disappear if we remember them.”
I sat beside her.
“Maya…”
She looked at me.
“Did I do something bad?”
The question surprised me.
“No.”
“Then why does everyone get angry?”
My throat tightened.
“Who gets angry?”
She looked down.
“Eleanor.”
I waited.
“And Thomas.”
The room became colder.
“Thomas?”
Maya nodded.
“He tells Eleanor I’m difficult.”
I forced myself to stay calm.
“When did he say that?”
“A lot.”
“How long?”
She thought.
“Since last year.”
Last year.
Not months.
Not weeks.
A year.
A year my daughter had been living with fear.
“What else did he say?”
Maya played with the edge of her paper.
“He said Daddy loves me because I remind him of Mommy.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He said that’s why I’m a problem.”
My hands clenched.
“He said if Mommy never existed, everything would be easier.”
I felt anger rise through me.
But I controlled it.
Because Maya was watching me.
And she needed safety.
Not rage.
“Did Thomas ever hurt you?”
Her eyes moved away.
A pause.
Too long.
“Maya?”
“He didn’t hit me.”
Relief came for half a second.
Then disappeared.
“But?”
She whispered:
“He locked me in the pantry once.”
The world stopped.
“When?”
“Before Christmas.”
My voice became quiet.
“Why?”
“He said I needed time to think about being grateful.”
I closed my eyes.
Because suddenly every piece connected.
The pantry.
The fear.
The food.
The silence.
This wasn't one cruel moment.
This was a system.
That afternoon, I confronted Eleanor.
Not emotionally.
Not loudly.
I simply placed the file on the table.
She looked at it.
Then looked at me.
The color drained from her face.
“You went through my things.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I went through my daughter's prison.”
She looked hurt.
“Richard…”
“Did Thomas work for you?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Did he create reports about Maya?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
“Did you pay him?”
“Yes.”
Every answer made me feel worse.
Because she wasn't denying anything.
“Why?”
She sat down slowly.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
I frowned.
“Me?”
“You loved Maya more than anything.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
“And I knew I could never compete.”
I stared at her.
“So you destroyed her?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I wasn't trying to destroy her.”
“Then what were you trying to do?”
She whispered:
“Prepare you.”
The answer made no sense.
“Prepare me for what?”
She looked toward the window.
“For the truth about Sarah.”
Again.
Sarah.
Always Sarah.
“What happened to my wife?”
Eleanor’s face changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
Not fake.
“Richard…”
“What happened?”
She shook her head.
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because if Thomas knows I told you…”
She stopped.
My eyes narrowed.
“If Thomas knows?”
That was the first time she had said his name with fear.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Fear.
“Where is Thomas now?”
She didn’t answer.
“Eleanor.”
“He left.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“Because he knew you were coming home early.”
The room became silent.
“How?”
Eleanor didn’t respond.
But I already knew.
Someone had been watching me too.
That evening, Daniel called.
His voice was urgent.
“Sir.”
“What happened?”
“We found something else.”
“What?”
“A deleted video file from the hidden computer.”
“Can you recover it?”
“We already did.”
I waited.
“Who is in the video?”
Daniel paused.
Then said:
“Your first wife.”
My breathing stopped.
“Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“Play it.”
A few seconds later, Daniel sent the file.
I opened it.
The screen showed Sarah sitting in our old living room.
She looked weak.
Tired.
But alive.
She looked directly into the camera.
And said:
“Richard, if you’re watching this…”
She took a shaky breath.
“I’m sorry.”
My heart began racing.
May you like
Then Sarah said the words that changed everything.
“Eleanor Sterling is not who you think she is.”
