Theo clenched his jaw, swallowing pain, and left the office mid-shift. At home, another blow awaited. Eleanor, his wife, sat on packed suitcases. “What’s going on?” he asked. “I’m leaving, Theo, for good. I’m done living in poverty, waiting for your promotion. You’re too honest, won’t take bribes, but I want vacations and a ring like Susan’s. You give me cheap jewelry and wildflowers,” she smiled.
Theo paled, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed into a chair. He had no energy to argue. This talk had been brewing. “All you care about is books. You could’ve moonlighted at a private clinic—they offered!” she accused. “What’s it to you? I need my time. Some go fishing, some to bars—what about me?” he countered.
Eleanor was prepared. Soon, a dark green SUV pulled up. A well-dressed man stepped out but didn’t enter—Theo had no desire to meet him. Eleanor managed alone, lugging suitcases with comical effort. Later, he noticed she’d taken everything valuable: her jewelry, his wedding ring, and a gold cross from his mother. He didn’t care for trinkets, kept them in a box for a future child, but now… “Nice reward for everything,” he whispered bitterly.
The stranger on the couch groaned, trying to turn but too weak to ask for help, and fell back asleep. “It’s okay, the IV will help. Call an ambulance? I’d have to explain where I found her. With the bribe case, they’d pin an assault on me too. No, I’ll treat her myself—seen worse,” Theo reassured himself. He sat up all night, watching her. By morning, exhaustion won, and he dozed off.
He woke to an odd sensation. Opening his eyes, he saw the woman standing before him, studying him. “Morning. Feeling better?” he asked cautiously. She shrugged. “I guess. What happened to me?” “Hard to say. Maybe poisoning. Don’t worry, I’ll do more IVs tonight, get some meds.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re just treating me like that? Who are you? What if you make it worse?” Theo smiled. “I’m a GP from the local hospital, I won’t harm you. Last night, I was walking by the river, saw some foreigners acting strange. Found you in their car, grabbed you, and got away. Good people helped.”
Her cheeks flushed. “God, what happened to me? The river, foreigners… Who am I? Maybe I’m a foreigner too?” “Don’t stress, your memory will return—in a day or a week. Your body’s coming back. Want breakfast?” She nodded. “Yes, but can I make it? I feel like doing something in the kitchen. Maybe I was a chef in a past life?”
Theo chuckled. “Not sure if you’re a chef, but you’re no stranger to cooking.”
“You don’t look like a kitchen type. More like an office worker—your look fits,” Theo noted. The woman scanned the kitchen and slumped. Eleanor, his wife, couldn’t and wouldn’t cook, so Theo often survived on cereal or instant noodles. Eleanor ate at her office or the restaurant downstairs, caring little for him. “If you’re hungry, cook. If not, your problem. Can’t afford delivery? Your fault,” she’d say, valuing only money.
“Not much to work with here,” the guest said wryly, but found a few potatoes and fried them with eggs from the fridge. A savory aroma filled the house. “Delicious,” Theo approved, giving a thumbs-up. “Nothing special. With more ingredients, I’d make something better. This is like pulling a meal out of thin air,” she smiled.
“Sorry, what’s your name? I know memory’s fuzzy, but maybe we pick a temporary one?” he asked. Stirring the food, she thought. “I like Vicky. Maybe I’m not Vicky, but let’s go with it. And let’s use ‘you’—too formal otherwise.” Theo nodded, agreeing. As she plated the food, he made coffee, and they sat at the table. For the first time in ages, he felt warmth—Eleanor never shared such breakfasts. He’d dreamed of family meals, something he missed as a kid: no father, just him and his mom at the table, the empty seat opposite always heavy.
Once in school, he drew a family at a table—mom, dad, and him, but the father’s face was a blank circle, unknown. Now, years later, he ate a real breakfast, not rushed. “Really good. You cook well. Maybe we try a restaurant? They might be looking for you,” he suggested. Vicky stayed silent, lost in thought.
She was troubled by what happened. She could go to the police, but what would she say? How did she end up on the riverbank with foreigners? Feeling tangled in a murky mess, she accepted Theo’s offer to stay. To break the silence, he turned on the kitchen TV. Local news played: road repairs, utility upgrades, tree trimming. Theo half-listened, but Vicky dropped her fork, staring at the screen with tears.
The anchor reported: “Three days ago, businessman and philanthropist Maxwell Vincent Sullivan returned to the U.S. after years abroad.” It meant nothing to Theo, but Vicky paled. “Why’s that news hitting you so hard?” he asked. She lifted teary eyes. “I know him. My memory’s coming back. I’m Vicky Larson, a private attorney.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Attorney? We thought you worked in a restaurant.” She rubbed her temples. “I barely remember anything, but I got my name. And that client. He came to me right after arriving.” “What ties you to a millionaire?” he asked. “He hired me to find a woman. Her name was in my notebook, but it’s gone,” she said, straining to recall.
“It’s hard to remember details. Why’s my memory coming back in pieces?” Vicky sighed. Theo patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Not all at once. Could take a week or more, but you’ve got your name, surname, job—that’s progress. We can contact your firm.” “What about your job?” she asked. He waved dismissively. “Fired. Embarrassing, but they framed me for a bribe I didn’t take. Was walking by the river, thinking of jumping in to hide from my problems. Stupid, I know.”
“Stupid? Life throws curveballs. As a lawyer, I’ve seen a lot, but ethics keep me quiet. Thanks for helping—I’m sure you were framed,” Vicky said. Her words were a balm after Arthur and Eleanor’s venom. After eating, he suggested walking the city to find her firm. Vicky’s memory was blank on personal details. Finding law office addresses online, he decided to visit them, hoping something would spark, but suggested a taxi—his old car felt tainted after Eleanor’s betrayal.
It was the right call. As Vicky got in the taxi, the driver turned. “Victoria Larson? You? Not in your car? Thanks—you saved me from jail for a crash I didn’t cause. Proved it in court with camera footage. No charge, where to?” Vicky hesitated. “To work, please. Remember my office?” The driver nodded, and she learned where she worked.
The office was in chaos—Vicky had been missing for hours, unreachable. Her phone was gone, likely taken by her captors. Seeing her with a scholarly man, the firm’s owner frowned. “Vick, you’re great, but we’ve got court today, and you’re not answering!” Theo stepped in. “Victoria’s in trouble—someone tried to kill her. She’s got partial memory loss, needs medical leave.” “Who’re you?” the boss grumbled. “Dr. Theodore Bennett, GP. You can verify.”
“I believe you, it’s fine. Vick, recover, I’ll pass your cases to Catherine,” he softened. Vicky looked at Theo gratefully—he’d saved her twice in two days: from captors and her boss’s complaints. Taking her office key, they entered. She rummaged through papers to recall the day before the attack, while Theo scanned the modest but cozy office: an aquarium with fish and a turtle, a flat-screen, a large clock.
“Here it is! They set a meeting at a café, but it was a biker and trucker dive!” Vicky exclaimed, clutching her head. Theo gently sat her down. “Easy, don’t push, or you’ll feel worse.” She lifted teary eyes. “Those were clients who came with Sullivan. He tasked me with finding Eleanor Onslow. Once I got a lead, they set the meeting. The man’s Anthony, the woman’s Mira.”
Theo frowned. “Eleanor Onslow?” “Yeah, it’s on this note,” she nodded. He paled, gasping. “Theo, what’s wrong?” Vicky worried. “Eleanor Margaret Onslow was my mom. Died two years ago,” he managed. “Wow, what a story,” she said, embarrassed. Theo nodded, sensing a meeting with this Sullivan would upend his life.
“What if Maxwell’s my father?” Theo thought. The blank face from his school drawing stirred in his mind. Using Sullivan’s number from Vicky’s log, she called from the office phone, but luck failed. An assistant, Dennis Parker, answered. “Victoria Larson? Found Eleanor Onslow? Great. Maxwell had a heart attack, barely pulled through. Visits are restricted, but I’ll get you a slot. Not coming alone? I’ll inform security.”
Vicky looked at Theo. “We’re too late. Gotta hurry, can you drive?” He nodded, taking the wheel of her sleek car with slight envy. Years at the hospital only got him an old car for Eleanor. “Lawyers do well. Got a mansion?” he teased. “What mansion? Regular house. Car’s on credit—for status. Can’t show up to meetings in a clunker,” she smiled.
Theo drove confidently but carefully, mindful of the car and passenger. “Why’d Sullivan hire you? You’re a lawyer, not a detective,” he asked en route. “I’ve got police connections, specialize in criminal cases. He knew I’d keep quiet. Private investigators leak,” she explained. At the hospital, Sullivan’s security—burly men in suits—met them. After a pat-down, they were led to his room.
Maxwell Vincent, weak but glad, greeted them. “Victoria, serious talk?” “Yes. I found Eleanor Onslow. She died two years ago. This is her son, Theodore Bennett,” Vicky replied. “And the surname?” he rasped. “Maybe from a relative. You’d know,” she said. The businessman eyed Theo with interest, and Theo tensed. “He’ll say he’s my dad.”
Blood called, a thirst for truth grew. Maxwell, struggling, grabbed Theo’s wrist. “Couldn’t come sooner, don’t judge me.” Theo met his eyes. “Are you my father? I saw the resemblance.” Silence hung in the room. Maxwell closed his eyes. “No, Theo, you’re not my son. Nothing happened with your mom. It’s about your real father, Valentine Grant.”