Chapter 3

The man looked genuinely startled. "The police?"

He turned to look at me, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes for the first time. "What is going on?"

I didn't answer. I rushed past him and threw the door open.

Three police officers stood on the porch.

The man in the lead was in his late forties with sharp, piercing eyes. "Did you place the 911 call?"

I nodded frantically. "Yes! It was me!"

His gaze swept past me, locking onto the dining room. "Who is posing as your father?"

I pointed aggressively at the man by the table. "Him!"

The man slowly stood up, his face a mask of utter confusion.

He spoke, his voice cracking slightly. "Chloe... what on earth are you talking about?"

"Don't call me Chloe!"

I screamed back. "You are not my father!"

The officers instantly went on high alert.

The younger officer’s hand dropped to his taser.

Detective Kane stepped into the house, his cold eyes analyzing the man from head to toe.

"Sir, I need to see your ID."

The man remained silent for two seconds, then quietly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing over his driver's license.

Kane took it.

I leaned in immediately to look.

The moment I saw the card, I froze.

The name printed on the license was indeed my father's.

Arthur Miller.

And the photo on the card... was the exact, unfamiliar face of the man standing in front of me.

"No!"

I shrieked, my voice cracking.

"This is impossible!"

"My father doesn't look like this!"

The officers exchanged a look, their expressions turning highly skeptical.

Just then, hurried footsteps sounded from the driveway.

"What's going on? What's happening?"

"Is everything okay at Arthur's house?"

A few neighbors had gathered, drawn by the sirens.

An older woman peered through the screen door. Seeing me, she gasped, "Oh, Chloe! You're back from college?"

"Is it summer break already?"

I felt a wave of icy dread wash over me.

I didn't recognize a single one of these people.

But they all knew my name.

The man gave the neighbors a helpless, bitter smile. "I don't know what's wrong with her. She keeps saying I'm not her dad."

"What?!"

The neighbors gasped in disbelief.

"Is she out of her mind?"

"Arthur has been raising you since you were a toddler! Who else would he be?"

"Did college ruin her brain?"

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. "Stay away from me! I’ve never seen any of you before! You don't live in this town!"

The neighbors looked at each other in sheer bewilderment.

One of the older ladies, Mrs. Gable, looked deeply concerned. "Arthur, did your girl have some kind of mental breakdown?"

Detective Kane clearly realized something was seriously off. He frowned and turned to me. "Kid, you're insisting this man isn't your father. Do you have any actual proof to support this?"

"I..."

My mouth stayed open, but the words caught in my throat.

Because the driver's license, the official records, the neighbors—everything and everyone proved he was Arthur Miller.

But only I knew.

He wasn't.

He absolutely wasn't.

At that moment, the man walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a thick, dusty photo album.

"Detectives, please, just look at this."