Chapter 2 - THE NAME ON THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE
Natalie barely slept.
By two in the morning, she had convinced herself the entire conversation had been coincidence.
By three, she was searching through the cardboard storage box beneath her bed.
By four, the living-room floor of her tiny apartment was covered with pieces of her childhood.
School certificates.
Photographs.
Medical records.
Her mother's old recipe cards.
A faded Christmas stocking.
One sealed envelope marked IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS.
Natalie sat cross-legged on the carpet and opened it.
Her birth certificate was inside.
She had seen it before.
Probably dozens of times.
But she had never really studied it.
Natalie Jane Carter.
Mother:
Caroline Jane Carter.
Father:
Unknown.
Place of birth:
St. Matthew's Memorial Hospital.
Natalie stared at the words.
25 years ago.
The same hospital where Arthur's granddaughter had been born.
"Coincidence," she whispered.
She turned the certificate over.
Nothing unusual.
Then she noticed the registration date.
Her birthday was September 18.
The document hadn't been registered until November 2.
Six weeks later.
Natalie frowned.
She picked up her mother's old folder again.
There were no hospital bracelets.
No newborn photos.
No photographs of Caroline pregnant.
That realization struck her harder than she expected.
Natalie had photographs from nearly every stage of her childhood.
But almost nothing from before she was six months old.
Her mother had always explained it simply.
"We didn't have much money for cameras."
At the time, it had made sense.
Now Natalie wasn't sure.
At 8:13 the next morning, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She almost didn't answer.
"Hello?"
"Natalie?"
She recognized Arthur immediately.
His voice sounded tired.
"Hi."
"I'm sorry about yesterday."
"For which part? The hidden billionaire thing or the possible secret-granddaughter bomb?"
Arthur gave a weak laugh.
"Both."
Natalie sat on the edge of her couch.
"I found my birth certificate."
Silence.
Arthur stopped breathing for a moment.
"What does it say?"
"St. Matthew's."
Another long silence.
"When were you born?"
"September eighteenth."
Natalie heard something fall on Arthur's end.
"Arthur?"
"I'm here."
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"You dropped something."
"A cup."
"Arthur."
"Natalie, I need to ask you something."
His voice was trembling now.
"What?"
"My granddaughter was born September eighteenth."
Natalie stopped moving.
Every sound in her apartment seemed to disappear.
"No."
"I'm not saying—"
"No."
"Natalie."
"Millions of people share birthdays."
"Yes."
"And hospitals."
"Yes."
"And—"
Arthur's voice broke.
"Her middle name was Jane."
Natalie stood so suddenly that her knee struck the coffee table.
Pain shot up her leg.
She barely noticed.
"My mother gave me that name."
"I know."
"You don't know anything about my mother."
"You're right."
"Caroline raised me."
"I know."
"You met me yesterday."
"I know."
"Then don't do this."
Arthur became quiet.
Natalie pressed a hand against her forehead.
Her mother's face filled her mind.
Caroline laughing while making pancakes.
Caroline sewing a Halloween costume by hand.
Caroline sleeping in a hospital chair beside Natalie after an appendectomy.
Caroline whispering, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."
Nobody got to turn those memories into a lie.
Not even a lonely old man.
Not even a billionaire.
Arthur spoke gently.
"I don't want to take your mother from you."
"Then stop."
"I only want answers."
"Maybe I don't."
The sentence surprised even Natalie.
Arthur didn't respond immediately.
Then he said, "That's fair."
No pressure.
No argument.
Just fair.
Natalie's anger weakened.
Arthur continued.
"I've had twenty-five years to wonder. You've had one night. I should remember that."
Natalie sat back down.
"What was your granddaughter's name?"
Arthur inhaled.
"Emily Jane Whitmore."
Natalie closed her eyes.
Not Natalie.
Emily.
Good.
Different name.
Different family.
"Who was her father?"
"Daniel Mercer."
Natalie opened her eyes.
Mercer.
The name Arthur's security guard had mentioned.
Grant Mercer.
"Is Grant related to him?"
"Daniel's younger brother."
"What happened to Daniel?"
"He's dead."
"How?"
There was a long pause.
"Car accident."
"And your daughter?"
"The same year."
Natalie's stomach tightened.
"Also a car accident?"
"No."
"What happened?"
Arthur's voice became distant.
"Officially, she drowned."
"Officially?"
"Natalie."
"What does that mean?"
"It means there were things about Evelyn's death I never believed."
Natalie felt goose bumps rise along her arms.
Arthur continued.
"After Evelyn left Daniel, she called me one night. She was terrified. She said she had discovered something about the Mercer family. Something dangerous."
"What?"
"She wouldn't tell me over the phone."
Arthur paused.
"She said she was bringing the baby home."
Natalie stared at the wall.
"Did she?"
"No."
"What happened?"
"Her car was found near Lake Horner three days later."
"And her body?"
"Recovered two weeks afterward."
Natalie swallowed.
"The baby?"
"Never found."
"Was there a car seat?"
"Yes."
"Blood?"
"No."
"Then maybe somebody took her."
"I've believed that for twenty-five years."
Natalie rubbed her arms.
"And Caroline?"
"I don't know."
"Did you know her?"
"No."
"Then this is still just a coincidence."
"Yes."
Arthur said it quickly.
Too quickly.
Natalie narrowed her eyes.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Arthur went silent.
"Arthur."
"When I got home yesterday, I looked through Evelyn's old journals."
Natalie's grip tightened around the phone.
"There was a name."
She knew before he said it.
"Caroline."
"Caroline Jane Bennett."
Natalie stopped breathing.
"My mother's maiden name was Bennett."
Arthur's voice became almost inaudible.
"Evelyn wrote, 'If anything happens to me, Caroline knows what to do.'"
Natalie stood.
Her entire body went cold.
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"No."
Arthur continued carefully.
"There was also an address."
Natalie didn't want to ask.
She did anyway.
"What address?"
"The apartment where Caroline lived twenty-five years ago."
Natalie's heart pounded.
"Where?"
"West Harbor."
Natalie leaned against the wall.
Her mother had lived in West Harbor before Natalie was born.
Natalie knew because Caroline used to point out the neighborhood whenever they drove through it.
"That was my mother's neighborhood."
Arthur breathed out.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Then Natalie heard a man's voice behind Arthur.
"Mr. Whitmore, we need to go."
Arthur covered the phone.
"I'm speaking with someone."
The voice became clearer.
"It's urgent."
Arthur returned.
"Natalie, I'll call you—"
"No. What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Arthur."
The line went quiet.
Then Natalie heard another voice.
Younger.
Sharper.
"Who is that?"
Arthur said, "None of your business, Grant."
Natalie's pulse jumped.
Grant Mercer.
A beat of silence.
Then Grant spoke again.
"Is that the woman from the bank?"
Arthur didn't answer.
Grant's tone changed.
"Arthur, you cannot seriously be doing this again."
Natalie frowned.
Again?
Arthur snapped, "Get out of my office."
"How much has she asked for?"
"Get out."
"Because Thomas showed me her photo."
Natalie stood frozen.
Her photo?
Grant continued.
"I already had someone check her."
Arthur's voice rose.
"You did what?"
"She's unemployed. Behind on rent. Outstanding personal loan. No meaningful savings."
Humiliation burned through Natalie.
Arthur shouted, "You had no right!"
"She approached you in a bank."
"She didn't approach me. I approached her."
"That's even worse."
Natalie's face burned.
She wanted to hang up.
She couldn't.
Grant continued.
"People like her can smell vulnerability."
"People like her?"
Arthur sounded furious.
Grant didn't stop.
"She sees an eighty-one-year-old widower with money and suddenly she's having tea with him?"
"You know nothing about her."
"I know enough."
Natalie had heard enough too.
"Arthur."
Everything went silent on the other end.
"Natalie?"
"Tell Grant he doesn't need to investigate me anymore."
"No."
"I shouldn't have gotten involved."
"You didn't—"
"It was five minutes."
Her voice cracked despite her effort to control it.
"That's all you asked for."
"Natalie, please."
"Take care of yourself."
She ended the call.
Then she stood in the middle of her apartment shaking.
Anger.
Embarrassment.
Fear.
She didn't know which emotion was strongest.
Her phone immediately rang again.
Arthur.
She declined it.
Again.
Declined.
Then a text appeared.
I am sorry. Grant had no right.
Another.
Please don't disappear because someone else behaved badly.
Natalie stared at the screen.
Then a third message arrived.
Whatever the truth is, you owe me nothing.
She sat down.
For several minutes she did nothing.
Then she noticed the cardboard box beside her.
Her mother's things.
Natalie began putting the papers back.
Birth certificate.
Photos.
Bills.
Recipes.
She lifted an old photo album.
Something slid from beneath it.
A small white envelope.
Natalie frowned.
She had never seen it before.
The envelope was yellowed with age.
On the front, written in her mother's handwriting:
For Natalie — only if someone named Whitmore ever finds you.
Natalie's fingers went numb.
She stared at the sentence until the letters blurred.
Then she tore the envelope open.
Inside was a single photograph.
Her mother Caroline stood beside a younger woman at a hospital.
The younger woman had dark hair.
Bright eyes.
A crooked smile.
Natalie had seen that face yesterday.
Evelyn Whitmore.
Arthur's daughter.
Caroline was holding a newborn baby.
On the back, her mother had written six words.
I promised Evelyn I would protect her.
May you like
And beneath that:
Forgive me, Natalie. Your real name is Emily.
