Chapter 5 - The Secret My Mother Took to Her Grave
The next morning, I woke before sunrise.
I hadn't slept.
Neither had Mara.
We sat across from each other in the hotel's private dining room while the boys slept upstairs.
A folder lay between us.
Inside were six years of lies.
Birth certificates.
Hospital records.
Emails.
Letters.
Photographs.
Every piece of evidence Mara had preserved.
"You kept everything," I said.
"I knew one day you'd need it."
I opened the first envelope.
It contained a letter addressed to me.
The date was six years earlier.
Adrian,
I don't know if this letter will ever reach you. Your family has told me you're gone, but I don't believe them.
I stopped reading.
The handwriting was hers.
My throat tightened.
There were seven letters.
One for every month after the boys were born.
Mara had written to me even when she believed I might never read them.
I opened another.
Then another.
Each one described the boys.
Their first smiles.
Their first steps.
Their first words.
She had written everything.
I looked at her.
"Why didn't you burn them?"
"Because they were yours."
I couldn't speak.
She lowered her eyes.
"I wanted you to know what you missed."
My chest hurt.
"I'm sorry."
She looked at me.
"I don't need your apology."
"What do you need?"
"The truth."
I nodded.
"Then let's find it."
I called my father's attorney.
"Mr. Whitmore isn't available."
"Tell him his son is asking questions."
"He still isn't available."
"Then tell him I'm coming."
The attorney hung up.
Five minutes later, my grandfather called.
"Come to my office."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Adrian—"
"If you want to talk, you talk in front of Mara."
Silence.
Then he said:
"Fine."
We arrived at Whitmore Holdings at ten.
Employees stared as I walked through the lobby.
News traveled fast in Boston.
By then, everyone probably knew the engagement had collapsed.
My grandfather waited in his office.
My father stood beside the window.
Neither looked pleased to see me.
I placed the forged DNA report on the desk.
"Explain."
My grandfather looked at it.
"You found it."
"I found the lie."
My father stepped forward.
"You don't understand the circumstances."
"Then explain them."
My grandfather sat down.
"For years, our family has been protecting you."
"From what?"
"From the truth."
I laughed.
"That's what every liar says."
His expression hardened.
"Your mother discovered something six years before her death."
I went still.
"What?"
"She found evidence that someone inside the company was stealing money."
"Who?"
"Your father."
I turned toward him.
My father didn't deny it.
My stomach dropped.
"You?"
He looked at me.
"It wasn't what you think."
"You stole from the company?"
"I moved money."
"Where?"
"To protect it."
"From whom?"
My grandfather answered.
"Your mother's business partner."
I frowned.
"My mother didn't have a business partner."
"Exactly."
I stared at him.
"What does that mean?"
He opened a drawer.
Pulled out an old photograph.
My mother stood beside a man I'd never seen.
On the back was a date.
Six years before my mother's death.
"Who is he?"
My grandfather said:
"Your mother's first husband."
I stopped breathing.
"My mother was married before my father?"
"Yes."
My father finally spoke.
"His name was Daniel Cross."
I stared at the photograph.
A handsome man.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
And something about him felt familiar.
Too familiar.
"Where is he now?"
My grandfather's expression changed.
"Dead."
"How?"
"Car accident."
"What year?"
"Twenty years ago."
I looked at the photograph again.
Then at my father.
"Why did nobody tell me?"
"Because your mother asked us not to."
"Why?"
My grandfather hesitated.
"Because Daniel Cross was your biological father."
Silence.
I felt the room disappear around me.
"What?"
My father looked down.
I stared at him.
"You knew?"
He nodded.
"You knew I wasn't your son."
My father closed his eyes.
"For thirty-seven years."
I stepped backward.
Everything I'd believed about myself was collapsing.
My name.
My inheritance.
My childhood.
My father.
My mother.
All of it.
Then I remembered the four boys.
The same gray-green eyes.
The same jaw.
The same face.
I turned toward my grandfather.
"Are the boys Daniel's descendants?"
"No."
"Then whose?"
My grandfather didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Tell me."
He whispered:
"That's what we've been trying to prevent you from discovering."
The office door suddenly opened.
Mara stood there.
She was holding another envelope.
"I think I know."
Everyone turned.
She looked directly at my grandfather.
"I found this six years ago."
She threw the envelope onto the desk.
A photograph slid out.
My grandfather's face changed.
My father went pale.
I picked it up.
It showed four newborn babies.
Standing beside them was a nurse.
And behind the nurse was a man.
A man I recognized.
The stranger from my mother's old photograph.
Daniel Cross.
My hands began to shake.
"That's impossible."
Mara whispered:
"Daniel Cross didn't die twenty years ago."
I stared at her.
"Then who did?"
She looked at my grandfather.
"Someone else."
And my grandfather finally broke.
May you like
He covered his face with both hands.
For the first time in my life, I saw the most powerful man I knew look terrified.
