Chapter 6 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
We left the office without saying another word.
The photograph remained in my hand.
Daniel Cross.
My mother's first husband.
The man my family said had died twenty years ago.
The man who appeared beside my newborn sons.
There was only one question that mattered.
Where was he?
Mara drove.
I sat in the passenger seat.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Finally she said:
"There's something else."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"Daniel contacted me six years ago."
My head snapped toward her.
"What?"
"After the boys were born."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't trust him."
"Why?"
"He told me something that scared me."
"What?"
She gripped the steering wheel.
"He said your family had been watching me long before I met you."
I stared ahead.
"Why?"
"Because of the boys."
"Why would they care about four children?"
"Because one of them wasn't supposed to survive."
I turned toward her.
"What?"
She swallowed.
"One of the babies was born with a heart condition."
My chest tightened.
"Which one?"
"Lucas."
I remembered Lucas.
He had been quiet that morning.
He'd held my hand.
"Is he sick?"
"No."
"Not anymore."
She glanced at me.
"Someone paid for an experimental treatment."
"Who?"
She didn't answer.
I already knew.
"My family."
She nodded.
"Your grandfather."
I closed my eyes.
Everything was connected.
The hospital.
The DNA report.
The missing records.
The four boys.
Daniel Cross.
My mother.
My family.
All of it.
We drove to an old address Mara had written down.
A small house outside Cambridge.
The property looked abandoned.
Windows covered.
Grass overgrown.
A rusted mailbox leaned sideways.
Mara stopped the car.
"Daniel lived here."
"How do you know?"
"He sent me the address."
"When?"
"Six years ago."
I stepped out.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, the house smelled like dust.
A chair.
A table.
A broken lamp.
Nothing else.
Then I noticed the wall.
Photographs.
Dozens.
My mother.
Me as a child.
My grandfather.
My father.
Mara.
The boys.
Someone had been documenting our family for decades.
I moved closer.
One photograph stopped me.
My mother holding me as a baby.
On the back, written in faded ink:
HE DOESN'T KNOW.
Another photograph.
Me at seventeen.
HE'S GETTING CLOSE.
Another.
Mara and me.
THEY FOUND HER.
My stomach twisted.
Then I heard a sound upstairs.
Footsteps.
Mara grabbed my arm.
"Adrian."
I raised one finger.
Silence.
Another step.
I moved toward the staircase.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Then a man's voice came from above.
"You shouldn't have come."
I froze.
The voice was older.
Calm.
Familiar.
Mara whispered:
"Daniel."
A man appeared at the top of the stairs.
Gray hair.
Tall.
Thin.
Gray-green eyes.
My eyes.
He looked at me.
And smiled sadly.
"Hello, Adrian."
I couldn't speak.
He walked down slowly.
Mara stepped backward.
"You're alive."
"Apparently."
I stared at him.
"Why did you let everyone believe you were dead?"
"Because your grandfather wanted me dead."
"Why?"
Daniel looked at Mara.
"Because I knew the truth."
"What truth?"
He looked at me.
"You're not Adrian Whitmore."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
He reached into his coat.
Pulled out a folder.
"You are Adrian Cross."
I stared at him.
"No."
"Your mother gave you the Whitmore name because she believed it would protect you."
"My father is Richard Whitmore."
"No."
Daniel's voice softened.
"Richard Whitmore raised you."
He paused.
"But I am your biological father."
I couldn't breathe.
Then Daniel said the words that destroyed everything.
"And those four boys?"
He looked toward Mara.
"They aren't four brothers."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He pointed toward the photographs.
"Three are mine."
My blood went cold.
"Three?"
Daniel nodded.
"Three of those boys are my grandchildren."
I looked at Mara.
She was crying.
"No."
Daniel's face darkened.
"The fourth is different."
"Which one?"
He looked at me.
"That's the question your family has spent six years trying to bury."
Suddenly, headlights appeared outside.
Several vehicles.
Men stepped out.
Mara grabbed my hand.
Daniel whispered:
"They found us."
I looked through the window.
Black SUVs.
Security personnel.
And at the center of them stood my father.
He looked directly at me.
Then he raised his phone.
It rang in my pocket.
I answered.
His voice came through.
"Bring Mara outside."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't, one of the boys won't make it through the night."
The line went dead.
I stared at Daniel.
He looked terrified.
"What did he mean?"
Daniel whispered:
"Now you understand why I stayed dead."
I looked outside again.
Then at Mara.
Then toward the hotel, where four little boys were sleeping.
My sons.
My family.
My entire life.
I had spent one day searching for the truth.
And already someone was threatening to kill one of the children.
I picked up the phone.
Called the security chief.
"Lock down the hotel."
"Sir?"
"Nobody gets near those boys."
Then I looked at Daniel.
"Tell me everything."
He nodded.
"It's going to hurt."
I stared through the window at my father.
"Nothing could hurt more than what they've already done."
Daniel sighed.
"Then let's begin."
He opened the folder.
The first page contained four birth records.
The second contained four blood types.
The third contained a photograph of Mara six years earlier.
And the fourth contained a handwritten note from my mother.
I read it.
My knees nearly gave out.
Adrian, if you ever discover the truth, remember this:
I never abandoned you.
Your father did.
And one of your sons is carrying the secret that can destroy the Whitmore family.
I looked at Daniel.
"Which son?"
He shook his head.
"We don't know."
Outside, the SUVs began moving.
Daniel closed the folder.
May you like
"That's why they are coming."
And then the lights in the entire house went out.
