Chapter 4 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
My mother wouldn't say his name.
Not at first.
She sat at the kitchen table while Dana continued photographing documents.
I stood across from her.
“Who is my father?”
She looked exhausted.
“His name is Michael Hayes.”
The name meant nothing.
“Where is he?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“That's a lie.”
“I haven't spoken to him in thirty years.”
“Then how do you know he's alive?”
She didn't answer.
I turned to Uncle Raymond.
“Do you know him?”
Raymond nodded.
“Once.”
“Where?”
“At your grandfather's company.”
I stared at him.
“What company?”
He hesitated.
“Carter Development.”
I knew the name.
It had been sold years ago.
My father had supposedly owned a small contracting business.
But my grandfather's company had been much larger.
“Why didn't I know this?”
My mother said:
“Because your father didn't want you involved.”
“Which father?”
She looked down.
The silence answered for her.
Dana interrupted.
“Mr. Carter, there's something else.”
She placed a photograph in front of me.
It showed a younger version of my mother standing beside a man.
The man was tall.
Dark-haired.
Wearing a suit.
On the back of the photograph was a handwritten date.
Thirty-one years earlier.
I looked closer.
There was a child in the background.
A baby.
Me.
My hands began shaking.
“Where was this taken?”
My mother whispered:
“Dallas.”
“Why were we there?”
“I was meeting Michael.”
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“Because he wanted you.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He wanted custody.”
I stared at her.
She continued.
“He knew you were his son.”
“Then why didn't he raise me?”
“Because I refused.”
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
Uncle Raymond did.
“Money.”
My mother glared at him.
“Enough.”
But he kept going.
“Michael offered her a settlement.”
I looked at my mother.
“How much?”
She whispered:
“Three hundred thousand.”
I felt sick.
“You sold me?”
“No.”
“You took money to keep my father away from me.”
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
She looked away.
“From the truth.”
Dana placed another document on the table.
“This settlement agreement appears to have been executed thirty years ago.”
I looked at the signature.
My mother's.
Michael Hayes.
And a third signature.
A lawyer named Eleanor Price.
“Where is Eleanor now?”
Dana answered:
“We're locating her.”
I looked at my mother.
“Does she know where Michael is?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she was there.”
“When?”
“When the agreement was signed.”
My mother finally broke.
She began crying.
Not the controlled tears I had seen at funerals.
Not the dramatic tears she used when she wanted sympathy.
Real tears.
“I thought I was saving you.”
I didn't move.
“You were saving yourself.”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand what Michael was.”
“Then tell me.”
“He wasn't a good man.”
“What did he do?”
She looked toward Olivia.
Then toward Mason's room.
“He was involved with people who could destroy us.”
Dana's expression sharpened.
“What people?”
My mother didn't answer.
Uncle Raymond did.
“Investors.”
I frowned.
“Investors?”
“Men who used construction companies to move money.”
Dana immediately started writing.
My mother glared at him.
“Raymond.”
“You lied to him for thirty years.”
He looked at me.
“He deserves the truth.”
Then someone knocked at the front door.
Everyone froze.
I walked toward it.
Dana followed.
I opened the door.
A woman stood on the porch.
Late sixties.
Gray hair.
Navy coat.
She held a thin brown envelope.
“Eleanor Price?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
My mother made a sound behind me.
Eleanor looked past me.
Her eyes met my mother's.
Then she looked at me.
“You look exactly like him.”
I couldn't speak.
She handed me the envelope.
“I think it's time you knew.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A hospital room.
My mother.
A newborn baby.
And a man standing beside the bed.
Michael Hayes.
On the back, one sentence had been written.
He never stopped looking for you.
I looked at Eleanor.
“Where is he?”
She took a slow breath.
“Ten miles from here.”
My mother stood.
“No.”
Eleanor looked at her.
“You've hidden him long enough.”
My mother whispered:
“He'll destroy him.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“No.”
May you like
She looked at me.
“He wants to meet his son.”
