Chapter 8 - Why Malcolm Wanted the Twins
For the first time since Madeline died, I was afraid to open one of her letters.
Not because of what it might say about Patricia.
Not because it might expose Steven.
Because of the photograph.
Malcolm is not after his business.
He is after Avery and Sophie.
My daughters were upstairs.
Five years old.
One missing front tooth between them.
Two people whose greatest concerns should have been kindergarten, frosting distribution, and whether Bunny needed his own blanket.
Why would a sixty-eight-year-old developer with hundreds of millions of dollars want them?
Clara stood near the office door.
Steven remained seated.
He looked as confused as I felt.
“You knew about this?” I asked him.
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
I held up the photograph.
“Malcolm.”
“I can see that.”
“You worked for him.”
“I represented companies connected to him.”
“Don’t play with words.”
“I did not know he was interested in your daughters.”
I opened the envelope.
Madeline’s handwriting covered six pages.
The first sentence made me sit down.
Ethan, if you are reading this, then I waited too long to tell you something because I was afraid of what you would do with the truth.
That sounded like her.
Even dead, Madeline knew me.
I continued.
She had begun investigating the Hale family after discovering Patricia had paid one of our former nannies for information about the twins.
Not photographs.
Not schedules.
Medical information.
Blood types.
Hospital records.
Genetic screening.
I looked up.
“Why?”
Steven shook his head.
“No idea.”
The letter continued.
Madeline confronted Patricia.
Patricia claimed she was preparing for a charity project involving childhood illness.
Madeline did not believe her.
She followed the money.
Eventually, she discovered Malcolm Hale had been quietly paying a private medical consultant who specialized in hereditary blood disorders.
The consultant had requested information on Avery and Sophie.
I stopped reading.
Clara whispered, “Were the twins sick?”
“No.”
“Any genetic condition?”
“Not that I know.”
I returned to the letter.
Then Madeline revealed the piece that made everything else make sense.
Malcolm had a grandson.
Daniel Hale Jr.
Eleven years old at the time.
Patricia’s older brother Matthew’s son.
The boy had a rare inherited bone marrow disorder.
Treatment had failed twice.
According to Madeline, Malcolm believed a genetically compatible relative could become a donor.
But neither Patricia nor Matthew was a sufficient match.
So Malcolm had quietly tested broader family connections.
I frowned.
“What family connections?”
Steven looked suddenly ill.
I noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Steven.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Patricia’s mother.”
“What about her?”
“She had an affair.”
My blood went cold.
“With who?”
Steven looked at me.
“Your father.”
Silence.
Complete.
Absolute.
I laughed once because the alternative was destroying the room.
“My father died fifteen years ago.”
“I know.”
“You’re telling me Patricia and I are related?”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
“Patricia’s mother had a child before marrying Malcolm.”
“What child?”
Steven looked at the photograph.
“Matthew.”
I stared.
“Matthew Hale is my half-brother?”
“Possibly.”
The room blurred.
If Matthew was my father’s biological son, then his child and my daughters shared blood.
Not close enough for certainty.
But close enough to make Malcolm investigate compatibility.
I finished Madeline’s letter.
She believed Malcolm had no intention of kidnapping the girls.
At first.
He wanted medical access.
Testing.
Samples.
Information.
When Madeline discovered the plan, she threatened to expose everything.
Not publicly.
To me.
That terrified Malcolm.
Because he understood exactly how I would react to someone secretly obtaining my daughters’ medical information.
Madeline wrote:
I am not afraid that Malcolm wants to hurt our girls. I am afraid that he has convinced himself hurting us is acceptable if he believes it can save Daniel.
I lowered the pages.
Clara whispered, “That’s why the medicine?”
“No.”
I looked at Steven.
“Is Daniel Hale Jr. alive?”
Steven nodded.
“He’s thirteen now.”
“Condition?”
“Still ill.”
“So Malcolm still needs a donor.”
“Maybe.”
My stomach turned.
Patricia had not been drugging Sophie simply to manipulate behavior.
What if she needed blood?
Medical samples?
I stood.
“Dr. Ruiz.”
Clara understood instantly.
I called.
“Elena.”
“Ethan?”
“When Sophie got sick, did anyone draw blood before you examined her?”
“What?”
“Two nights ago.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“I know. Mrs. Nolan said Patricia claimed a doctor approved medication.”
“I never did.”
“Did another medical provider visit the house?”
A pause.
“I don’t know.”
“Check.”
“I can access the twins’ medical portal.”
I waited.
Keyboard sounds.
Then silence.
“Elena?”
“There’s an entry.”
My hand tightened.
“What entry?”
“A mobile phlebotomy service.”
Clara closed her eyes.
“When?”
“The morning after Sophie became sick.”
“Who authorized it?”
“Patricia Hale.”
My vision darkened.
“What tests?”
“CBC, metabolic panel, blood typing, HLA markers.”
HLA.
I knew enough from Madeline’s letter.
Compatibility testing.
“They were looking for a donor.”
Dr. Ruiz went silent.
“What?”
“Nothing. Cancel any access Patricia has to the girls’ medical information.”
“I’m doing it now.”
“And tell me where the samples went.”
“That may take time.”
“Find out.”
I ended the call.
Steven stood.
“Ethan, listen to me.”
“No.”
“If Daniel is dying—”
I turned so fast he stopped.
“Finish that sentence.”
“I’m saying Malcolm may be desperate.”
“Then Malcolm can beg.”
“Would you have allowed testing?”
“If he had asked?”
“Yes.”
The answer came before anger could influence it.
“If a child’s life could be saved without putting mine at unnecessary risk, I would have listened.”
Steven looked away.
“Malcolm didn’t believe you.”
“So he drugged Sophie?”
“I did not say that.”
“He took her blood without consent.”
Steven said nothing.
“And Patricia helped.”
“No proof.”
“Her authorization is attached to the order.”
“That proves she authorized blood work.”
“For a five-year-old who had just been given a sedative.”
I stepped closer.
“If you defend her again, this conversation ends.”
Steven sat.
Clara looked at me.
“What happens now?”
“Now we find Malcolm.”
Luis entered before I could call.
“We already did.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“He requested entry at the gate.”
Steven’s head snapped up.
“What?”
Malcolm Hale was outside my house.
Of course he was.
Powerful men often mistook boldness for innocence.
“Is he alone?”
“Two security men.”
“Search them.”
“Yes.”
“Then bring him.”
Clara stepped closer.
“The girls.”
“Upstairs.”
“I’ll stay with them.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You want me here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because people in this house have spent months treating you like someone without a voice.”
I looked toward the hallway.
“That ends tonight.”
Malcolm entered ten minutes later.
Tall.
White hair.
Navy suit despite the August heat.
He looked like a senator.
He smiled at me.
“Ethan.”
I did not offer my hand.
His eyes moved to Steven.
Then Clara.
Then the open safe.
The smile disappeared.
“You found it.”
Not what is that?
Not what happened?
You found it.
I held up Madeline’s letter.
“You knew.”
Malcolm sighed.
“I hoped she destroyed it.”
“Why did you want my daughters’ blood?”
His jaw tightened.
“So you know about Daniel.”
“Answer.”
“My grandson is dying.”
“And that gives you ownership over my children?”
“No.”
“You drugged Sophie.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
I watched carefully.
Genuine surprise.
Maybe.
“Patricia gave Sophie a sedative.”
“I didn’t know.”
“She authorized blood work.”
Malcolm closed his eyes.
“Patricia.”
“You’re surprised?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I told her to stop.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
“After Madeline died.”
I stared.
Malcolm lowered himself into a chair.
“The testing began before the crash.”
“You paid for it.”
“Yes.”
“You violated my daughters’ privacy.”
“Yes.”
“You helped create the circumstances that killed my wife.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
Not denial.
That almost made it worse.
“I told Steven to frighten you.”
Steven looked down.
“I wanted you out of the port project. I also wanted access to the girls’ records.”
“Why the crash?”
“Because Madeline threatened to expose us.”
“So you threatened her.”
“I wanted her scared.”
“She died.”
“I know.”
His voice broke slightly.
I did not care.
“After the funeral, I ended it.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel refused.”
I frowned.
“Your grandson?”
“Yes.”
Malcolm looked at me.
“He found out where the testing came from. He said he would rather die than have another child forced to save him.”
For the first time, my anger shifted.
A sick thirteen-year-old had more integrity than the adults around him.
“Then why is Patricia still doing it?”
Malcolm looked toward the stairs.
“Because Patricia has never accepted losing anything.”
Clara crossed her arms.
“Daniel is her nephew.”
“Yes.”
“She thinks Sophie may be a match.”
“Yes.”
“Why Sophie and not Avery?”
Malcolm hesitated.
I noticed.
“What?”
“Earlier testing showed Avery was not compatible.”
My chest froze.
“Earlier testing?”
He realized.
Too late.
“How many times have you taken my daughters’ blood?”
Malcolm looked down.
“Twice.”
I moved toward him.
Clara stepped between us.
Not touching me.
Just standing there.
A reminder.
Avery.
Sophie.
The father I was trying to become.
I stopped.
“Get out.”
Malcolm stood.
“Ethan.”
“Get out.”
“Patricia is not doing this only for Daniel.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“She believes saving Daniel will give her control of Hale Development after I die.”
Of course.
Money.
Power.
Inheritance.
Even the sick child had become a piece on her board.
Malcolm continued.
“And there’s something else you should know.”
“What?”
“Patricia discovered your relationship to Matthew before Madeline did.”
“So?”
“She used it.”
“How?”
Malcolm looked toward Steven.
Steven went pale.
“What?” I demanded.
Malcolm’s answer landed like a bullet.
“Patricia was the one who convinced Steven that threatening Madeline would help secure the port deal.”
Steven stood.
“That’s not true.”
Malcolm ignored him.
“She knew exactly how unstable the driver was.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Patricia may have known that a staged accident could become something much worse.”
Steven shouted, “Malcolm.”
May you like
But Malcolm kept looking at me.
“And three days before Madeline died, Patricia increased the driver’s payment.”
