Chapter 6 - THE SON I NEVER KNEW
I couldn't understand the document.
It had my name.
My date of birth.
My signature.
But I had never given birth to Samuel.
I told them that.
Repeatedly.
Reed believed me.
Melissa believed me.
But the document existed.
So did hospital records.
Twenty-six years earlier, according to the file, I had delivered a baby boy.
The child had supposedly died shortly after birth.
I remembered that night.
Except I hadn't given birth to a boy.
I'd suffered a miscarriage.
At least that's what I had been told.
Daniel had handled everything.
He told me the doctors said the pregnancy had ended naturally.
I had believed him.
Now I wondered.
What if the baby had survived?
What if someone had taken him?
We found the hospital records.
Pages were missing.
Names had been blacked out.
One nurse remained alive.
Her name was Margaret Hale.
We found her living in a nursing facility two hours away.
She remembered Daniel.
When I showed her the photograph, she began crying.
"You don't remember?"
I shook my head.
She looked at me.
"You were unconscious."
"After the delivery?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"The baby was alive."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
Margaret nodded.
"Your husband came to me."
"What did he say?"
"He told me the baby had died."
I stared at her.
"But you knew he hadn't."
"Yes."
"Where was he?"
She lowered her voice.
"He was taken."
"By whom?"
She looked frightened.
"I was told not to ask."
"Who told you?"
She whispered:
"Jonathan Pierce."
Everything became clear.
Pierce had known about the child.
Daniel had tried to protect him.
Perhaps the trust had been created for him.
Perhaps the farm was connected to his inheritance.
But where was Samuel?
Margaret gave us an address.
A small town in Montana.
A man named Samuel Whitmore lived there.
Age thirty-eight.
Former military.
Married.
Two children.
I stared at his photograph.
The resemblance to Daniel was unmistakable.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
Same crooked smile.
I began crying.
"He's alive."
Reed nodded.
"We think so."
We flew to Montana.
Samuel met us at a small diner.
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he said:
"You're Eleanor."
I couldn't speak.
He stood.
"I've been waiting for you."
I stared at him.
"Who told you about me?"
"My father."
"Who?"
"Daniel."
My heart broke.
He had known.
All these years, my husband had known where our son was.
"Why didn't he tell me?"
Samuel's expression softened.
"Because he was afraid."
"Of Pierce?"
"Yes."
"What happened to you?"
Samuel sat down.
"Pierce took me because my birth certificate was useful."
"For what?"
"Ownership."
He explained.
Daniel's family had controlled a network of land trusts.
Samuel's birth gave Pierce access to a dormant trust.
But Daniel refused to cooperate.
So Pierce threatened to expose Samuel.
Daniel hid him.
He changed his name.
Built a life far away.
And kept paying into the trust.
Then Daniel died.
Samuel received a letter.
He came to the farm once.
He saw Marcus.
And he realized something was wrong.
"What did you see?"
"Your son meeting Pierce."
My stomach tightened.
"When?"
"Two months before Daniel died."
Samuel leaned forward.
"They were arguing."
"About what?"
"About the farm."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because Pierce needed the mineral rights."
"What mineral?"
Samuel shook his head.
"Not mineral."
"What, then?"
He looked directly at me.
"Water."
I frowned.
"The entire valley sits above one of the largest underground freshwater reserves in the region."
I stared.
"The farm controls the access point."
Suddenly three million dollars seemed laughable.
Pierce wasn't buying land.
He was buying control.
Samuel continued.
"Your children were promised millions."
"And if they failed?"
"They were told their mother would cooperate eventually."
I looked down.
"What if I didn't?"
Samuel's expression changed.
"Then Pierce had a second plan."
"What?"
He looked at Reed.
"You should show her."
Reed opened his laptop.
A surveillance photograph appeared.
Marcus.
Rachel.
Jonathan Pierce.
Standing together outside a warehouse.
The timestamp was from the night before I sold the farm.
But the picture wasn't the worst part.
Behind them was a fourth person.
A man I recognized immediately.
My doctor.
The man who had prescribed my medication.
I whispered:
"Oh my God."
May you like
Samuel looked at me.
"That's the man who helped them poison you."
