Chapter 3 - THE SECRET INSIDE THE TRUST
I didn't sleep that night.
I sat beside Emma's hospital bed until dawn.
Grace had finally fallen asleep in a chair.
Ethan and Sophie were in a nearby pediatric room.
Three children.
Three lives.
Three years stolen from me.
Every few minutes I looked at Emma.
Her tiny chest rose and fell beneath the blanket.
A monitor glowed beside her.
I reached out and touched her hand.
She woke.
"Daddy?"
The word nearly killed me.
I froze.
"What did you call me?"
She blinked sleepily.
"Daddy."
I couldn't speak.
She smiled.
"Mommy said you would come."
My eyes burned.
"She did?"
"Sometimes."
"What else did she say?"
Emma closed her eyes.
"That you were busy."
I looked away.
She didn't know the truth.
She thought I had abandoned her.
But I hadn't.
I had never known she existed.
At eight in the morning, I left the hospital.
I drove directly to Brooks Holdings.
My father's office occupied the top floor of a glass tower overlooking the river.
The receptionist stood when I entered.
"Mr. Brooks."
"He's expecting me."
She nodded.
The elevator doors opened.
My father was waiting.
Daniel Mercer sat beside him.
And on the table between them was a thick leather folder.
My father pointed toward a chair.
"Sit."
I didn't.
"Tell me everything."
Daniel opened the folder.
"The trust was established by your grandfather, William Brooks."
"I know."
"Your grandfather believed control of the company should remain within the direct bloodline."
"Meaning me."
"Meaning your descendants."
He slid a document across the table.
I read the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
My hands went cold.
The trust required a portion of the voting shares to be transferred into a children's trust whenever I had biological children.
Three equal beneficiaries.
Ethan.
Sophie.
Emma.
My father could lose control of the company.
But there was another clause.
I read it twice.
"If any direct descendant is medically incapacitated or dies before reaching the age of twenty-one, the corresponding shares remain in the family trust under temporary control of the acting trustee."
I looked up.
"Who is the acting trustee?"
My father didn't answer.
Daniel did.
"Your father."
I laughed.
"So he gets to control their shares if they die."
My father looked at me.
"It's not that simple."
"It sounds simple to me."
"Ryan."
"You hid three children from me."
"I protected them."
"One of them is fighting for her life."
"I know."
"And you become trustee if she dies."
His expression hardened.
"You think I want that?"
"I don't know what you want anymore."
Silence.
Then Daniel closed the folder.
"There is another issue."
"What?"
"The trust has a fourth beneficiary."
I frowned.
"Who?"
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
"Your older half-brother."
I stared at him.
"What brother?"
My father stood.
"That's enough."
I turned toward him.
"You have a son?"
He didn't answer.
My stomach dropped.
"You have another child?"
My father walked toward the window.
"His name is Michael."
I couldn't believe it.
"Why have I never heard of him?"
"Because he died."
"When?"
"Twenty-four years ago."
I stared at my father.
"What does a dead man have to do with my children?"
My father remained silent.
Daniel answered.
"Michael's descendants have a contingent claim."
I felt dizzy.
"Does he have children?"
Daniel hesitated.
"One."
My father finally turned.
"A daughter."
"Where is she?"
"We don't know."
I stared at him.
"You've been hiding an entire branch of this family."
My father said nothing.
"Why?"
His eyes were full of something close to regret.
"Because your grandfather made enemies."
"What kind?"
"The kind that don't forgive."
My phone rang.
Grace.
I answered immediately.
"Grace?"
Her voice was frantic.
"Ryan, come back."
"What happened?"
"Someone tried to get into the children's room."
I stood.
"What?"
"The security guard stopped him."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Is Emma safe?"
"Yes."
I was already moving toward the door.
Then Grace whispered:
"Ryan, the man left something."
"What?"
"A photograph."
I stopped.
"What photograph?"
She was crying.
"Your family."
I drove back to the hospital.
A security officer met me outside the pediatric wing.
"We have footage."
He led me into a small security room.
The video showed a man wearing a gray hoodie walking toward the children's room.
He stopped outside.
Looked around.
Then placed something beneath the door.
A photograph.
I leaned toward the monitor.
The image showed three children.
Taken yesterday.
Outside the bus shelter.
Someone had photographed us.
Someone had been watching.
I looked at the timestamp.
3:17 p.m.
Before I'd even seen Grace.
The security officer paused the footage.
"Do you know him?"
I stared.
I did.
The man in the hoodie had been one of my father's former security contractors.
But he wasn't the man in Grace's photograph.
This man was younger.
And alive.
"Who is he?"
The officer zoomed in.
The face became clearer.
My stomach dropped.
It was Michael Brooks.
The brother my father claimed was dead.
I turned toward Daniel, who had followed me into the room.
"That's impossible."
Daniel's face had gone white.
"Ryan..."
"Who is he?"
Daniel whispered:
"That's not Michael."
"Then who?"
Daniel looked at me.
"It's his son."
I felt the world stop.
"Michael had a son?"
"No."
Daniel shook his head.
"Michael had a daughter."
"Then who is that?"
Daniel stared at the screen.
"I don't know."
The hospital lights flickered.
Grace appeared in the doorway.
She was holding the photograph.
She looked at the screen.
Then she dropped it.
Because she recognized the man too.
"He came to our house."
I stared at her.
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"What did he say?"
May you like
Grace's voice trembled.
"He said he was your brother."
