PART 4 — THE GIRL MY FAMILY ERASED
For several seconds, I genuinely thought I had heard him wrong.
“My sister?”
My father didn’t answer.
The deputy holding his arm glanced between us.
Laura had stopped crying.
Evan looked even more confused than I felt.
Richard was the first person to speak.
“David, what exactly do you mean?”
Dad laughed once.
There was nothing funny in it.
“You’re the lawyer. Figure it out.”
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
“I asked you a question.”
“Nathan, this is not how you should find out.”
I stared at the handcuffs around his wrists.
“That sentence is getting old.”
His face tightened.
“You had eighteen years,” I said. “You had every breakfast. Every birthday. Every car ride. Every night I sat across from you at dinner. You had thousands of chances to tell me the truth.”
“Nathan—”
“Who is she?”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Her name is Rebecca.”
The name meant nothing to me.
That somehow made it worse.
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-four.”
I did the math.
Six years older than me.
“So she was born before you married Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Same mother?”
“No.”
“Who is her mother?”
He hesitated.
“Her name was Caroline Mercer.”
Was.
I caught it immediately.
“Was?”
“She died.”
“When?”
“2007.”
The year from my mother’s letter.
My skin prickled.
“What happened in 2007?”
Dad said nothing.
Richard stepped closer.
“David, Nathan’s mother specifically referenced that year and a woman you were hiding. If Rebecca is connected to the estate, we need the full story.”
Dad’s eyes hardened.
“You don’t need anything.”
The deputy adjusted his grip.
“Sir, I suggest you cooperate.”
My father looked at me again.
“She wasn’t supposed to become part of your life.”
I felt something hot rise through my chest.
“She’s my sister.”
“You don’t know her.”
“Whose fault is that?”
He looked away.
“Does she know about me?”
Silence.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
One word.
It hurt more than it should have.
“She knows I exist?”
“Yes.”
“And I never knew she existed?”
“She knew your name. That was all.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
I laughed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“You hid her for twenty-four years.”
“I protected her.”
“From who?”
His eyes moved toward the photographs on the workshop wall.
My grandfather.
“From James.”
Richard frowned.
“Why would James be a threat to his own granddaughter?”
My father said nothing.
Something clicked in my head.
“You said she might inherit everything.”
Dad stared at me.
“Why?”
Still nothing.
“Why would Grandpa leave his company to a granddaughter he supposedly didn’t know existed?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
Richard suddenly moved toward the hidden room.
He picked up the leather folder containing the will.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Checking something.”
He opened the document and started flipping through pages.
My father watched him.
That was when I saw it.
Fear again.
Richard stopped.
His finger moved down one page.
Then another.
“Oh.”
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
“Richard.”
He looked up.
“Your grandfather included a contingency beneficiary.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you are unable or unwilling to inherit the controlling interest, it passes to another person.”
“Rebecca?”
“The beneficiary isn’t named.”
I frowned.
“How can someone inherit without being named?”
“The will identifies the person by relationship and DNA verification.”
My stomach tightened.
“What relationship?”
Richard read the provision twice before answering.
“James’s eldest biological grandchild.”
Everyone looked at my father.
Richard continued.
“If another biological grandchild of James Brooks exists and can establish that they are older than Nathan, that person has a potential claim under this clause.”
“So Grandpa knew?”
“No,” Richard said. “I don’t think he did.”
“Then why include it?”
“Estate planning sometimes accounts for unknown descendants.”
My father laughed bitterly.
“My father was obsessed with bloodlines.”
Richard ignored him.
I looked down at the silver key in my hand.
“Does opening box 314 trigger something?”
“Not legally by itself.”
Dad immediately said, “You don’t know what’s inside.”
“You apparently do.”
“I know enough.”
“Then tell me.”
He shook his head.
I stepped closer.
“You’re about to be taken away because there’s a recording of you chasing Mom before the crash. This may be your last chance to tell me anything voluntarily.”
That landed.
Dad’s shoulders dropped.
“I met Caroline when I was twenty-one.”
Nobody interrupted.
“She worked at Brooks Manufacturing. Payroll department. Smart. Funny. Completely unimpressed by the fact my father owned the company.”
For the first time that night, my father sounded like a human being telling a memory instead of a defendant choosing his words.
“We were together for almost two years.”
“What happened?”
“She got pregnant.”
“And?”
“I panicked.”
Of course.
That seemed to be my father’s answer to everything.
“I wasn’t ready to be a father. James expected me to take over the company someday. I was stupid. Selfish.”
“You abandoned her?”
“No.”
He looked at me sharply.
“No. I gave her money. I visited. I held Rebecca when she was born.”
“Did Grandpa know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Caroline asked me not to tell him.”
“Why?”
Dad’s eyes dropped.
“Because James had fired her.”
Richard frowned.
“For what?”
“Stealing.”
The room went quiet.
“How much?”
“About twelve thousand dollars.”
“And you were dating her?”
“Yes.”
“Did she steal it?”
My father hesitated.
“No.”
Richard’s expression sharpened.
“Then who did?”
Dad didn’t answer.
I already knew.
“You.”
He closed his eyes.
“You stole before the two hundred and forty thousand.”
“Yes.”
“And she took the blame?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She loved me.”
I couldn’t believe the way he said it.
As if love explained destruction.
“So Grandpa fired a pregnant woman for something you did.”
“He didn’t know she was pregnant.”
“And you let him.”
Dad looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
Laura whispered, “David, you told me Caroline stole from your father.”
“I told everybody that.”
My stomach turned.
“What happened after Rebecca was born?”
“I paid for an apartment. Caroline found another job. I visited when I could.”
“Secretly.”
“Yes.”
“Then you met Mom?”
He nodded.
“Did Mom know you had a daughter when she married you?”
“No.”
“So you lied to her too.”
“I was going to tell her.”
“When?”
He had no answer.
Richard asked, “How does this connect to 2007?”
Dad’s face changed.
“Caroline got sick.”
“What kind of sick?”
“Cancer.”
His voice softened.
“She had hidden it for months. By the time she told me, there wasn’t much doctors could do.”
Rebecca would have been five.
The same age I had been when my mother died.
“What happened to Rebecca when Caroline died?”
Dad swallowed.
“That was the problem.”
“What problem?”
“Caroline had no family willing to take her.”
I felt cold.
“You were her father.”
“I was married to Melissa.”
“So?”
“So Melissa didn’t know!”
His voice rose.
“She didn’t know I had a child. She didn’t know I had been sending money for years. Suddenly I was supposed to come home and say, ‘By the way, I have a six-year-old daughter nobody knows about’?”
“Yes.
That was exactly what he was supposed to do.
Apparently my face said it.
Dad looked away.
“I was afraid I’d lose everything.”
“So what did you do?”
Silence.
“Dad.”
“I arranged for Rebecca to live somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“A boarding school initially.”
My stomach dropped.
“You sent your six-year-old daughter to boarding school after her mother died?”
“It was a good school.”
I actually stepped backward.
There are moments when you discover something about another person that permanently changes the shape of them in your mind.
This was one of those moments.
“She had just lost her mother.”
“I know.”
“And you sent her away.”
“I paid for everything.”
There it was again.
Money as substitute for love.
Money as substitute for presence.
Money as permission to disappear.
Suddenly my childhood made more sense.
Maybe my father had never learned how to love anyone without turning it into a transaction.
“What does that have to do with stealing millions?”
Dad looked at me.
“Tuition was only the beginning.”
Richard crossed his arms.
“Explain.”
“Caroline left debts. Medical bills. Rebecca needed care. Therapy. School. Eventually she developed problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Behavioral. Emotional. She ran away twice.”
“She was a child whose mother died and whose father pretended she didn’t exist.”
Dad flinched.
“She needed stability.”
“So you bought it?”
“I tried.”
“With stolen money.”
“At first, it wasn’t stolen.”
“What does that mean?”
“I used my own money. Then investments went bad. I borrowed from company accounts intending to replace it.”
Richard gave him a flat look.
“That is stealing.”
“I know that now.”
“You were twenty-nine, David. You knew it then.”
Dad ignored him.
“James discovered the first transfers. That’s when he fired me.”
“The two hundred and forty thousand.”
“Yes.”
“But Mom said there were millions.”
Dad’s face tightened.
“Because I didn’t stop.”
I stared at him.
“You kept stealing after Grandpa fired you?”
“I still had access to certain systems for several months. Old credentials. Accounts he hadn’t closed.”
Richard looked genuinely astonished.
“You embezzled money after termination?”
“I moved it.”
“To Rebecca?”
“Some.”
“What happened to the rest?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation told me the next truth would be worse.
“I invested it.”
“To repay Grandpa?”
“That was the plan.”
“And?”
“I lost most of it.”
I almost laughed.
Millions stolen.
Millions lost.
Lives destroyed because my father kept believing the next lie would repair the previous one.
Richard asked, “How much in total?”
Dad whispered, “A little over three million.”
Laura stared at him.
“You told me eight hundred thousand.”
He didn’t look at her.
“You lied to me too.”
“Laura—”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I helped you because you told me James was trying to destroy you over money you borrowed for a sick child.”
My father’s head snapped toward her.
“Do not pretend you were innocent.”
“I’m not.”
Her voice cracked.
“But three million?”
Evan stood against the wall looking like he wanted to disappear.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Then something occurred to me.
“My savings.”
Dad looked at me.
“The three thousand you took.”
“Nathan, that had nothing to do with—”
“Did you give it to Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Then where is it?”
Silence.
Laura answered.
“Evan’s college deposit.”
Evan’s face changed.
“What?”
My father glared at her.
“Laura.”
She didn’t stop.
“Part of it went toward his tuition deposit.”
I stared at Evan.
He looked horrified.
“I didn’t know.”
For once, I believed him.
Dad said, “I was going to replace it.”
I laughed.
“You’ve been going to replace money for twenty years.”
That shut him up.
One of the deputies stepped closer.
“We need to take Mr. Brooks in.”
I looked at my father.
“Where is Rebecca?”
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“When did you last see her?”
He hesitated.
“Four years ago.”
“What happened?”
“She told me never to contact her again.”
“Why?”
“Because she found out about you.”
I stared.
“She knew you raised me?”
“Yes.”
“And hid her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Dad looked at me with tired eyes.
“She said I chose my real family.”
Something twisted in my chest.
Because I knew exactly how that sentence felt.
Except Rebecca had lived it much longer.
“What’s her last name?”
“Mercer.”
“Rebecca Mercer.”
“Yes.”
“Where did she live?”
“Last I knew, Portland.”
Richard was already typing into his phone.
My father saw him.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Nathan, leave her alone.”
“She’s my sister.”
“She doesn’t want anything to do with this family.”
“She gets to decide that after she knows I exist.”
“She knows.”
“She knows my name. She doesn’t know me.”
Dad’s eyes moved to the silver key.
“And what if box 314 contains proof she’s James’s granddaughter?”
“Then she deserves to know that too.”
“You don’t understand what that could cost you.”
I stared at him.
“Forty-eight million dollars?”
He said nothing.
That was exactly what he meant.
Something surprising happened.
I didn’t care.
Not completely.
Of course forty-eight million mattered.
Yesterday, I couldn’t afford dinner.
But after listening to my mother’s voice from beyond the grave, money suddenly seemed like the least important thing hidden in that room.
“If half of it belongs to her, she can have half.”
Richard looked at me.
My father looked stunned.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You’ve known she exists for twenty minutes.”
“And you knew she existed for twenty-four years.”
That ended the conversation.
The deputies took him away.
Before leaving, my father turned toward me.
“Nathan.”
I looked at him.
“There’s one thing your mother didn’t know.”
I waited.
“Rebecca isn’t the reason I’m afraid of box 314.”
Richard stopped walking.
“What is?”
Dad looked directly at me.
“Ask yourself why Melissa put the proof in a bank instead of giving it to James.”
My skin prickled.
“She didn’t trust him?”
My father smiled sadly.
“She trusted him with her life.”
“Then why?”
“Because the documents weren’t about me alone.”
The deputy guided him toward the door.
“Dad.”
He stopped.
“Who else were they about?”
His answer was almost too quiet to hear.
“My father.”
Then he was gone.
I stood there watching the doorway.
Richard looked at me.
“James?”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”
Margaret had gone pale.
I noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Margaret.”
She shook her head.
“Your grandfather was a good man.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I know.”
“What happened in 2007 involving Grandpa?”
She looked toward the hidden room.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
She flinched.
I immediately regretted saying it that way.
But I didn’t take it back.
“I have been lied to enough.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
She sat down.
“In 2007, James disappeared for three weeks.”
Richard frowned.
“Disappeared?”
“He told everyone he was traveling.”
“Where?”
“I never knew.”
“When he returned, he was different.”
“How?”
“Quieter. Frightened.”
I almost laughed.
“My grandfather?”
“You didn’t know him as an adult. James Brooks frightened other people. Nobody frightened James.”
“But something did.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“He received a package.”
My pulse quickened.
“What kind?”
“A small brown box. No return address.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know. He opened it alone.”
“What happened afterward?”
“He locked himself in his office for hours. The next morning, he ordered every financial record from 2001 through 2007 brought to the house.”
Richard and I exchanged looks.
“Did he say why?”
“No.”
“But a week later, he changed his will.”
That caught Richard’s attention.
“What did the old will say?”
“David inherited the company.”
My father.
“And after?”
“Most of it went into trusts.”
“For who?”
“I don’t know.”
Richard stared at her.
“Could Rebecca have been included?”
Margaret shook her head.
“James didn’t know about Rebecca.”
“Are you certain?”
“I believed I was.”
That was not the same answer.
By three in the morning, the police had taken copies of the cassette and statements from everyone.
Richard insisted the original remain secured as estate property until a court order said otherwise.
Laura and Evan left separately.
Before Evan went, he approached me.
For the first time in my life, he looked nervous around me.
“Nate.”
I almost corrected him.
Only Mom had called me Nate.
But I let it go.
“I swear I didn’t know about your savings.”
“I believe you.”
He looked surprised.
“I thought Dad paid my deposit.”
“He did.”
“With my money.”
“With some of it.”
Evan swallowed.
“I’ll give it back.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
I looked at him.
This was the same kid who had watched me carry my bags outside.
The same kid who never asked where I went.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
He knew exactly what I meant.
After Dad threw me out.
“I wanted to.”
“But?”
“Mom said you needed space.”
“And you believed her?”
“At first.”
“What about day five?”
He looked ashamed.
“Day six?”
Nothing.
“Day nine?”
His eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
I wasn’t ready to forgive him.
But strangely, I didn’t hate him either.
He was seventeen.
A year younger than me.
And maybe our parents had spent years teaching us to see each other as competitors instead of brothers.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
I almost smiled.
“Okay.”
He walked away.
Then stopped.
“Nathan?”
“What?”
“There’s something else.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Dad keeps a second phone.”
My stomach tightened.
“I found it once in the garage.”
“When?”
“About six months ago.”
“What was on it?”
“I didn’t unlock it.”
“Then why does it matter?”
“Because someone kept calling.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. But I saw the name.”
My pulse quickened.
“What name?”
“Rebecca.”
He left before I could ask anything else.
So my father had lied again.
Not four years.
Six months.
Maybe less.
I barely slept.
At seven thirty the next morning, Richard knocked on my bedroom door.
Bedroom.
That word still felt strange.
I had slept in a room larger than my father’s entire kitchen.
Fresh clothes had been placed on a chair.
Nothing fancy.
Jeans.
T-shirt.
Sweatshirt.
All my size.
Margaret.
I found Richard downstairs with coffee and a stack of documents.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“So do you.”
“I’m fifty-seven. I have an excuse.”
“What’s mine?”
“Your family.”
Fair.
He pushed a plate of eggs toward me.
“Eat.”
“Everyone keeps telling me to eat.”
“Because yesterday you were searching restaurant dumpsters.”
That shut me up.
I ate.
Halfway through breakfast, Richard’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
“Bank.”
I stopped chewing.
He answered.
“Hartwell.”
He listened.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
His expression changed.
“When?”
He stood.
“Are you certain?”
I put down my fork.
Richard walked toward the window.
“No. Do not allow access until we arrive. I’m serious. Nobody opens that box.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
He turned toward me.
“Box 314 exists.”
My heart kicked.
“And?”
“It’s registered under your mother’s name.”
“Then we can open it?”
“With the key and appropriate estate documentation, likely.”
“Why did you tell them not to let anyone access it?”
Richard stared at me.
“Because someone tried yesterday.”
I froze.
“Who?”
“They wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“Dad?”
“He was with us.”
“Laura?”
“Possibly.”
“Rebecca?”
Richard grabbed his coat.
“We’re going to find out.”
The bank was forty-five minutes away.
Not a normal neighborhood branch.
Private banking.
Stone building.
Security doors.
No tellers behind glass.
A manager named Evelyn Price met us personally.
She looked nervous.
“Mr. Hartwell. Mr. Brooks.”
She shook my hand.
Then looked at the silver key.
“I haven’t seen one of those in a long time.”
“You recognize it?”
“Old safe-deposit series.”
Richard immediately asked, “Who attempted access yesterday?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“I need to be careful about confidentiality.”
Richard placed estate documents on her desk.
“Then be careful quickly.”
She read them.
Her expression shifted.
Finally, she opened her computer.
“The request was made electronically at 4:18 p.m.”
Yesterday.
Hours before Richard found me.
“By who?”
“Someone claiming authority under the account.”
“Name?”
She turned the monitor slightly.
I leaned forward.
REBECCA CAROLINE MERCER.
My sister.
My heart pounded.
“She knows about the box.”
Richard asked, “Was access granted?”
“No. She lacked the physical key.”
“Did she come here?”
“No.”
“Can you contact her?”
Evelyn looked at the screen.
“There is a telephone number attached to the request.”
I stared at Richard.
“Call her.”
“Nathan.”
“Call.”
Evelyn hesitated.
“I cannot simply disclose—”
Richard interrupted.
“Could you contact her yourself and inform her that Nathan Brooks is present regarding box 314?”
Evelyn considered it.
“That I can do.”
She dialed.
Speaker off.
We waited.
No answer.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Then her phone rang.
Incoming.
Evelyn answered.
“Ms. Mercer?”
My heart stopped.
“Yes. This is Evelyn Price from Commonwealth Private Bank.”
She listened.
“I’m calling regarding your access request.”
Another pause.
“There is someone here asking about the same box.”
Long silence.
Evelyn looked at me.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Yes, Nathan Brooks.”
She listened.
Then her expression became confused.
“I understand.”
She ended the call.
“What did she say?”
Evelyn stared at me.
“She said she’s coming.”
“When?”
“She’s already nearby.”
Richard frowned.
“How nearby?”
Evelyn looked toward the lobby.
The answer came without words.
The front doors opened.
A woman stepped inside.
She was maybe twenty-four.
Dark hair.
Black coat.
No makeup.
She stopped when she saw me.
I stopped breathing.
Because I knew her face.
Not exactly.
But pieces.
My father’s eyes.
My grandfather’s jaw.
And something that looked disturbingly like me.
Rebecca.
Neither of us moved.
Then she walked toward me.
“You’re Nathan.”
It wasn’t a question.
“You’re Rebecca.”
She nodded.
I didn’t know whether to shake her hand.
Hug her.
Apologize.
She solved the problem by doing neither.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Not the greeting I expected.
“Apparently neither should you.”
Her eyes dropped to the key in my hand.
“You have it.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Mom.”
Rebecca’s expression changed.
“Melissa?”
“You knew her?”
“Not personally.”
“How do you know her name?”
Rebecca looked at Richard.
Then back at me.
“Because she saved my life.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She’s the reason I wasn’t sent back to your father after my mother died.”
Everything stopped.
“Dad said he put you in boarding school.”
Rebecca laughed.
It was cold.
“Of course he did.”
“What actually happened?”
“Your mother found me.”
My pulse accelerated.
“When?”
“2007.”
The year again.
“She discovered the payments David was making to my mother. She thought he was having an affair.”
“That’s what her letter says.”
“She tracked the address.”
“What happened?”
“She met my mother three weeks before she died.”
Caroline.
Rebecca’s mother.
“She found out you were Dad’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell Grandpa?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because my mother begged her not to.”
“Why?”
Rebecca looked down.
“Because Caroline was afraid of James Brooks.”
There it was again.
The contradiction.
Everyone told me Grandpa was good.
Yet both my father and Rebecca’s mother had been afraid of him.
“Why?”
“I came here hoping box 314 would answer that.”
Richard asked, “Why request access yesterday?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Because David called me.”
My blood ran cold.
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
Dad had told me he hadn’t spoken to her in four years.
“What did he say?”
“He told me James was dead.”
“Anything else?”
“He told me James left everything to Nathan.”
She looked at me.
“And then he said something strange.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘It should have been yours.’”
I felt sick.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I didn’t want his money.”
“Then why come here?”
“Because David told me Melissa had left something in box 314.”
“You knew about the key?”
“No.”
“He asked whether I had it.”
Richard frowned.
“So David knew the box number.”
“Yes.”
That meant my father had known far more than he admitted.
Rebecca reached into her bag.
“I also came because of this.”
She pulled out an old photograph.
Two women stood outside a small house.
One was Rebecca’s mother, Caroline.
The other was my mother.
Melissa.
They were smiling.
Between them stood a little girl.
Rebecca.
On the back, my mother had written:
Caroline, Rebecca & Melissa — July 2007.
Underneath:
WE PROTECT THE CHILDREN.
I stared at those words.
“Children?”
Rebecca nodded.
“Plural.”
“You and me.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What do you think now?”
Her eyes met mine.
“I think there was another child.”
Richard went still.
“What makes you say that?”
Rebecca removed a folded piece of paper.
“My mother wrote this before she died.”
It was a photocopy of a handwritten note.
If David refuses again, Melissa says she will tell James about all three children.
My heart started pounding.
“All three?”
Rebecca nodded.
“You. Me.”
“And?”
“I don’t know.”
Richard looked toward the safe-deposit area.
“We need to open that box.”
The bank required signatures.
Identification.
Estate documents.
Verification.
Every minute felt like an hour.
Finally, Evelyn escorted us through two security doors.
Box 314 was larger than I expected.
She inserted the bank’s key.
I inserted mine.
Both turned.
Click.
She pulled out a long metal container.
“I’ll give you privacy.”
Then she left.
Rebecca and I stood on opposite sides of the table.
Brother.
Sister.
Strangers.
Richard remained near the door.
I touched the lid.
“Ready?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
“Me neither.”
I opened it anyway.
Inside were three folders.
One marked DAVID.
One marked JAMES.
And one marked CHILDREN.
Rebecca whispered, “Open that one first.”
I did.
Birth certificates.
Photographs.
Letters.
The first document was mine.
NATHAN JAMES BROOKS.
The second was Rebecca’s.
REBECCA CAROLINE MERCER.
I moved to the third.
My hand stopped.
Another birth certificate.
Female.
Born March 14, 2003.
Three years before me.
One year after Rebecca.
Mother:
CAROLINE MERCER.
Rebecca grabbed the table.
“That’s my mother.”
Father:
JAMES EDWARD BROOKS.
I stared at the name.
James.
My grandfather.
“That can’t be right.”
Rebecca’s face had gone completely white.
“My mother had another daughter?”
Richard took the document.
He examined it.
“This appears certified.”
I couldn’t make the relationships fit.
If James was the father…
Then the girl wasn’t my sister.
She was my aunt.
Rebecca whispered, “What was her name?”
I looked at the top.
EMILY ROSE MERCER.
“Do you remember an Emily?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“My mother never mentioned another daughter.”
Richard opened the folder marked JAMES.
Inside were bank statements.
DNA reports.
Legal correspondence.
Then he found a letter.
His eyes moved quickly across the page.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
He handed it to me.
James,
You need to stop asking about Emily.
Caroline has agreed to keep quiet.
David believes Rebecca is his child and that is how it must remain.
If the truth comes out, everything collapses.
I read it twice.
“Who wrote this?”
There was a signature at the bottom.
I recognized the last name.
Hartwell.
I slowly looked at Richard.
He had gone pale.
“Who is Thomas Hartwell?”
Richard didn’t answer.
“Richard.”
He lowered himself into a chair.
“My father.”
Silence.
“Your father knew my grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He was James’s attorney before me.”
My skin crawled.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
Rebecca snapped.
Richard looked genuinely shaken.
“I inherited James as a client when my father retired. He never told me about any of this.”
I looked back at the letter.
“‘David believes Rebecca is his child.’”
Rebecca stared at me.
Neither of us wanted to say it.
I said it anyway.
“If Dad only believed Rebecca was his daughter…”
Rebecca whispered, “Then maybe he isn’t my father.”
Richard opened the DNA report.
His eyes moved down the page.
Then stopped.
“Rebecca.”
She didn’t answer.
“Rebecca, there’s a DNA analysis here.”
“Whose?”
“Caroline’s.”
“And?”
“James’s.”
Rebecca gripped the table.
“What does it say?”
Richard read silently.
His expression became impossible to read.
Finally, he looked at her.
“James Brooks was not Emily’s biological father.”
I exhaled.
The birth certificate was false.
Then Richard continued.
“But this report appears to show something else.”
“What?”
“James and Caroline were biologically related.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“How?”
“Parent and child.”
The room went silent.
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“Caroline was Grandpa’s daughter?”
Richard nodded slowly.
“If this report is accurate.”
That meant Caroline was my father’s sister.
Which meant Rebecca—
I looked at her.
She had already done the math.
“If David is my father,” she whispered, horrified, “then my parents were—”
“No.”
Richard immediately shook his head.
“Something is wrong here.”
He grabbed the papers.
“The dates. The records. Someone falsified something.”
Rebecca looked like she might be sick.
I opened the final folder.
DAVID.
More statements.
More transfers.
Then another DNA report.
I saw my father’s name.
DAVID BROOKS.
And Rebecca’s.
I couldn’t read the percentages.
I handed it to Richard.
“Tell us.”
He studied it.
His face went blank.
“Well?”
“David Brooks is not Rebecca’s biological father.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
I didn’t know whether that was relief or grief.
“Then who is?”
Richard turned another page.
There was a handwritten note attached.
Rebecca deserves the truth when she is old enough.
David agreed to claim paternity because Caroline begged him.
The biological father was dangerous.
He must never know she survived.
Rebecca whispered, “Survived what?”
I turned the page.
A newspaper clipping.
FIRE DESTROYS MERCER HOME — INFANT PRESUMED DEAD.
The date was 2002.
Rebecca’s birth year.
The article said Caroline Mercer and her infant daughter had supposedly died in a house fire.
But Rebecca was standing beside me.
Alive.
Richard whispered, “Someone faked your death.”
Rebecca looked terrified.
“Why?”
Underneath the clipping was a photograph.
Caroline holding baby Rebecca.
Standing beside a man whose face had been partially torn away.
On the back:
CAROLINE, REBECCA, AND R.
I turned the photograph toward Richard.
“Who is R?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Then Rebecca made a sound.
Not a scream.
A gasp.
She was staring inside the metal box.
At the bottom was a small sealed envelope we hadn’t noticed.
Her name was written across it.
REBECCA.
She opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Her hands began shaking violently.
“What?”
She handed it to me.
The photograph showed my mother standing outside my childhood home.
She was holding five-year-old me.
Beside her stood Caroline.
Rebecca was there too.
And behind all of us was another man.
His face was clear.
I knew him.
I had seen him yesterday.
Not in person.
In one of the photographs hanging inside my grandfather’s house.
Except I had been told the man in that photograph was a business partner who died years before I was born.
Richard stared at the picture.
“That’s impossible.”
“Who is he?”
He didn’t answer.
“Richard.”
“That man is Robert Brooks.”
“Who?”
“James’s younger brother.”
My great-uncle.
Rebecca whispered, “What does he have to do with me?”
Richard looked at the DNA report again.
Then at Robert’s face.
And suddenly his expression changed.
“Rebecca.”
“What?”
“If Caroline was James’s biological daughter… and David wasn’t your father…”
He stopped.
“What are you saying?”
Richard looked sick.
“I think we need another DNA test.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“For what?”
Before Richard could answer, someone knocked on the private-room door.
Three hard knocks.
Evelyn’s voice came through.
“Mr. Hartwell?”
Richard stood.
“Yes?”
“There’s a gentleman here asking for Nathan and Rebecca.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“Who?”
A pause.
“He says his name is Robert Brooks.”
Richard’s face drained completely.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Robert Brooks died in 2004.”
Nobody moved.
Then a man’s voice came through the other side of the door.
Older.
Calm.
“Rebecca.”
Her eyes widened.
She knew that voice.
“Open the door, sweetheart.”
Rebecca stumbled backward.
I grabbed her arm.
“You know him?”
Her lips trembled.
“That’s the man who used to visit my mother when I was little.”
Richard moved toward the door.
“Do not open it.”
The man outside laughed softly.
Then he said:
“Nathan, your grandfather lied to you about one thing.”
I stared at the locked door.
“What?”
His answer came immediately.
“James Brooks wasn’t your grandfather.”
My blood went cold.
Then he added:
“He was your father.”
