Chapter 3 - The Secret My Family Was Never Supposed to Find
By morning, my security team had identified the man.
His name was Victor Lane.
He wasn't a criminal.
He was a private investigator.
And someone had hired him.
The client name was hidden behind a legal intermediary.
But Ethan found the company.
It was connected to my father.
I stared at the report.
“My father hired him?”
“Indirectly,” Ethan said.
“Why?”
“We don't know yet.”
I called Dad.
He answered immediately.
“What do you want?”
“Did you hire a private investigator?”
Silence.
Then:
“No.”
“Someone investigating me?”
“You're being paranoid.”
“Dad.”
He sighed.
“I was trying to understand what happened to you.”
“Nothing happened to me.”
“You've been lying for years.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
“I know about the company.”
My heart dropped.
“How?”
“Your mother doesn't know.”
I sat down.
“What do you know?”
“Not enough.”
He sounded different.
Less angry.
More frightened.
“I know Halestone belongs to you.”
I closed my eyes.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“And you never told Mom?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you had your reasons.”
I was silent.
“Dad…”
He interrupted.
“You need to understand something. Your mother doesn't know how much money you have. Valerie doesn't know. But someone else may know.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
That answer terrified me more than anything else.
Then Dad said:
“Your mother has been asking questions about your finances.”
“Why?”
“Because she wants to help Valerie.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“What does that mean?”
“Valerie's husband lost money.”
“How much?”
“Almost four million.”
My laughter disappeared.
“Four million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Where did they expect to get it?”
“From you.”
I stood.
“Did Mom know?”
“She knew Valerie was struggling.”
“Dad, that's not struggling.”
“I know.”
Then he said something unexpected.
“She believes you owe your sister.”
I stared at the wall.
“Owe her what?”
“For having a better life.”
I felt sick.
The family dinner suddenly made more sense.
My mother wasn't simply protecting Dylan.
She was protecting Valerie.
Because Valerie had spent years believing she deserved what I had.
The next afternoon, I received a message from my mother.
COME TO THE HOUSE. WE NEED TO TALK. ALONE.
I almost ignored it.
Instead, I went.
My mother was sitting in the living room.
Valerie stood beside the fireplace.
Dad was nowhere to be seen.
My mother looked at me.
“You're going to help your sister.”
“No.”
“You haven't even heard the amount.”
“I don't care.”
“Four million dollars.”
I stared at Valerie.
She looked embarrassed.
“You want me to give you four million dollars?”
“Loan,” Valerie said.
“Do you have a repayment plan?”
She looked away.
My mother slammed her hand against the table.
“Family helps family.”
“I agree.”
“Then help.”
“I've been helping for six years.”
“You have more than enough.”
The words came out quietly.
“How much do you think I have?”
My mother hesitated.
Valerie said:
“Maybe a few hundred thousand.”
I almost smiled.
Then I told them.
“I have more than enough.”
My mother relaxed.
“Then write the check.”
I looked at her.
“You misunderstood.”
Her smile vanished.
“I have enough money that I don't need yours.”
Silence.
Valerie's face changed.
My mother narrowed her eyes.
“What are you saying?”
I pulled out my phone.
One message.
The screen displayed a business news article.
HALESTONE TECHNOLOGIES FOUNDER CLARA HAYES EXPANDS NATIONAL AI INFRASTRUCTURE DIVISION.
My mother's face went white.
Valerie grabbed the phone.
“What is this?”
“Me.”
My mother stared at me.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You don't own that company.”
“I do.”
“That's impossible.”
“It's not.”
Valerie shook her head.
“You work in an office.”
“I work in my company.”
My mother stood.
“How much?”
I didn't answer.
She asked again.
“How much are you worth?”
I looked at her.
“Enough that your mortgage doesn't matter to me.”
She sat down.
The room was silent.
Then Valerie whispered:
“You knew.”
I looked at her.
“Knew what?”
“That we were beneath you.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I hid my money because I wanted to know whether you loved me without it.”
My mother laughed bitterly.
“And now?”
I looked toward the empty chair where Matthew had been sitting the last time we'd visited.
“Now I know.”
My mother stood.
“You lied to us.”
“Yes.”
“You made us think you were struggling.”
“Yes.”
“You let us pity you.”
“I never asked you to pity me.”
“You made us feel superior.”
“No.”
I stared directly at her.
“You chose to feel superior.”
She had no answer.
Then the front door opened.
Dad entered.
He looked exhausted.
“Clara,” he said.
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
He held up an envelope.
“About Julian.”
My heart stopped.
Julian had been dead for six years.
I hadn't heard his name spoken in that house in years.
Dad's hands trembled.
“This was delivered to me yesterday.”
He gave me the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
May you like
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Julian's.
