Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
I didn't sleep that night.
Neither did Emily.
She put the children in the bedroom at the back of the house, then returned to the kitchen.
I sat across from her at the small wooden table.
Between us was the metal box.
My entire life seemed to be inside it.
Photographs.
Letters.
Hospital documents.
Things my family had never told me.
Things Emily had carried alone.
“Start from the beginning,” I said.
She looked exhausted.
“I met your uncle before you and I were married.”
I frowned.
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He came to your wedding.”
I remembered.
Barely.
Richard had stood near my father during the ceremony.
He had left before the reception ended.
At the time, I thought nothing of it.
Emily folded her hands.
“After we got married, your father started asking questions about our finances.”
“My father always asked questions.”
“Not about money.”
I waited.
“About children.”
My stomach tightened.
“He wanted to know whether I was pregnant.”
“Why?”
“I didn't know.”
She looked toward the hallway.
Then she whispered, “Until Noah was born.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“When I was pregnant, I found documents in your father's study. There was a trust.”
“What kind of trust?”
“One created before you were born.”
I leaned forward.
“For me?”
She nodded.
“It contained shares in Whitmore Holdings. A lot of them.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn't make sense. My father left me the controlling shares.”
“He wanted you to believe that.”
I stared at her.
“What are you saying?”
“Your father didn't give you control. He only gave you access.”
I felt a chill.
“Why?”
“Because the real controlling interest belonged to a family trust. And the trust had one condition.”
“What condition?”
She looked directly at me.
“You had to have a legitimate heir.”
Silence.
I laughed once.
It wasn't funny.
“So my father was waiting for me to have a child?”
“Yes.”
“And if I didn't?”
“The shares could be transferred.”
“To whom?”
She hesitated.
“Richard.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“My uncle?”
Emily nodded.
“Your father trusted him.”
“My father hated him.”
“That is what everyone thought.”
I walked to the window.
Outside, the Kentucky woods were black beneath the moonlight.
I thought about my father.
His strict rules.
His obsession with the company.
The way he always told me, “A Whitmore never gives anyone enough information to hurt him.”
I had always thought it was business advice.
Now I wondered if it was a warning.
“What happened after Noah was born?”
Emily's voice softened.
“The hospital told me your father had sent someone to check on us.”
“Who?”
“Richard.”
“But Richard was alive then.”
“Yes.”
“And he wanted Noah?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Noah was the heir.”
I turned around.
“He was a baby.”
“He was your son.”
She swallowed.
“And your father's trust named him as the beneficiary.”
I stared at her.
“What happened?”
“Three days after Noah was born, a doctor came into my room and told me there had been a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“They said Noah had died.”
My heart stopped.
Emily's eyes filled with tears.
“But he hadn't.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“They had moved him.”
“Who?”
“Someone who worked for your family.”
My fists clenched.
“How did you find him?”
“I followed a nurse.”
Her voice cracked.
“She took me to another floor.”
“And?”
“He was there.”
Alive.
Wrapped in a blue blanket.
Sleeping.
“I took him and ran.”
“You stole your own child.”
“I saved him.”
I couldn't argue.
“What about Lily?”
Emily looked down.
“She was born two years later.”
“Was Richard involved?”
“He found us again.”
“When?”
“When Lily was six months old.”
I felt sick.
“Then why didn't you come to me?”
She stared at me.
“Because the last time I contacted you, your father answered.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He said you knew.”
“I didn't.”
“He said you had chosen your career over your family.”
“That wasn't true.”
“I know that now.”
“Why didn't you tell me anyway?”
“Because two days later, the house where we were staying burned down.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
Emily nodded.
“I lost everything.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No.”
“Because you got out?”
“Yes.”
“Who sent the envelope?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I looked down at the letter.
If you still remember Emily, come here.
“Someone wants me here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why did you let me come?”
“Because I was tired of hiding.”
She reached into the metal box.
This time she removed a small black flash drive.
“I found this six months ago.”
“What is it?”
“Your father's.”
I stared at it.
“What does it contain?”
“I don't know.”
“Why didn't you open it?”
“Because I don't have the password.”
I took it.
The label had only two words.
FOR DANIEL.
My heart started pounding.
“Where did you get this?”
“Inside an old photograph frame.”
“Whose?”
“Your father.”
Suddenly, a sound came from outside.
A branch snapping.
Emily froze.
I stood.
“Did you hear that?”
She nodded.
I moved toward the window.
Nothing.
Dark trees.
Wind.
Silence.
Then headlights appeared in the distance.
A vehicle was approaching.
Emily grabbed my arm.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“You need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent that letter may have known exactly when you would arrive.”
The vehicle stopped near the fence.
The headlights went dark.
Someone stepped out.
I reached for my phone.
Then I saw the man's silhouette.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Gray coat.
Emily's fingers tightened around my wrist.
“That's him.”
“Who?”
Her voice became a whisper.
“Richard.”
I stared through the glass.
The man lifted his face toward the house.
Even from that distance, I recognized him.
My uncle.
The man who had supposedly died six years ago.
Then he smiled.
And slowly raised one hand.
In it was a photograph.
May you like
A photograph of me.
Holding Emily's hand on our wedding day.
