Chapter 14
Ryan came to the station under police escort.
I hadn’t wanted to see him again so soon.
But the letter belonged to him.
Whatever else he had done, that truth was his.
He entered the interview room and stopped when he saw my face.
“You opened the locker.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the documents.
Then at me.
“What did you find?”
I pushed my paternity report across the table.
He read the first name.
Henry.
Then Thomas.
His face emptied.
“No.”
I said nothing.
He read it again.
“My dad?”
“Yes.”
Ryan stood so fast the chair fell backward.
“No.”
“Sit down.”
“No, Emily, we—”
“We don’t know yet.”
He stared at me.
“You’re my sister?”
“We don’t know.”
His breathing became ragged.
Claire spoke calmly.
“Ryan, there’s a letter for you.”
He looked at it like it might explode.
“From who?”
“Thomas.”
He didn’t move.
I slid it across.
His hands shook as he opened it.
The letter was shorter than mine.
Ryan,
If this reaches you after I’m gone, I’m sorry.
There are things adults hide because they believe children are safer without the truth. Sometimes that is kindness. Sometimes it is cowardice.
I have reason to believe I may not be your biological father.
Ryan stopped reading.
His lips parted.
I watched every emotion hit him at once.
Disbelief.
Relief.
Pain.
Shame for feeling relief.
He continued.
I have ordered testing, but Diane has refused to allow it.
None of this changes that I love you.
You are my son because I chose to raise you every day.
If biology says otherwise, biology does not get to take those years from us.
I almost broke at the familiar language.
Two men.
Two fathers.
The same conclusion.
Ryan kept reading.
There is one person who may know the truth: your mother’s former physician, Dr. Samuel Levin.
If you ever need answers, find him.
Do not punish your mother.
But do not let her lie to you forever.
Thomas.
Ryan put the letter down.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, “She knew.”
“Maybe.”
“She knew I might not be his.”
“Yes.”
“And she still pushed me to marry you.”
My stomach twisted.
“Yes.”
He stood again.
“I’m going to be sick.”
Bell escorted him to a bathroom.
Claire stayed with me.
“You don’t owe him comfort.”
“I know.”
“You also don’t have to decide anything today.”
“I know.”
But there was one decision I had already made.
The marriage was over.
Whether Ryan was biologically related to me or not.
The deception alone had ended it.
When he returned, his face was gray.
“I’ll do the test.”
I nodded.
“We should.”
“For biological relationship.”
“Yes.”
Claire arranged expedited testing.
Results could arrive quickly with law enforcement priority and private laboratory assistance.
Not instantly.
Nothing important ever arrived instantly when you desperately needed it.
Ryan sat down.
“Emily.”
I looked at him.
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
His eyes widened.
It was probably the kindest thing I had said to him since the wedding.
“But you knew everything else.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
“You knew your mother targeted me.”
“Yes.”
“You helped research my inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“You entered my office.”
“Yes.”
“You lied in court.”
“Yes.”
“You threw a broom at me.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“DNA won’t change any of that.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
The door opened.
Detective Bell entered.
“We found Diane.”
Ryan jumped up.
“Where?”
“St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
My heart tightened.
“What happened?”
“She was found unconscious in a parking garage.”
Ryan went pale.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Injuries?”
“Head trauma. Doctors say she’ll likely recover.”
“Who attacked her?”
“We don’t know.”
I asked, “The red case?”
“Gone.”
Of course.
Bell continued.
“Her phone and wallet were also missing.”
Ryan lowered himself into the chair.
“Was Rebecca involved?”
“We’re investigating.”
I remembered Rebecca arriving at my house with a bruise and torn coat.
She had claimed she stole Diane’s car and escaped.
But after that?
Where had she gone?
Who had she called?
Bell said, “There’s another complication.”
“What?”
“The hospital found a key sewn into the lining of Diane’s coat.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Brass?”
“No. New key.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
Small silver key.
A plastic tag.
902.
Ryan frowned.
“Another locker?”
Bell shook his head.
“Hotel room keybox, according to the manufacturer.”
“Which hotel?”
“We’re tracing it.”
My phone vibrated.
A message from Rebecca.
I opened it.
YOU FOUND 317.
It wasn’t a question.
I typed:
YES.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
THEN YOU KNOW WHY DIANE HATES YOU.
I replied:
WHERE ARE YOU?
No answer.
May you like
Then one final message:
902 IS WHERE YOUR FATHER’S REAL KILLER HAS BEEN WAITING.
