Chapter 18
I read the confession three times.
Each time, the words became worse.
My father had written that Thomas Hayes approached him with records proving fraudulent property acquisitions.
Henry had been twenty-eight.
Ambitious.
Recently married.
Terrified of his father.
Thomas had asked him to help expose Mercer.
Instead, Henry warned Victor.
Victor ordered the documents seized.
Thomas died three weeks later.
Henry wrote:
I did not kill Thomas Hayes.
But I helped create the silence that protected whoever did.
My hands trembled.
There was more.
Years later, Henry discovered Mercer had continued the schemes.
That was why he reconnected with Rebecca.
Why he began rebuilding the evidence.
Why he changed his will.
Why he was afraid.
He had been trying to repair something he helped destroy.
Daniel stood beside me, pale.
“Uncle Henry never told me this.”
“Of course he didn’t.”
My voice sounded empty.
No one told me anything.
The father I adored had not been innocent.
He had been young.
Afraid.
Complicit.
Then remorseful.
Human.
It hurt differently than learning he wasn’t my biological father.
This truth changed my memory of him.
Not my love.
But my understanding.
Claire pointed to the final paragraph.
I read.
If I die before this reaches authorities, Charles Mercer must be investigated.
Diane Hayes may also possess evidence related to Thomas’s original files.
Do not assume she is an enemy.
She has reasons to hate us.
My chest tightened.
Dad had defended Diane.
At least partly.
Yet Diane had terrorized me.
People could be victims and still become cruel.
That truth was becoming painfully clear.
Detective Bell called.
“We located Charles Mercer.”
“Where?”
“New York.”
“Did he run?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“He says he’ll cooperate.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course he does.”
People always cooperated after thirty years when lawyers could prepare the story.
Bell continued.
“We also have preliminary DNA results.”
I stopped breathing.
Claire touched my arm.
“What?”
Bell said, “The lab confirms you and Ryan are not biological siblings.”
The air rushed out of me.
I sat down.
Not relief exactly.
Something close.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean Thomas wasn’t Ryan’s father?”
“Correct. Based on the samples and your established paternity result, Ryan does not share the paternal relationship expected.”
Ryan had another biological father.
Thomas had raised him anyway.
Just as Henry had raised me.
Two men had loved children who weren’t biologically theirs.
Two women had carried secrets.
Two families had turned those secrets into weapons.
I closed my eyes.
“Does Ryan know?”
“We told him.”
“How is he?”
Bell paused.
“Not good.”
I shouldn’t have asked.
But I did.
“Where is he?”
“At the hospital with Diane.”
“She’s awake?”
“Yes.”
My eyes opened.
“Can she talk?”
“Yes.”
Bell’s tone changed.
“And she’s asking for you.”
Claire immediately said, “No.”
I almost agreed.
Then I remembered Dad’s letter.
Do not assume she is an enemy.
Dad had been wrong about plenty.
But I needed answers.
“I’ll go.”
Claire groaned.
“Emily.”
“With police.”
“That’s becoming your favorite phrase.”
“It’s kept me alive.”
At the hospital, two officers stood outside Diane’s room.
Ryan was in the hallway.
He looked at me.
Neither of us moved closer.
“The test,” he said.
“I know.”
“My dad wasn’t my biological father.”
“No.”
He laughed once, broken.
“Funny.”
“What?”
“I spent my whole life defending his name, and I didn’t even know who he really was.”
“He was your father.”
Ryan looked at me.
The words hit him.
I understood because Dad’s letter had said the same thing to me.
Ryan’s eyes filled.
“Yeah.”
I looked toward Diane’s room.
“Who is your biological father?”
“She won’t say.”
“Maybe she will to me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Be careful.”
I almost snapped at him.
Then realized he meant it.
No manipulation.
Just warning.
Inside, Diane looked smaller than she had at my house.
Bandage around her head.
Bruises along one arm.
But her eyes were still sharp.
“Emily.”
I stood at the foot of the bed.
“You asked for me.”
She looked at the officer.
“Privately.”
“No.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Still stubborn.”
“Still alive.”
That earned a faint smile.
Then she said, “You found Henry’s confession.”
I froze.
“How do you know?”
“Because I put it in the archive.”
“What?”
“Your father gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Three months before he died.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“You were working with him?”
“Eventually.”
“Then why were you chasing him the night he died?”
Diane closed her eyes.
“I wasn’t chasing him.”
“Martin Shaw saw your car.”
“I was trying to warn him.”
“About Mercer?”
She opened her eyes.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Diane looked toward the door.
Then back at me.
“Your cousin.”
My stomach dropped.
“Daniel?”
“No.”
She smiled faintly.
“His father.”
I went still.
Daniel’s father.
My uncle Robert.
Dead for five years.
May you like
Diane whispered,
“Robert Carter was the man who killed Thomas.”
