Chapter 5 - The Bloodline No One Was Allowed to QuestionThe door opened before I could respond.
Richard stood in the corridor with Harold behind him. His face had settled into a calm expression, the kind he wore during hostile business negotiations.
“Give me the recorder,” he said.
I placed it inside my jacket.
“No.”
He glanced at Victoria, then at the photograph on the desk.
“Claire had a talent for turning small problems into catastrophes.”
“She thought you were stealing from Lily.”
“She misunderstood the accounts.”
“She said you were searching for a woman.”
For the first time, Richard's eyes betrayed him.
It lasted only a heartbeat.
Then he smiled.
“Your wife was confused near the end.”
“Don't talk about Claire.”
“Why? Because she's dead and can't defend herself?”
I crossed the room.
Richard didn't back away, but Harold stepped between us.
“Let's remain rational,” the attorney said. “If there has been financial misconduct, we can investigate it through the proper channels.”
“You created a document with Claire's forged signature.”
“I didn't create anything.”
“The document bears your company authorization.”
“That doesn't establish forgery.”
“You're right,” I said. “It establishes a starting point.”
I pulled out my phone and photographed every page in the wooden box.
Richard's smile disappeared.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure nobody can quietly burn the evidence.”
He moved toward me.
I raised my phone.
“Touch me, and the photographs go to the police before you reach the staircase.”
He stopped.
It was a bluff. I hadn't sent anything yet.
But he didn't know that.
I stepped into the corridor, taking the box and recorder with me. Victoria followed. Harold remained behind, staring at the floor.
As we reached the staircase, my phone vibrated.
A message from our private security director appeared on the screen.
URGENT: Unknown individual attempting to access the east garage. Claims to have orders from Mr. Richard Whitmore.
I showed Richard the message.
“Who is in the garage?”
He said nothing.
I called security and ordered them to secure every exit. Then I took Lily upstairs to my bedroom, where Mrs. Ellis promised to stay with her.
My daughter was sitting on the bed, hugging the floral purse.
“Daddy, are we still having the wedding?”
The question nearly broke me.
“No, sweetheart.”
Her face fell.
“Is it because I was bad?”
I knelt in front of her.
“Listen to me. Nothing that happened today was your fault. You could never be bad enough to deserve what Victoria did.”
She looked at the handbag.
“Mommy said this would help you remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That you're supposed to love me more than the house.”
I pulled her into my arms.
For two years, I had tried to replace what Lily lost by giving her security, toys, holidays, and the best schools money could buy. I had mistaken providing for her for protecting her.
Claire had understood something I had forgotten.
A child could live in a mansion and still feel homeless if the people inside made her afraid.
When Lily fell asleep, I returned to the study.
Victoria was waiting by the window.
“Your mother told me about Richard's birth,” she said.
I stiffened.
“What birth?”
She explained that Richard had been adopted as an infant. Our father had brought him home when I was four, saying his mother had died and the family needed to take him in.
I remembered almost nothing about that period. Richard had simply always been my brother.
Our father had never treated us differently. Neither had our mother.
“Claire found his original adoption papers,” Victoria continued. “She discovered that the name of his biological mother had been removed from the public file.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Because she was connected to the Whitmore family.”
I thought of my mother, who had died when I was thirteen. She had been warm and gentle, but intensely private about her past.
“Are you saying Richard is my half-brother?”
Victoria shook her head.
“I don't know. Claire didn't find enough evidence to establish the relationship.”
“Then why did she say he might not be my brother at all?”
“Because she believed Richard had found the same records. She was afraid he'd do something terrible to keep the truth buried.”
I stared at the silver locket.
Inside its casing was a tiny photograph I had not noticed before. A young woman stood holding a newborn baby. The photograph's edges were yellowed, and someone had written a date on the back.
Twenty-six years earlier.
Beside the date were two initials.
E.W.
My father's name had been Edward Whitmore.
I felt the floor slip beneath me.
“Who is E.W.?” I asked.
Victoria looked toward the door.
Before she could answer, the house intercom crackled.
Our security director's voice filled the study.
“Mr. Whitmore, we have a situation. Your brother is attempting to leave the property.”
“Stop him.”
“Sir, he's already outside.”
A pause followed.
Then the security director spoke again.
“He isn't alone. He's leaving with a woman.”
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“Who?”
“We don't know her name. But she says she is Richard's mother.”
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