Chapter 9 - The Bloodline SecretI listened to the recording five times.
Each time, the sentence remained the same.
Julian is your half-brother.
My brain refused to accept it.
There had to be another explanation.
There had to be.
Martin sat opposite me.
"Clara."
"No."
He waited.
"I don't know whether this recording is authentic."
"What if it is?"
"Then the marriage was built on fraud."
"That part is already obvious."
"What if Julian knew?"
"Maybe."
"What if he didn't?"
Martin said nothing.
I thought about his face during the attack.
The sneer.
The cruelty.
The pressure.
The obsession with my property.
No.
Whether he knew the blood connection or not, he had chosen greed.
And that meant he had crossed a line that had nothing to do with family.
I hired a private investigator.
Three days later, he returned with a report.
Julian's biological father was not listed on his birth records.
But there was a hospital record.
A man had been listed as an emergency contact when Julian was born.
Roland Mercer.
My stomach dropped.
"Mercer is Julian's father?"
The investigator nodded.
"Most likely."
"And my mother?"
"She worked with Mercer before she met your father."
The timeline was ugly.
My mother had known Mercer.
She became pregnant.
She left him.
Married my father.
Had me.
Then somehow, twenty years later, Mercer used Julian to get back into the family.
Except there was one problem.
If Julian was Mercer's son, why did Mercer want him dead?
The investigator slid another document across the desk.
"Because Julian found out."
"What?"
"About the scheme."
"He knew?"
"At least partially."
"Then why did he marry me?"
The investigator shrugged.
"Money."
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Maybe because I had spent years defending him.
Maybe because part of me still believed there had been something real.
There wasn't.
That night, someone broke into my house.
The alarm woke me.
Security found the rear door open.
Nothing obvious was stolen.
Then I entered the study.
The hidden room had been searched.
The original cassette was gone.
The envelope was gone.
The birth certificate was gone.
But one thing remained.
A photograph.
My mother.
Holding me as a baby.
Behind her stood another man.
Not my father.
Not Mercer.
A man I didn't recognize.
On the back was written:
The real witness.
I called the investigator.
He identified the man in less than an hour.
Thomas Vale.
A former city prosecutor.
Retired.
Living in another state.
We flew out the next morning.
Thomas opened the door before we knocked.
He looked at me.
Then at the photograph.
"You found it."
"Found what?"
"The truth."
I stepped inside.
"Tell me about my mother."
Thomas poured two glasses of water.
"She hired me nineteen years ago."
"Why?"
"Because she knew she was going to die."
"What did she ask you to do?"
"Protect you."
"From Mercer?"
"From everyone."
I stared.
"She believed the entire family was compromised."
"Who killed her?"
Thomas sat down.
"Your mother never told me."
"Then why did she say she was being murdered?"
"Because she knew someone had contaminated her medication."
My heart pounded.
"Did you investigate?"
"Yes."
"What did you find?"
"Nothing."
"Why?"
"Because the records disappeared."
"Who had access?"
Thomas looked at me.
"Your uncle Edmund."
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
Edmund.
My father's brother.
The man everyone had quietly forgotten.
Thomas continued.
"But Edmund wasn't the worst problem."
"Who was?"
"Your father's board."
He pulled an old file from a cabinet.
Inside was a list.
Every board member.
Every payment.
Every contact.
One name appeared on multiple pages.
Martin Vance.
I stared.
"No."
Thomas looked at me.
"Your father's attorney was paid by Mercer."
I felt something inside me collapse.
Martin.
The man I had trusted.
The man I had called from the hospital.
The man who activated the trust.
The man who knew every detail.
I suddenly remembered my father's video.
Do not trust the attorney who tells you everything is safe.
My phone rang.
Martin.
I answered.
"Where are you?"
"Why?"
"Because I know what you found."
My heart froze.
"How?"
Silence.
Then he said:
"Because I was the one who hid it."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Thomas whispered:
"Clara."
I looked at him.
"If Martin hid the evidence..."
May you like
He finished the sentence for me.
"Then Mercer has known about you from the beginning."
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