Chapter 13 - The TrialThe trial became national news.
Margaret's network was exposed.
Six missing children were located.
Three families were reunited.
Millions of dollars were recovered.
My father's role was confirmed.
Evan testified against his mother.
Lily testified too.
And I testified about the night Margaret slapped Maisie.
The courtroom was silent when the photograph of my daughter's cheek appeared on the screen.
Margaret looked at it.
She didn't cry.
She didn't apologize.
She simply stared at me.
Then her lawyer asked:
“Mrs. Hale, isn't it true you struck your husband three times that evening?”
“Yes.”
“Isn't it true you lost control?”
“No.”
“You assaulted him.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you are the violent parent.”
The courtroom murmured.
I looked directly at the jury.
“I slapped a grown man who watched his mother hit a two-year-old child.”
The lawyer paused.
I continued.
“I regret nothing about protecting my daughter.”
Margaret suddenly laughed.
Everyone turned.
The judge warned her.
She stopped.
Then she looked at me.
“You still don't understand.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“You think the case is over.”
Her lawyer whispered something.
Margaret smiled.
Then she turned toward Evan.
“You should tell her.”
Evan looked confused.
“Tell her what?”
Margaret's smile widened.
“About the letter.”
Evan froze.
“What letter?”
Margaret laughed.
“The one your father wrote before he died.”
I felt cold.
“My father?”
Evan looked at me.
“I don't know what she's talking about.”
Margaret leaned back.
“Then ask the executor.”
The judge ordered silence.
But it was too late.
The damage had been done.
After court, Evan found the executor.
There was indeed a letter.
Sealed.
Dated one week before my father's death.
Inside were only three sentences.
Margaret didn't create the network.
She inherited it.
And the person who started it is still alive.
I read the letter twice.
Then a name appeared beneath the signature.
A name I recognized.
My own mother.
I couldn't breathe.
My mother had died when I was ten.
Or at least, that was what I'd been told.
I looked at Evan.
“What does this mean?”
He stared at the letter.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A woman's voice whispered:
“Hello, Claire.”
I knew that voice.
It was impossible.
May you like
I dropped the phone.
Because my mother had been dead for twenty-five years.
