Chapter 2 - The Name on My Mother's LetterI thought Nathaniel saved me from humiliation. He had really been saving me from a much larger trap.
The photograph shook between my fingers.
I hadn't seen it before.
I knew my mother's handwriting.
Every curve.
Every crooked little line.
Every ink stain near the lower corner.
My mother had written that message.
Trust Nathaniel Mercer.
But why?
She had died seven years earlier.
Nathaniel had apparently been looking for me for six months.
None of it made sense.
“Where did you get this?”
Nathaniel didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Not here.”
He took my wrist gently and guided me toward a side corridor.
I followed because my legs barely worked.
Behind us, chaos returned to the ballroom.
Security guards moved between tables.
People whispered.
Phones were being taken away.
Grant Holloway shouted orders.
Daniel called my name.
“Emily!”
I stopped.
Nathaniel did not.
His grip remained firm.
Daniel came after us.
“Emily, wait.”
Nathaniel turned.
Daniel stopped.
There was something frighteningly quiet about the way Nathaniel looked at him.
“You had eleven months to speak to her.”
Daniel's jaw clenched.
“This doesn't concern you.”
Nathaniel gave a faint smile.
“That sentence usually comes from men who know they're already guilty.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“I care about her.”
“Then why did you publicly discard her?”
Daniel looked at me.
Pain flashed across his face.
“You don't understand.”
I laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“No. I understand perfectly.”
“You don't.”
He reached toward me.
Nathaniel intercepted his hand.
“Touch her again,” Nathaniel said softly, “and you'll leave this building missing something.”
Daniel froze.
I looked between them.
“What isn't he telling me?”
Nathaniel's eyes remained on Daniel.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether he intends to tell you before I do.”
Daniel looked away.
That was all the answer I needed.
I turned to Nathaniel.
“Tell me.”
He studied me for several seconds.
Then he opened a door.
His private suite was on the other side.
Unlike the ballroom, it was almost painfully simple.
Dark wood.
Leather furniture.
A fireplace.
No photographs.
No personal belongings except a silver watch and a single black folder.
Nathaniel placed the photograph on the table.
“My mother knew yours.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“They worked together.”
“My mother worked in accounting.”
“Your mother was an accountant who discovered money being diverted through Blackridge companies.”
I felt cold.
“What money?”
“Millions.”
My throat tightened.
“She never told me.”
“She was protecting you.”
“From whom?”
Nathaniel looked at me.
“From the same people who tried to kill me tonight.”
The room seemed to shrink.
I sat down.
“Then why didn't you come to me sooner?”
“Because I couldn't find you.”
“I've lived in the same city for five years.”
“Yes.”
“Then how hard could it be?”
Nathaniel's expression darkened.
“They changed your name.”
I stared at him.
“My name is Emily Carter.”
“No.”
He opened the folder.
Inside was my birth certificate.
Except it wasn't.
The name printed across the document was unfamiliar.
Evelyn Marlowe.
My mother's maiden name.
“What is this?”
“Your original birth record.”
“That isn't possible.”
“It is.”
My hands went numb.
Nathaniel continued.
“Your father wasn't the man you believed he was.”
My heart stopped.
“My father died before I was born.”
“I know.”
He slid another document toward me.
A photograph.
A man I had never seen.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Standing next to my mother.
I stared at the face.
Something about him felt terrifyingly familiar.
“Who is he?”
Nathaniel's voice was quiet.
“Grant Holloway's older brother.”
I looked up.
“No.”
“He was supposed to inherit Blackridge.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died fourteen months before you were born.”
A cold sensation crawled up my spine.
Nathaniel leaned forward.
“Your mother disappeared two weeks after his death.”
I couldn't breathe.
“You're saying my mother ran away because she was carrying his child?”
“Yes.”
My mind rejected it.
“No.”
Nathaniel remained silent.
I pushed the photograph away.
“Why would she hide me from everyone?”
“Because someone wanted you dead.”
Silence.
Then I heard something outside.
Footsteps.
Nathaniel's gaze snapped toward the door.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then the doorknob moved.
Nathaniel stood.
The door opened.
Daniel entered.
His face was pale.
“I know who ordered the shooting.”
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
May you like
Daniel looked directly at me.
“Grant Holloway.”
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