Chapter 10 - Room 17BThe lawyers demanded the papers.
Patricia demanded the photograph.
I gave neither.
Instead, I ran.
Ryan shouted my name.
Patricia ordered security after me.
I sprinted through the back door and into the woods.
The photograph stayed in my hand.
17B.
I had no idea what it meant.
Until I remembered the map.
The map from my father’s box showed an old hotel in downtown Nashville.
The number 17B was circled.
I drove there.
The hotel had been closed for years.
A chain hung across the entrance.
I broke the lock.
The lobby smelled like mildew.
The elevators didn’t work.
I climbed seventeen floors.
The hallway was dark.
Room 17B stood at the end.
I inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a small office.
Desk.
Safe.
File cabinet.
And one framed photograph.
My father.
Beside him stood a younger Patricia.
Behind them was a baby.
I walked closer.
The baby was Ryan.
I stared at the photograph.
Something was wrong.
A date was written beneath it.
The photograph had been taken before I ever met Ryan.
Before I was old enough to remember.
But why would my father and Patricia have been together?
Then I found a file.
PROJECT MERCY.
Inside were adoption records.
Court documents.
Medical records.
My hands shook.
Ryan had not been raised by Thomas and Patricia.
He had been adopted.
By them.
I sat down.
That meant Ryan’s connection to my father was not what I thought.
At the bottom of the file was another page.
A handwritten note.
My father’s handwriting.
Ryan is innocent. Keep him away from Patricia.
I read it twice.
Then three times.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I turned.
Ryan stood in the doorway.
Alone.
No guards.
No cuffs.
Blood on his collar.
“Emily.”
I stepped backward.
“How did you get here?”
“I escaped.”
“From your mother?”
He nodded.
“You found the room.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the file.
“You know now.”
“You were adopted.”
“I know.”
“My father knew.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Patricia say you were the heir?”
Ryan looked away.
“Because I am.”
I frowned.
“You just said you were adopted.”
“I was.”
“What does that mean?”
He came closer.
“My biological father was someone else.”
“Who?”
Ryan looked at me.
“Your father.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“He was my biological father.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s the truth.”
My mind raced.
“My father had an affair?”
Ryan shook his head.
“No.”
“Then what?”
He whispered:
“Your father was my mother’s first husband.”
I stared.
“Who?”
Ryan said the name.
“Patricia.”
The room went silent.
I looked at him.
“You mean…”
He nodded.
“My father was Thomas Hawthorne.”
He took one more step.
“But Patricia had been married to your father before Thomas.”
I felt dizzy.
“You’re saying my father and Patricia were once married?”
Ryan’s face was filled with regret.
“Yes.”
Then he handed me a document.
The signature at the bottom belonged to my father.
May you like
The witness signature belonged to my mother.
And the date was two years before I was born.
