Chapter 6
Madeline collapsed before she reached the bottom step.
I caught her badly.
We both hit the floor.
My father rushed forward.
Adrian checked the hallway above us before kneeling beside her.
“She needs a doctor.”
Madeline grabbed my wrist.
“No hospital.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“No hospital.”
Her eyes were wild.
“He’ll find me.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Your brother.”
Those two words did something strange to my mind.
Brother.
I had spent thirty-one years believing I was an only child.
Now people were discussing an older brother as if he were a ghost who had suddenly stepped into the room.
My father knelt.
“My son died.”
Madeline laughed weakly.
“No, Charles.”
“You were there.”
“I was there when your father told you he died.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.”
Thomas stood behind us.
“Tell him.”
Madeline looked at him.
“You knew?”
“Not until recently.”
My father turned.
“Everyone stop talking around me.”
His voice shook.
“My son was born premature.”
Madeline closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“He stopped breathing.”
“Yes.”
“I saw doctors take him away.”
“Yes.”
“I was told he died.”
Madeline whispered, “But you never saw his body.”
My father froze.
I stared at him.
He looked suddenly older.
“My father handled the burial.”
Thomas cursed under his breath.
My stomach turned.
“Grandpa took the baby?”
Madeline nodded.
“Eleanor discovered it years later.”
My father stood so quickly he nearly fell.
“No.”
“Charles—”
“No.”
He backed away.
“My wife would have told me.”
“She tried.”
“No.”
“She was afraid.”
“My wife was not afraid of me.”
“Not of you.”
Madeline’s eyes filled.
“Of Edmund.”
Silence.
I looked at Thomas.
“You said Grandpa hated Mom.”
“He did.”
“Why?”
Thomas answered slowly.
“Because Eleanor discovered what kind of man he really was.”
My father stared at the fireplace.
Madeline tried to sit up.
Adrian helped her onto the couch.
“Who attacked you?” he asked.
She looked at him and stiffened.
“You.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
“What?”
“You were there that night.”
“Eleanor’s crash?”
Madeline laughed bitterly.
“You expect me to believe you don’t remember?”
“I followed her. I did not touch her vehicle.”
“You delivered the file to Edmund.”
“What file?”
“The route.”
Adrian went silent.
My father looked at him.
“What route?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“I gave Edmund your wife’s expected travel schedule.”
“You said you lost visual contact.”
“I did.”
“After giving my father her route.”
“Yes.”
My father looked as if he might kill him.
Adrian didn’t defend himself.
“I was twenty-nine years old. I thought I was doing surveillance.”
“My wife died.”
“I know.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I know.”
Madeline looked at me.
“This is why your mother stopped trusting anyone.”
“Including you?”
Her face collapsed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I betrayed her.”
I sat across from her.
“Tell me everything.”
My father began to interrupt.
I raised my hand.
“No.”
He stopped.
I looked at Madeline.
“Start with my brother.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Eleanor gave birth to a boy two years before you.”
“What was his name?”
“Jonathan.”
My father whispered the name like it hurt.
Jonathan Whitmore.
My brother.
“He was premature,” Madeline continued. “Very small. But alive.”
“What happened?”
“Edmund believed the child had serious medical problems.”
My father shook his head.
“The doctors said he might not survive.”
“Edmund heard something different.”
“What?”
“That the first Whitmore grandson could be disabled.”
My stomach turned.
Madeline looked ashamed.
“Your grandfather was obsessed with bloodline, image, inheritance.”
Thomas looked away.
“That sounds like Father.”
“So he stole a baby?” I asked.
Madeline nodded.
“He arranged false records. Told Charles and Eleanor the child died.”
My father’s hands shook.
“Where did he send him?”
“Private adoption.”
I stared at her.
“Who adopted him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I was twenty-four. I worked in accounting. I knew pieces, not everything.”
“When did Mom learn the truth?”
“Seven years later.”
“That was the year she died.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Everything connected.
My mother learned her first child was alive.
She investigated.
Found financial crimes.
Found Madeline.
Then died.
“Why did you help Mom?”
“Because I discovered the adoption payment inside the foundation accounts.”
My father frowned.
“Payment?”
“Edmund paid a family to take Jonathan.”
My stomach tightened.
“Bought them?”
“In effect.”
Madeline nodded.
“I went to Eleanor. Told her what I found. She asked me to help collect proof.”
“So you did.”
“For months.”
“What changed?”
Madeline looked at the floor.
“Edmund found out.”
“How?”
“I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I trusted someone.”
I felt cold.
“Who?”
Before she answered, Thomas said, “Martin Vale.”
My father looked sharply at him.
“Martin?”
I knew the name.
Martin Vale was my grandfather’s attorney.
He had also been Whitmore Global’s general counsel for almost forty years.
He had retired five years earlier.
Madeline nodded.
“He told me he wanted to help Eleanor.”
“But he told Grandpa instead.”
“Yes.”
My father rubbed his face.
“And he’s still alive.”
Thomas nodded.
“Very.”
I stared at them.
“Where?”
“Palm Beach,” my father said.
“Then we call him.”
Madeline shook her head violently.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Martin doesn’t know I’m alive.”
“You were engaged to Charles. Your face has been in newspapers.”
“He knows Madeline Cross.”
“Not Rachel Mercer.”
My father looked at her.
“How did you hide it?”
“New identity. Surgery. Legal changes.”
“With whose help?”
Her silence answered.
Thomas cursed.
“Martin.”
Madeline nodded.
“He helped you disappear after Mom died?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I threatened to expose him.”
I leaned forward.
“And now?”
“He learned who I was three weeks ago.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why frame me?”
She looked at me.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Because Martin told me to.”
My father exploded.
“You let my daughter be publicly accused of theft because a retired lawyer told you to?”
“He threatened Jonathan.”
The room went dead.
I stopped breathing.
“You know where my brother is.”
Madeline looked at me.
“I found him.”
My father gripped the couch.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“You found my son and said nothing?”
“I was trying to protect him.”
“From whom?”
“Martin.”
My father laughed in disbelief.
“You became engaged to me while secretly searching for my son.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed access.”
His face crumpled.
“So none of it was real.”
Madeline looked at him.
For the first time, she didn’t have an answer ready.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Was any of it real?”
Her lips trembled.
“I didn’t expect it to be.”
My father turned away.
I saw the pain on his face.
No matter what Madeline had done, he had loved her.
Maybe still did.
I hated seeing that.
But I had more important questions.
“Where is Jonathan?”
Madeline reached into a hidden seam in her torn dress.
She pulled out a tiny key.
“Safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
“First National.”
“What’s inside?”
“His current identity.”
“Why not just tell us?”
“Because if I say the name out loud and someone is listening—”
She looked toward Adrian.
He stiffened.
“You think I’m working for Martin.”
“I think you worked for Edmund.”
“That was twenty-three years ago.”
“And somehow you ended up running Charles’s security.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“I joined Charles because I wanted to know what happened to Eleanor.”
Madeline laughed.
“Convenient.”
“Enough,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“We go to the bank.”
“It’s three in the morning,” Thomas said.
“My father owns half the bank.”
My father looked at me.
“Actually, twelve percent.”
I stared.
“Not the time.”
Thomas almost smiled.
The bank’s chairman answered on the second call.
Forty minutes later, we were entering through a private side door.
Madeline remained in the armored vehicle with two guards.
Adrian came with us.
Thomas too.
The vault manager unlocked the private room.
Madeline’s key opened box 417.
Inside was one envelope.
A photograph.
And a newspaper clipping.
I picked up the photograph first.
A man in his early thirties stood outside a small bookstore.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
My mother’s eyes.
I knew before anyone spoke.
“That’s him.”
My father stared at the picture.
His hand covered his mouth.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak.
“My son.”
I turned over the photograph.
A name was written on the back.
Daniel Mercer.
I frowned.
“Mercer?”
Thomas looked at me.
“The same last name Madeline used.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was an address.
Portland, Oregon.
And one handwritten note from Madeline.
HE DOESN’T KNOW WHO HE IS.
My father sat down.
I’d never seen him sit because his knees couldn’t hold him before.
Then Adrian picked up the newspaper clipping.
His face changed.
“Charles.”
My father looked up.
Adrian handed it to him.
The article was only six days old.
LOCAL BOOKSTORE OWNER MISSING AFTER LATE-NIGHT ABDUCTION.
The photograph beneath the headline was Daniel.
My brother.
Missing.
My father went completely still.
I read the article.
Witnesses reported seeing two men force Daniel Mercer into a dark vehicle.
Police had no suspects.
No ransom demand.
Nothing.
Then Thomas noticed the bottom corner of the clipping.
There was handwriting.
Not Madeline’s.
A message written in black ink.
CHARLES TOOK MY FAMILY.
NOW I’LL TAKE HIS.
My father whispered one word.
“Martin.”
Before any of us could respond, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice came through.
Calm.
Older.
“Emma Whitmore.”
My blood went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You opened the box.”
I looked around the bank room.
“How do you know that?”
The man ignored me.
“Your brother is alive.”
My father reached for the phone.
I pulled away.
“Where is he?”
“You want him?”
“Yes.”
“Then bring me Rachel Mercer.”
I looked toward the vault door.
Madeline was outside.
“What happens if I don’t?”
The man chuckled softly.
May you like
“Then your father loses a son for the second time.”
The line went dead.
