Chapter 8
Thomas kept talking.
I barely heard him.
“I didn’t know there would be a fire.”
My father’s room number.
A tiny piece of information.
A harmless detail.
Except my father died after Adrian found him.
“You knew Adrian hated him.”
“Yes.”
“You knew they were fighting.”
“Yes.”
“And you told Adrian where Dad was.”
Thomas cried openly now.
“I was twenty-nine.”
“So was I.”
“He told me he just wanted to confront him.”
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
That answer stopped me.
“You wanted to?”
Thomas looked away.
My voice dropped.
“Why?”
His face twisted.
“Because I hated your father too.”
Mom stood.
“What?”
Thomas wiped his eyes.
“Charles was going to fire me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He found out I had been giving Adrian company information.”
I stared at him.
“So this wasn’t some innocent mistake.”
“I never gave Adrian financial records.”
“You gave him my father.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know what he would do.”
“You knew enough to hide it for eleven years.”
Thomas didn’t answer.
I wanted him out of my sight.
But before I could speak, Detective Ortiz called.
“We found something at the Queens property.”
“What?”
“A phone.”
“Whose?”
“Adrian Cole’s.”
I almost laughed.
“He left his phone?”
“Looks intentional.”
“What’s on it?”
“One message.”
“For who?”
“You.”
My skin prickled.
Ortiz sent the audio.
Adrian’s voice filled the room.
Nathaniel.
If you’re hearing this, Emily is safe.
I never intended to hurt her.
I needed Thomas frightened enough to finally tell you the truth.
I looked at Thomas.
He looked stunned.
The recording continued.
He has lied to you longer than Isabella has.
Longer than your mother has.
Longer than your father did.
Now you know what your family really is.
A collection of people who love you just enough to justify deceiving you.
I hated that line because part of me understood it.
Adrian continued.
Meet Claire.
Listen to the recording.
Then decide whether I am the monster they told you I was.
But remember this.
Your father had a chance to save everyone in that hotel.
He chose not to.
The message ended.
Mom whispered, “That’s a lie.”
“Is it?”
She looked hurt.
“Nathaniel.”
“I don’t know anymore.”
I turned toward Thomas.
“Leave.”
“Nate.”
“Leave.”
“I want to help.”
“You already helped enough.”
He stood slowly.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
“But Emily doesn’t.”
I said nothing.
“I’ll cooperate with police. I’ll give them everything.”
“Good.”
He stopped near the door.
“There’s one thing Adrian doesn’t know.”
I looked at him.
“When Charles discovered I had been speaking to Adrian, he confronted me.”
“And?”
“He didn’t fire me.”
“You just said he was going to.”
“I thought he would.”
Thomas swallowed.
“Instead he asked me to keep talking to Adrian.”
Mom stared at him.
“What?”
“Charles wanted information.”
“You became Dad’s informant?”
“For a few weeks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because after the fire, I was terrified.”
“What did you learn?”
Thomas looked at Mom.
Then back at me.
“Adrian wasn’t working alone.”
“Isabella?”
“She was a teenager then.”
“Who?”
“I never learned the name.”
“Man or woman?”
“Woman.”
Mom’s face changed.
Thomas noticed.
“So you do know.”
I turned to her.
“Mom.”
She looked toward the window.
“Evelyn,” Thomas said quietly, “Adrian used to call her ‘the architect.’”
Mom closed her eyes.
I felt exhausted beyond anger.
“Who is she?”
“My sister.”
I stared.
“You have a sister?”
“Had.”
“What was her name?”
“Margaret.”
I searched my memories.
Aunt Margaret.
I had met her only twice as a child.
Mom always said they weren’t close.
“She died.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Then how was she involved?”
Mom sank into a chair.
“Margaret hated Charles.”
“Why?”
“She believed he ruined my life.”
“Did he?”
Mom looked at me.
“Sometimes.”
That answer was painfully honest.
“She also believed he used me to build the company.”
“Did he?”
“In the beginning, a lot of the money came from my father.”
I had never known that.
“Grandpa funded Whitmore?”
“Part of it.”
“Why was Dad always described as the sole founder?”
“Because Margaret sold him her interest.”
“What interest?”
“My father originally gave both of us shares.”
I stared.
“This company belonged to your family first?”
“The seed money did.”
“And Dad bought Margaret out?”
“For very little.”
“Did she agree?”
“Yes.”
“But regretted it.”
“For the rest of her life.”
Now Adrian’s obsession with stolen blood made more sense.
He wasn’t only angry about being hidden.
Someone had fed that anger.
“Aunt Margaret found Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When he was seventeen.”
“And she told him Dad had cheated him.”
“Yes.”
“Did she help him with the fire?”
“I don’t know.”
Thomas spoke.
“I heard Adrian tell someone on the phone, ‘The architect says Charles will fold once he sees smoke.’”
Mom covered her face.
“The fire may have been her idea.”
Nobody spoke for a long moment.
Then my phone rang.
Claire.
I answered immediately.
“Are we still meeting?”
“Yes.”
“No police?”
I looked at Ortiz’s contact on my screen.
“No police.”
It was a lie.
And I hated how easily lies had become part of every relationship around me.
Claire gave me a time.
Noon.
I drove to Hartford with Marcus.
Police followed from a distance despite Claire’s demand.
The church sat on a quiet road surrounded by maple trees.
Claire was waiting in the third pew.
I knew immediately she was Adrian’s mother.
They had the same eyes.
She looked at me for a long moment.
“You look like Charles.”
“So I’m told.”
She handed me a padded envelope.
Inside was an old digital recorder.
“Original?”
“Yes.”
“Have you listened recently?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why call now?”
“Because Adrian came to see me.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“What did he want?”
“The recorder.”
“You told him no?”
“I told him I destroyed it.”
“Why?”
“Because he isn’t trying to clear his name.”
I stared at her.
“What is he trying to do?”
“Finish what Margaret started.”
“Destroy Whitmore Hospitality?”
Claire shook her head.
“Destroy you.”
I pressed play.
Static filled the church.
Then my father’s voice.
Adrian, stop.
Adrian answered.
You stop.
You tell him.
Tell Nathaniel what you did.
Dad said something I couldn’t make out.
Adrian shouted.
Tell him why the company is really his.
Then Margaret’s voice appeared.
My dead aunt.
Calm.
Sharp.
Charles, you have until midnight to sign.
Dad said, Go to hell.
Margaret laughed.
Then Adrian said something that froze me.
You’d rather let your own son die than admit the truth?
I stopped the recording.
Claire looked at me.
“What son?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Nathaniel.”
“What truth?”
May you like
She reached across the pew and touched my hand.
“Charles Whitmore was not your biological father.”
