Chapter 9
I pulled my hand away.
“No.”
Claire looked devastated.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“Your mother can tell you.”
“My mother has told enough lies.”
I stood.
Marcus moved closer but said nothing.
I stared at Claire.
“If Charles wasn’t my father, who was?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation terrified me more than the answer.
“Claire.”
“Margaret never told me his name.”
“My aunt knew?”
“Yes.”
“And Adrian?”
“Yes.”
I walked toward the church doors.
Claire called after me.
“Nathaniel, listen to the rest.”
I stopped.
“I’ve listened to enough dead people rearrange my life.”
“The recording explains the fire.”
That kept me there.
I returned to the pew.
Pressed play.
Margaret’s voice:
You stole Evelyn’s inheritance.
Charles answered:
I built that company.
With her money.
I paid it back.
Not what it became worth.
Then Adrian:
Tell Nathaniel who his father is.
Charles:
That is Evelyn’s decision.
Margaret:
You made it your decision when you raised him under your name.
Dad’s voice hardened.
He is my son.
Margaret laughed.
Not by blood.
He is my son.
Those four words broke me more than anything else.
Not by blood.
He is my son.
Charles had known.
He had still called me his.
The recording continued.
Adrian said, Sign half the voting shares to me and Margaret.
Charles refused.
Margaret threatened to expose everything.
Dad told them to leave.
Then Adrian said:
The building is already burning.
There was silence.
Dad’s voice changed.
What did you do?
Just enough smoke to make you understand.
Margaret screamed:
Adrian, what?
He wasn’t supposed to—
Dad:
Where?
Adrian:
Third-floor storage.
Dad:
There are employees upstairs.
Adrian:
No. Margaret said the floor was empty.
Dad began running.
The recorder captured footsteps.
A door.
An alarm.
Then chaos.
The recording became difficult to understand.
Dad shouted for people to evacuate.
Someone coughed.
Adrian screamed his name.
Then Margaret shouted:
Leave him!
Adrian yelled:
No!
More running.
Glass breaking.
Then Dad’s voice.
Faint.
Tell Evelyn I’m sorry.
The recording ended in static.
I sat in silence.
Claire was crying.
“He didn’t intend deaths.”
I looked at her.
“He started a fire in a hotel.”
“Yes.”
“That is not an accident.”
“No.”
“But Margaret knew employees were there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did Adrian blame Dad for not saving everyone?”
“Because Charles locked a fire door.”
I stared.
“What?”
Claire shook her head.
“Not to trap anyone. To stop smoke spreading. Adrian misunderstood.”
“Did Dad save people?”
“Seven.”
I remembered the official report.
An unnamed guest had helped evacuate several employees.
The report had never mentioned Dad because his body was later found elsewhere and timelines were confused.
“He ran toward the fire.”
“Yes.”
“Adrian knew?”
“Eventually.”
“Why keep saying Dad chose himself?”
Claire looked tired.
“Because hatred is easier to survive than guilt.”
That sentence stayed with me.
I left the church with the recorder.
Mom was waiting at home when I returned.
I placed it on the table.
Her face told me she knew exactly what it was.
“Tell me who my father is.”
She started crying.
“No more tears before answers.”
Her shoulders shook.
“His name was Jonathan Reed.”
“Who was he?”
“A doctor.”
“Alive?”
“No.”
“When did he die?”
“Twenty-six years ago.”
“Did he know about me?”
“Yes.”
I stepped back.
“Did he see me?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“You were three.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So I had two fathers keeping secrets.”
“Jonathan wanted to tell you when you were older.”
“Everyone wanted to tell me later.”
“Nathaniel—”
“No. That phrase has destroyed enough of my life.”
She nodded.
“You’re right.”
That stopped me.
No defense.
No excuse.
Just truth.
“Why did you stay with Charles?”
“Because he knew.”
“What?”
“I told him when I was pregnant.”
“And he stayed?”
“He said the baby was innocent.”
My throat tightened.
“Was the affair ongoing?”
“No.”
“Did Charles hate me?”
Mom looked horrified.
“Never.”
“He knew from birth?”
“Yes.”
“He gave me his name?”
“Yes.”
“Raised me?”
“Yes.”
“Loved me?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the recorder.
He is my son.
The words echoed again.
I sat down.
For the first time, I understood something Adrian never had.
Blood was not the only way a father chose a son.
Charles had known I wasn’t his.
He still chose me.
Adrian was his blood.
Yet he had hidden him.
No wonder Adrian hated me.
It wasn’t fair.
But none of that justified what he had done.
My phone rang.
Detective Ortiz.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Isabella was attacked during transport.”
I stood.
“By who?”
“Vehicle intercepted at a traffic light. Two masked men.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes. One officer is injured.”
“Where’s Isabella?”
“Missing.”
Adrian.
I knew it.
Then Ortiz said, “We found a phone in the transport vehicle.”
“Whose?”
“It was left for you.”
Another message.
A live video link.
I opened it.
Isabella appeared on screen.
She was tied to a chair.
Bruised.
Terrified.
Behind her stood Adrian.
For the first time, I saw my brother clearly.
Older than me.
Thinner.
Silver at his temples.
His expression was calm.
Almost gentle.
“Hello, Nathaniel.”
I stared at the screen.
“You hurt a police officer.”
“That wasn’t part of my plan.”
“Nothing ever is, apparently.”
He smiled faintly.
“So Claire gave you the recording.”
“How do you know?”
“I know my mother.”
“You started the fire.”
“Yes.”
The simple admission shocked me.
“Three people died.”
“I know.”
“You killed my father.”
His face tightened.
“Our father.”
“No.”
He flinched.
Interesting.
“Charles was your father.”
“He was yours too.”
“Not like he was yours.”
“He wasn’t my biological father.”
Adrian stared at me.
For the first time, his control disappeared.
“What?”
“You didn’t know.”
He looked off-camera.
Then back at me.
“You’re lying.”
“Ask Mom.”
His face twisted with rage.
“All those years.”
I almost pitied him.
Almost.
“He chose you anyway.”
Adrian’s eyes filled.
Then hardened.
“Exactly.”
Behind him, Isabella cried.
“Nathaniel, please.”
I looked at Adrian.
“What do you want?”
“The trust.”
“It’s frozen.”
“Unfreeze it.”
“No.”
He placed a hand on Isabella’s shoulder.
She recoiled.
“If you don’t, she dies.”
I felt nothing for a second.
Then I remembered the woman laughing over spilled champagne.
The woman I once thought I would grow old beside.
She had betrayed me.
She had hurt my mother.
But I was not Adrian.
I wasn’t going to let her die because it was convenient.
“How long?”
“Two hours.”
“Where?”
“You’ll receive instructions.”
“Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“Dad ran into that fire trying to save people.”
His jaw tightened.
“He chose me.”
“I know.”
“He could have chosen you too if you’d let him.”
May you like
Adrian’s expression cracked.
Then the screen went dark.
