Chapter 8: The Second Identity
The police searched the basement first.
Terrence followed behind them.
I stayed upstairs with Raymond.
An ambulance crew rushed through the front door and began treating him.
One paramedic looked at me.
“Are you family?””
“Yes.””
Raymond opened his eyes.
“No.””
The paramedic frowned.
Raymond pointed weakly toward me.
“She is the reason I'm alive.””
I didn't understand.
Neither did the paramedic.
But before anyone could ask, the basement officer shouted.
“Mrs. Hayes!””
I ran downstairs.
The hidden room stood open.
The steel safe had been emptied.
The shelves had been disturbed.
And one section of the wall had been ripped away.
Behind it was a second chamber.
A much larger one.
Terrence stared into it.
“Oh my God.””
Inside were dozens of banker boxes.
Photographs.
Passports.
Birth certificates.
Newspapers.
And an entire row of photographs showing the same woman.
Lennox.
Except each photograph had a different name beneath it.
*Claire Bennett.*
*Dana Miller.*
*Elaine Price.*
*Lydia Shaw.*
Different names.
Different hairstyles.
Different cities.
But the same face.
The same eyes.
The same woman.
I covered my mouth.
One officer whispered, “What the hell?””
Terrence picked up a passport.
His hands shook.
“This is her.””
The officer took it.
“Date of birth?””
Terrence looked.
Then he dropped the passport.
“She'd be sixty-two.””
I looked at the photographs again.
Lennox was supposed to be thirty-nine.
“She isn't sixty-two,” I whispered.
The officer opened another file.
Inside was a newspaper clipping.
*LOCAL WOMAN DISAPPEARS AFTER MILLION-DOLLAR FRAUD.*
The photograph beside the article showed a much younger Lennox.
But the article was dated 1998.
Terrence backed away.
“No.””
I grabbed his arm.
“Terrence.””
“No.””
“Look at me.””
He wouldn't.
“She told me she was thirty-seven.””
“She lied.””
“She told me her parents died when she was young.””
“She lied.””
“She told me she had never been to Ohio before meeting me.””
I stared at the photographs.
“She lied about everything.””
One of the officers picked up a folder.
“Mrs. Hayes, you need to see this.””
Inside was a birth certificate.
My heart stopped.
The mother's name was Lennox Price.
The father's name was Raymond Hayes.
I looked toward the stairs.
Raymond.
His name was on the document.
Terrence saw it too.
His voice became a whisper.
“That's why he said Dad wasn't my father.””
The officer frowned.
“What did you say?””
Terrence looked at me.
“I think Raymond is my biological father.””
Silence.
Then the basement door slammed shut.
We all spun around.
A figure stood at the top of the stairs.
Lennox.
She held a gun.
The officer immediately raised his weapon.
“Drop it!””
She shook her head.
“Everyone back away from the boxes.””
Terrence stepped forward.
“Lennox.””
“Don't.””
“Why?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because I don't want to hurt you.””
“You already did.””
She looked at him.
“I did everything to keep you alive.””
“You destroyed my life.””
“I protected you from your father.””
I stepped forward.
“You mean Raymond?””
She laughed bitterly.
“Raymond is not the man you think he is.””
The officer kept his weapon trained on her.
“Put the gun down.””
She ignored him.
Instead, she looked at me.
“Margaret, your father knew the truth.””
“What truth?””
“That Raymond didn't die.””
“Then why did everyone think he did?””
“Because your father paid people to make it look that way.””
“Why?””
Her eyes hardened.
“Because Raymond had a daughter.””
I looked at her.
“You?””
She nodded.
“And a son.””
Terrence's face went pale.
“Who?””
Lennox looked directly at him.
“You.””
Terrence stopped breathing.
The room became completely silent.
The officer lowered his weapon slightly.
“That isn't possible.””
Lennox smiled.
“It is.””
She tossed the gun onto the floor.
Then she raised both hands.
“But if you want the proof, open the last box.””
The officer kicked the weapon away.
Terrence walked toward the box.
I followed.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Raymond holding a baby.
On the back was a handwritten date.
Terrence's birth date.
And underneath it, one sentence:
*His mother must never know who his father is.*
Terrence looked at me.
“Mom…”
I couldn't answer.
Because behind the photograph was another document.
A death certificate.
This one was for my husband.
And the date of death was two years before Terrence was born.
May you like
I stared at the paper.
My entire marriage had just become a lie.
