Chapter 7: The Man Who Raised My Son
The gunshot had barely stopped echoing when Robert dragged me behind the interview-room table.
“Stay down!”” he shouted.
Vanessa screamed.
Two officers rushed into the corridor. Someone shouted for an ambulance. Then came the sound of running footsteps, followed by another crash.
I reached for my phone.
The message was still there.
Your son is being raised by the man you call Uncle Richard.
Richard Cole.
My father's younger brother.
The man who had taught me to ride a bicycle, attended my graduation, and paid for my first business suit.
The man who had visited my home every Christmas since Danielle disappeared.
The man who had held Ava at her fifth birthday party and told her she had her mother's beautiful eyes.
I couldn't reconcile the person I knew with the person described in that message.
“Robert,” I whispered.
He was speaking into his radio.
“Suspect down near the east entrance. Secure the building. Nobody leaves.””
I showed him the message.
He read it without speaking.
“Richard Cole?”” he finally asked.
I nodded.
“Your uncle?””
“Yes.””
Robert rubbed his forehead.
“Damn it.””
“What?””
“We've been investigating your brother. We haven't been looking at your father's estate.””
I stood up.
“Then we start now.””
Robert grabbed my shoulder.
“Not so fast. Someone just fired a weapon inside a police station. Until we know who is involved, you're staying under protection.””
I looked through the open doorway.
An officer was kneeling beside a wounded security guard. Another was examining the shattered glass near the entrance.
Then I noticed something on the floor.
A small white envelope.
My name was written across it.
I picked it up before Robert could stop me.
Inside was a photograph.
A little boy sat at a birthday table, blowing out six candles.
He had dark hair, brown eyes, and a small birthmark beneath his left ear.
My birthmark.
My father's birthmark.
The boy was wearing a blue sweater.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
Ethan, age six. Happy birthday from Dad.
I stared at the word.
Dad.
The photograph had been taken only three years earlier.
Richard had been raising my son.
Robert took the photograph.
“Do you recognize the house?””
I examined the background.
A stone fireplace.
A large window.
A painting of a sailing boat.
Then I recognized the wooden staircase.
It was Richard's lake house.
He had invited us there every summer when I was a child.
“He's at the lake house,” I said.
Robert immediately called for backup.
“Marcus, listen carefully. We don't know whether Ethan is still there.””
“I know where he is.””
“We need a warrant.””
“Then get one.””
Robert looked at me.
“Give me thirty minutes.””
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I sat beside Vanessa.
She was shaking so badly that her chair rattled against the floor.
“Did you know?”” I asked.
She stared at the table.
“About Richard?””
“Yes.””
She nodded.
“Daniel told me Ethan had been placed with a trusted relative. I didn't know it was Richard until last year.””
“Last year?””
“He brought Ethan to a private family gathering. Daniel introduced him as the son of one of Richard's friends.””
I stared at her.
“And you didn't recognize him?””
“I did.””
“Then why didn't you tell me?””
Vanessa began crying.
“Because Daniel threatened to tell the police that I helped kidnap Danielle. He said I would spend the rest of my life in prison.””
“You did help kidnap Danielle.””
“I know.””
Her answer was so quiet that it made me angrier.
“You watched me grieve. You watched Ava grow up without her mother. You stood beside me while I planned to marry you.””
“I loved you, Marcus.””
I laughed bitterly.
“You loved the house. You loved the money. You loved the life you stole.””
She looked up.
“I did love you.””
“Then you should have told me the truth.””
Before she could answer, Robert returned.
“We have the warrant.””
He looked at Vanessa.
“She's coming with us. We need her to identify the property and explain the arrangement.””
Vanessa stood slowly.
“I'll tell you everything.””
Robert opened the door.
“Then start by telling us why Richard has been paying Dr. Whitmore.””
Vanessa stopped.
“What?””
Robert held up a financial statement.
“We traced several payments from Richard's trust to the clinic where Danielle was held.””
She shook her head.
“That doesn't make sense.””
“Why not?””
“Richard wasn't supposed to know about Danielle.””
Robert's expression hardened.
“Who told you that?””
Vanessa looked at me.
“Daniel.””
I felt another piece of my life collapse.
My uncle hadn't simply raised my son.
He had been financing the place where my wife was imprisoned.
We left the station with four officers.
The drive to the lake house took just under an hour.
I barely noticed the scenery.
I kept looking at Ethan's photograph.
He was smiling.
His front teeth were slightly uneven, just like mine had been at his age.
I wondered whether he liked pancakes.
Whether he was afraid of thunderstorms.
Whether someone had taught him to ride a bicycle.
Whether he had ever asked why he didn't look like Richard.
Most of all, I wondered whether he knew he had a father.
When we reached the property, the front gate was open.
That was the first thing Robert noticed.
He raised his hand.
The convoy stopped.
Two officers approached the entrance.
The house stood silent beneath the afternoon sun.
No cars.
No movement.
No lights.
Robert instructed us to remain behind the vehicles.
Then an officer came running back.
“Detective! The rear door is open.””
We entered carefully.
The living room was immaculate.
A fire burned in the fireplace, and a child's shoes sat beside the sofa.
There was a half-finished glass of orange juice on the coffee table.
I picked it up.
It was still cold.
“Someone was here recently.””
Robert nodded.
Then we heard a noise upstairs.
A door closing.
I ran toward the staircase.
“Marcus!””
Robert shouted after me.
I ignored him.
At the top, I found a small bedroom.
Blue walls.
Toy cars.
A dinosaur poster.
And a framed photograph of Richard standing beside a little boy.
The boy was Ethan.
I stepped inside.
On the bed lay a stuffed rabbit.
Beside it was a school notebook.
The first page contained a child's handwriting.
My name is Ethan Richard Cole.
I turned the page.
My dad says my real parents died in a car accident.
My hands began shaking.
Then I heard a small voice behind me.
“Who are you?””
I turned.
A little boy stood in the doorway.
He was wearing a blue sweater.
The same sweater from the photograph.
His eyes were fixed on me.
I lowered myself to my knees.
“Hi, buddy.””
He took one step backward.
“Are you Uncle Daniel's friend?””
I swallowed.
“No. I'm Marcus.””
He frowned.
“That's my other name.””
I felt tears fill my eyes.
“Ethan, I'm your father.””
The boy stared at me.
Then he asked the question that broke my heart.
“If you're my father, why did you leave me here?””
Before I could answer, a woman's voice came from the staircase.
“Because your father didn't know you existed.””
I turned.
A woman stood at the bottom of the stairs.
She was holding a photograph.
And I recognized her immediately.
She was the nurse who had supposedly signed Danielle's miscarriage paperwork.
But the name on her identification badge was different.
*Dr. Whitmore.*
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She smiled sadly.
“Marcus, we need to talk about what really happened when your son was born.””
