Chapter 4: The Woman Who Knew My Father
I read the message three times.
*Marcus, if you found the red book, don't believe Richard. He knows what happened to your father. I'm Eleanor. And I can prove it.*
My thumb hovered over the screen.
For twelve years, I had believed my father died in a terrible accident. For the last twenty minutes, I had learned that he had hidden documents, possibly fathered another child, and left behind a fortune I had never known existed.
Now the woman who claimed to be his daughter was contacting me.
And she knew about the cookbook.
I looked toward Richard.
He was watching my phone.
"Who is it?"" he asked.
I slipped the phone into my pocket.
"Nobody.""
His expression tightened.
"Marcus, whatever you're thinking, don't make any decisions tonight.""
"That's interesting advice coming from someone who has been making decisions about my inheritance for twelve years.""
Richard stepped closer.
"I protected your father's business.""
"You controlled it.""
"There's a difference.""
"Not when you refuse to give it back.""
Vanessa approached, her voice suddenly gentle.
"Marcus, sweetheart, let's go home. We can discuss everything tomorrow.""
I looked at her.
"Don't call me sweetheart.""
Her face changed.
She glanced around the ballroom, realizing the guests were still watching.
"You're making a scene.""
"You threw my mother's memories into a trash can. You admitted you searched through a dead man's belongings. And you helped Richard conceal documents belonging to my family. I think the scene is already made.""
"That's not fair.""
"Then explain what's fair about it.""
She had no answer.
My mother stood beside Amara, holding the damaged cookbook.
I walked toward her.
"Mom, I need you to tell me something.""
She looked up.
"Anything, sweetheart.""
"Did Dad really have another daughter?""
Her lips trembled.
Then she nodded.
I felt the answer before she spoke.
"Yes.""
The room seemed to tilt.
"How long did you know?""
"Before you were born.""
I stared at her.
"Before I was born?""
She nodded again.
"Your father told me about Eleanor when we were engaged. He had been in a relationship before he met me. He believed the woman had moved away with the child.""
"And you accepted that?""
"I loved your father. I believed he had told me everything.""
"Until when?""
Mom looked down at the cookbook.
"Until the year before he died.""
I swallowed.
"What happened?""
"Your father received a letter. Eleanor had found him. She wanted to meet him.""
"Did he meet her?""
"Yes.""
"Did you know?""
Mom nodded.
"At first, I was angry. I thought he had been hiding an entire family from me. But when he explained everything, I understood why he had kept looking for her.""
She paused.
"He wanted to make things right.""
I rubbed my forehead.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because he asked me not to.""
"That isn't a good enough reason.""
"I know.""
Her voice broke.
"He said Eleanor was in danger. He believed someone connected to the company was watching her. He didn't want you involved until he could make sure she was safe.""
I glanced toward Richard.
"Was he talking about you?""
Richard's face hardened.
"Your father was paranoid near the end.""
My mother turned sharply.
"Don't you dare.""
Richard fell silent.
Mom continued.
"Your father wasn't paranoid. He was afraid because he had discovered that someone was stealing from the company. He wanted to protect both of his children.""
I looked at her.
"Both?""
She nodded.
"Your father loved you, Marcus. And he loved Eleanor. Whatever happened before I came into his life, he never stopped believing he owed her the truth.""
I wanted to be angry.
I was angry.
But beneath the anger was something else.
My father had apparently spent the final months of his life trying to protect a daughter I had never met.
And I had spent twelve years thinking he had simply been unlucky.
My phone vibrated again.
Another message.
**Please meet me. Tomorrow morning. 10 a.m.
The old Carter warehouse. Come alone.**
I stared at the location.
The warehouse.
The same place Richard had said he met my father on the morning of the accident.
I showed the message to my mother.
She gripped my wrist.
"No.""
"Mom—"
"Please, Marcus. Not that place.""
"Why?""
She looked at Richard.
"Because that's where your father was last seen alive.""
Richard's face went pale.
Vanessa suddenly grabbed my arm.
"You're not going.""
I pulled away.
"You don't get to decide that.""
"Marcus, this is dangerous.""
I stared at her.
"How would you know?""
She looked at Richard.
It was a tiny movement.
But it told me everything.
I turned toward him.
"What aren't you telling me?""
Richard took a deep breath.
"Your father wasn't alone at the warehouse that day.""
"Who was with him?""
He hesitated.
Then he said something I wasn't prepared to hear.
"Vanessa's father.""
My stomach tightened.
I looked at my fiancée.
"Your father?""
She closed her eyes.
Richard nodded.
"Daniel Whitmore. He was one of the original investors in Carter Manufacturing.""
I looked at Vanessa again.
"Your father knew mine?""
"Marcus, I can explain.""
"Then explain.""
She began crying.
"He died when I was twenty. I barely knew anything about his business dealings.""
"Did you know he met my father on November 14?""
"No.""
"Did you know your family name was connected to Eleanor?""
She shook her head.
But Richard interrupted.
"Her father was the person who introduced Eleanor to the company.""
I looked at him.
"What?""
"Daniel helped your father establish the trust. He was the only other person who knew where the original documents were kept.""
The implications settled over me.
Vanessa hadn't merely discovered my family's secret.
Her own family was connected to it.
And Richard had known all along.
My mother took the cookbook from the table and held it against her chest.
"Marcus, there's something else your father told me.""
I waited.
"He said that if Eleanor ever contacted you, you should ask her one question.""
"What question?""
Mom's eyes filled with tears.
"Ask her what your father gave her on her eighteenth birthday.""
I frowned.
"Why?""
"Because only your father and Eleanor would know.""
My phone vibrated again.
This time, it wasn't a text.
It was an incoming call.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?""
A woman's voice came through.
"Marcus Carter?""
"Yes.""
"My name is Eleanor Whitmore.""
I closed my eyes.
"Are you really my father's daughter?""
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, "I have his eyes, his handwriting, and the scar on my left hand from the night he taught me to use a carving knife.""
My heart began racing.
"Why are you contacting me now?""
"Because I found out Richard has been looking for the original trust documents.""
"How do you know?""
"Because he came to my house yesterday.""
I looked toward Richard.
He was already watching me.
Eleanor's voice dropped.
"Marcus, listen carefully. Don't go to that warehouse tomorrow.""
"Why?""
"Because someone has already been waiting there.""
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
"Who?""
She took a shaky breath.
"Your father's murderer.""
May you like
The call ended.
And across the ballroom, Richard quietly slipped out through the service entrance.
