Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
I stared at the photograph for nearly a minute.
The woman beside my father was unmistakable.
Margaret Collins.
My father's personal attorney for more than twenty years.
She had handled his will.
His business acquisitions.
His trusts.
His private foundations.
And most importantly—
the original Carter family trust.
She had supposedly died five years earlier.
A heart attack.
At least that was what we had been told.
I turned the photograph over.
There was another sentence.
Do not trust the death certificate.
My mother sat down.
“I don't understand.”
“Neither do I.”
I opened the letter.
The handwriting was my father's.
My hands trembled as I unfolded it.
Ryan,
If you're reading this, then something has gone wrong.
I stopped.
Lily stood beside me.
My father had written her name.
I created Lily's trust because I knew our family would eventually fight over the company.
But money is not the real danger.
I looked at my mother.
She was crying.
I continued.
The real danger is the person who knows exactly how the trust works.
My heart beat faster.
There are three people who can activate the emergency transfer.
Me.
My attorney.
And the designated family trustee.
I stopped.
My father had died.
His attorney was supposedly dead.
That left one person.
I looked at my mother.
“Who is the family trustee?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
She whispered:
“Your uncle.”
“My uncle?”
She nodded.
“Michael?”
“No.”
I felt cold.
“Who?”
“Your mother's brother.”
I stared.
“My uncle Thomas?”
She nodded.
“He has been trustee for twenty years.”
“But he died before Dad.”
“No.”
“What?”
My mother looked terrified.
“Thomas disappeared.”
I stepped back.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Your father told us never to discuss him.”
“Why?”
She looked at the photograph.
“Because your father believed Thomas was working with Margaret.”
I sat down.
Everything suddenly felt much bigger.
Vanessa.
Michael.
Charles.
The forged trust.
The drink.
The dead attorney.
The missing trustee.
All of them might be connected.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice spoke.
“Ryan Carter?”
“Yes.”
“You opened the box.”
My blood froze.
“Who is this?”
“You shouldn't have.”
I looked around the room.
“Who are you?”
The woman laughed softly.
“You're asking the wrong question.”
“What question should I ask?”
“Ask why your father never told you about Lily's mother.”
My heart stopped.
I looked at Lily.
“What do you know about my wife?”
“I know she isn't who you think she is.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
My mother stood.
“What happened?”
I told her.
She looked horrified.
“Ryan, don't listen to her.”
“Who was it?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the letter again.
There was a second page.
I hadn't noticed it.
I unfolded it.
My father's words continued.
Your wife knows more than she has told you.
I felt the room spin.
Vanessa.
My wife.
The woman I had just watched betray me.
But the letter had been written years ago.
Before Vanessa and I married.
How could my father have known?
I kept reading.
When you meet Vanessa, she will tell you that she loves you.
I stopped breathing.
My mother whispered:
“That's impossible.”
The letter continued.
Do not believe everything she tells you about her family.
I looked at the date.
The letter had been written twelve years ago.
I hadn't even met Vanessa then.
I read the next paragraph.
If Vanessa ever enters the Carter family, she will eventually learn about the trust.
I looked at Lily.
Her small face was confused.
“Daddy?”
I folded the letter.
“It's okay.”
But it wasn't.
Nothing was okay.
I had spent years believing my father had died without knowing the woman I married.
Now I was discovering that he had apparently known exactly who she was.
Then another piece of paper fell from the envelope.
It was a medical record.
Vanessa's name was at the top.
I stared.
It was from a private clinic.
The date was eleven years ago.
One year before I met her.
The record listed a different surname.
Vanessa Collins.
I looked at my mother.
“Collins?”
She nodded slowly.
“Margaret Collins.”
My stomach dropped.
“You're saying Vanessa is related to Margaret?”
“I don't know.”
I turned the page.
There was a birth record.
Mother:
Margaret Collins.
Father:
Unknown.
Child:
Vanessa Collins.
My hands went numb.
My wife wasn't just connected to the attorney.
She was her daughter.
The woman supposedly dead for five years had a daughter who had married me.
A daughter who was now trying to seize my company.
And possibly trying to kill me.
I walked to the window.
Outside, police lights flashed at the end of the driveway.
My daughter came beside me.
“Daddy?”
I knelt.
“Yes?”
“Is Mommy going to come back?”
I looked into her eyes.
I wanted to lie.
But I couldn't.
“No.”
She hugged me.
I held her tightly.
Then my phone rang again.
This time, the caller ID showed a number I recognized.
My father's old attorney's office.
I answered.
A man's voice said:
“Mr. Carter, you need to listen carefully.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Daniel Collins.”
I froze.
“Are you related to Margaret Collins?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
“Who is Vanessa?”
Another pause.
“Her daughter.”
“I know.”
“Then you know too much.”
My heart pounded.
“What happened to Margaret?”
“She is alive.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because she's not the person you should be afraid of.”
I looked at Lily.
“Then who?”
Daniel's voice dropped.
“Your brother.”
I froze.
“Michael?”
“No.”
“My other brother?”
“I mean the man you call your brother.”
I didn't understand.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel whispered:
“Michael Carter is not your brother.”
The call ended.
I stood motionless.
My mother approached.
“What happened?”
I looked at her.
“Mom…”
“What?”
“Who is Michael?”
She went completely still.
I had never seen fear like that on her face.
She sat down.
Then she whispered:
“He isn't your father's son.”
My entire world seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“He was adopted.”
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“Your father never wanted you to know.”
“Who were his parents?”
She looked toward the old photograph.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“Margaret Collins.”
I stared.
“Michael is Margaret's son?”
My mother nodded.
“And Vanessa's brother.”
I couldn't breathe.
The same woman.
The same family.
The same trust.
All of them had been inside my life for years.
And I had never known.
Then Lily suddenly pointed toward the hallway.
“Daddy.”
“What?”
“There is someone in Grandpa's room.”
I turned.
The door was slowly closing.
I ran toward it.
The room was empty.
But the window was open.
And on my father's desk lay a fresh envelope.
My name was written across it.
Underneath were six words:
You have until midnight to choose.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Lily sleeping.
Taken that night.
From inside our house.
My blood went cold.
Someone had been watching my daughter.
The photograph had been taken less than ten minutes earlier.
May you like
On the back was one final message:
Give us the trust, or next time she won't be alone.
