Chapter 9: The Birthday Cards
Ethan didn't come home with us.
He left the auditorium through the side entrance, carrying his bag and the hospital transfer form.
My father didn't follow him.
He stood in the middle of the empty hallway, staring at the door long after Ethan had disappeared.
I had never seen him look so helpless.
“Dad,” I whispered.
He shook his head.
“I should have found him.””
“You believed he was dead.””
“I should have checked.””
Richard approached slowly.
“Daniel, Arthur made certain the records were sealed. You searched every hospital you could find.””
My father turned toward him.
“Not enough.””
Richard didn't argue.
He simply placed a hand on his shoulder.
I looked at Richard.
“Who sent Ethan those birthday cards?””
Richard sighed.
“I don't know.””
“Could it have been Margaret?””
“Possibly.””
“Or your father?””
Richard looked down.
“Arthur died five years ago.””
“That doesn't mean he couldn't have arranged something before he died.””
Richard nodded slowly.
“There's something I haven't told you.””
My father looked at him.
“What now?””
Richard took out his phone.
“Margaret called me last night. She said the board had discovered a discrepancy in the adoption records.””
“What discrepancy?””
“The original birth certificate lists Daniel Mercer as the father.””
My father went completely still.
Richard continued.
“But the adoption agreement lists a different biological father.””
I frowned.
“Who?””
Richard showed us the document.
A name appeared in the final section.
*ROBERT WHITMORE.*
My father grabbed the paper.
“That's impossible.””
Richard looked at him.
“Robert was Arthur's eldest son.””
I stared.
“Your brother?””
Richard nodded.
“He died in a boating accident before Elizabeth married Daniel.””
My father shook his head.
“Robert wasn't Thomas's father. I was.””
“Then why would his name appear on the adoption record?””
Nobody answered.
We returned home.
My father went straight to the bedroom and shut the door.
Richard stayed in the kitchen.
I sat opposite him.
“Tell me everything you know about Robert.””
Richard rubbed his face.
“Robert was different from the rest of us. He hated the family business. He wanted to become a teacher.””
“Was he close to my mother?””
Richard nodded.
“Very close. Elizabeth adored him.””
I frowned.
“Why?””
“Because he was the only person in the family who never treated her like an investment.””
Richard paused.
“They were raised almost like twins. Robert was six years older, but he protected her.””
“What happened to him?””
“His boat disappeared during a storm. They found the wreckage, but his body was never recovered.””
I looked at the adoption form.
“Could Thomas have been named after him?””
Richard nodded.
“Possibly.””
I turned the paper over.
There was a handwritten note in the margin.
*Do not disclose biological parentage to the child without authorization from M. Collins.*
I read it twice.
“Why would Margaret control what Ethan knew about his parents?””
Richard looked uncomfortable.
“Because she handled the legal arrangements.””
“That's not an answer.””
He leaned forward.
“Margaret was Arthur's closest adviser. She knew about the money transfers, the succession agreement, and Elizabeth's investigation. If anyone knows what happened to Thomas, it's her.””
My phone vibrated.
An incoming call.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?””
A woman's voice spoke.
“Sophie Mercer?””
“Yes.””
“My name is Margaret Collins. I believe we should meet.””
I glanced at Richard.
“When?””
“Today. Four o'clock. My office.””
“Why?””
“Because there are things about your mother that your father has never told you.””
I gripped the phone.
“What things?””
She paused.
“Things that may change your understanding of Ethan's adoption.””
Then she added:
“And things that may explain why your brother was never supposed to return.””
The call ended.
Richard stood immediately.
“Don't go alone.””
“I wasn't planning to.””
At four, my father, Richard, and I arrived at Margaret's office.
It occupied the top floor of Westbridge's administration building.
The walls were covered with framed certificates, photographs of school founders, and expensive paintings.
Margaret stood behind her desk.
She was in her early sixties, with short silver-blonde hair and a perfectly tailored gray suit.
She looked at my father.
“Daniel.””
“Margaret.””
Her gaze moved to me.
“Sophie. You've grown into a remarkable young woman.””
“Please don't pretend you know me.””
A faint smile crossed her face.
“Elizabeth used to say the same thing when she was angry.””
My father stepped forward.
“Don't use her name.””
Margaret sat down.
“Then let's discuss the matter at hand.””
She opened a drawer and removed a thick file.
Inside were photographs, hospital records, and adoption documents.
I recognized Ethan immediately.
One photograph showed him as a baby.
Another showed him at five years old, standing beside an elderly woman.
Margaret placed a document in front of us.
“This is the original adoption agreement.””
I scanned the page.
Ethan's adoptive parents were listed as Arthur Whitmore and his wife.
But the biological father section was blank.
“Why was Robert Whitmore's name added later?”” I asked.
Margaret looked at me.
“Because Arthur wanted the child to remain within the family.””
“That doesn't answer my question.””
She sighed.
“Your grandfather believed the child would eventually become a threat to the foundation.””
My father slammed his palm against the desk.
“Then why didn't you tell me he was alive?””
Margaret didn't flinch.
“Because Arthur instructed me not to.””
“You let me bury an empty coffin!””
For the first time, her expression softened.
“I know.””
My father stared at her.
“You knew what that did to Elizabeth.””
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“Yes.””
I leaned forward.
“Who sent the birthday cards?””
Margaret opened another drawer.
She removed a small bundle tied with string.
Inside were eighteen birthday cards.
One for every year of Ethan's life.
I picked up the first.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
The message was simple.
*You are loved more than you know. One day, you will understand.*
I looked at Margaret.
“Who wrote these?””
She swallowed.
“Elizabeth.””
My father stopped breathing.
“What?””
Margaret nodded.
“Your mother wrote them before she died. She asked me to deliver them to Thomas every year.””
My hands began shaking.
“You had them all this time?””
“Yes.””
“And you never told Ethan?””
“Arthur forbade me.””
My father looked at her with disgust.
“You could have disobeyed him.””
Margaret nodded.
“I should have.””
I opened another card.
Inside was a photograph of my mother holding a baby.
The message read:
*Happy birthday, my little boy. I hope someone is holding you close today.*
Tears blurred my vision.
“Why did you keep doing this?””
Margaret's voice cracked.
“Because I was a coward.””
Richard looked at her.
“Margaret, why did Arthur insist on hiding the child's parentage?””
She opened the final section of the file.
“Because Thomas was not simply the son of Daniel and Elizabeth.””
My father frowned.
“What are you talking about?””
Margaret placed a laboratory report on the desk.
The document was dated six months after Thomas's birth.
It contained a DNA comparison between the child and two Whitmore family members.
I looked at the result.
Then I looked at Richard.
He had gone completely pale.
Margaret whispered:
“Arthur ordered this test because he believed Thomas was Robert Whitmore's biological son.””
My father shook his head.
“That's a lie.””
Margaret pointed to the result.
“The test confirmed that Thomas was not genetically related to Daniel Mercer.””
Silence swallowed the room.
I stared at the document.
“Then who was his father?””
Margaret looked directly at Richard.
“Robert Whitmore.””
Richard staggered backward.
My father gripped the desk.
“No. Elizabeth would never—”
Margaret interrupted.
“Daniel, there's something else. Robert wasn't dead when Thomas was born.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
Margaret's hands trembled as she removed one final photograph.
It showed a younger man standing outside a hospital.
He was holding a newborn baby.
On the back was a date.
April 18, 2008.
The day Thomas was supposedly transferred.
And beneath the photograph, someone had written:
*Robert Whitmore — Father and legal guardian.*
Richard stared at the image.
Then he whispered:
“My brother was alive?””
Margaret nodded.
“He was alive when Thomas was born.””
My father stepped toward her.
“Where is he now?””
Margaret looked at the closed office door.
“I don't know.””
Then she lowered her voice.
“But I received a letter from him three weeks ago.””
She opened her desk drawer and removed a sealed envelope.
The handwriting on the front was unmistakable.
*To Daniel Mercer. I owe you the truth about Elizabeth and our son.*
My father reached for it.
But Margaret pulled it back.
“Before you read this, you need to understand something.””
She looked at Richard.
“Robert didn't disappear in a boating accident.””
She turned toward me.
“He was declared dead because someone in this family wanted him gone.””
May you like
And just as my father opened his mouth to demand an explanation, Margaret added:
“The person who ordered it is still alive.””
