Chapter 9
The family physician came first.
Dr. Mercer.
Sixty-eight.
He had delivered me.
That made what he said worse.
“Your father was trying to protect succession.”
I stared.
“From a baby.”
“From uncertainty.”
“Ella was mine.”
“You know that now.”
My jaw tightened.
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“You knew then.”
He looked away.
Exactly.
The physician had drawn blood from Ella after birth.
Not to care for her.
To verify paternity.
The result confirmed she was mine.
Vincent had it.
Lydia had it.
My father saw it.
Claire never did.
I never did.
Then they buried the result.
Not literally.
Socially.
Enough people agreed not to tell me that truth ceased functioning.
“What happened to the original?”
Mercer shook his head.
“Vincent kept it.”
Maybe the missing memory card.
Maybe something else.
I looked at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me after my father died?”
He said nothing.
“After Vincent died?”
Nothing.
“When did silence stop being loyalty and become cowardice?”
His face tightened.
Good.
Not because I needed shame.
Because words had weight.
Mercer finally answered.
“I thought if Claire wanted you to know, she would come back.”
I laughed once.
“She had been threatened.”
“I didn’t know the details.”
“You knew enough.”
Silence.
The first capo arrived next.
Peter Bellrose.
My father’s cousin.
He admitted he knew Ella existed.
Not Sophie.
He believed Claire had taken money to disappear.
Of course.
A cleaner story.
Outsider paid off.
Boss spared scandal.
“What money?”
He gave a number.
Five hundred thousand.
Claire stared.
“I never received anything.”
Peter looked confused.
That surprised me.
Maybe the money existed.
Went somewhere else.
Janice?
Vincent?
Lydia?
I looked at Peter.
“Who told you she took it?”
“Vincent.”
Again.
The dead man carried every explanation.
Convenient.
Then Rafe entered.
He held Janice’s financial book?
No paperwork. Better maybe luxury jewelry? But can still use money lightly. We can say key? Let's avoid. He held a small velvet pouch recovered from Janice's locker.
Inside was a Bellrose signet pendant.
My mother’s.
I stared.
Janice should never have possessed it.
Claire recognized it.
“She wore that the night she came to my apartment.”
I looked at her.
“Who?”
“Lydia.”
My aunt had not only known.
May you like
She had personally participated.
And Vincent had been allowed to look like the architect because dead men cannot correct the story.
