PART 5: THE HOSPITAL ROOM, THE DNA TEST, AND THE LIE THAT DESTROYED TWO FAMILIES
For seven years, I had shared a bed with Michael Davis.
I had trusted him with my body, my money, my future, and every secret I was too frightened to tell anyone else.
Now my uncle was standing on a Manhattan sidewalk, telling me that my husband might be my biological brother.
I wanted to throw up.
“No,” I whispered.
Daniel reached toward me.
“Allison—”
“Don’t touch me.”
He lowered his hand.
I looked at the photograph on my phone.
The woman in the hospital bed.
The flowers.
The card signed Michael.
Every detail seemed to have acquired a terrible new meaning.
But one thing bothered me.
Daniel had told me Catherine disappeared in 1994.
He claimed she had another child after me.
And now he was suggesting that child could be Michael.
The dates didn’t make sense.
Michael was thirty-eight.
I was thirty-four.
He was older than me.
Not younger.
I looked at Daniel sharply.
“How old was Catherine’s second child?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Allison…”
“How old?”
“I don’t know exactly what records were altered.”
I stared at him.
“Michael is four years older than I am.”
He looked down.
“Then we need to verify everything.”
Something inside me hardened.
For the first time that night, I realized how dangerous it was to accept anyone’s story simply because they sounded certain.
My husband had lied.
My grandmother had hidden the truth.
My mother had concealed my birth.
And my uncle had allowed an entire family to believe he was dead for nineteen years.
I wasn’t going to replace one set of lies with another.
“Nobody tells me who Michael is anymore,” I said. “Not until we have proof.”
Margaret nodded immediately.
“That’s exactly right.”
I turned toward her.
“Can we verify Catherine’s identity?”
“We can try, through legitimate records and with her cooperation.”
“And the hospital?”
“Sarah can contact them. But medical privacy rules mean they may not disclose information without permission.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Then we go there.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Allison, that could be a trap.”
I met his eyes.
“Then you can explain everything to the police.”
He looked wounded.
I didn’t care.
Not anymore.
Maya quietly opened the car door.
“Come on. Let’s get somewhere safe first.”
I climbed into the back seat.
And for the first time since discovering the photograph on Maya’s desk, I began to cry.
Not because Michael had betrayed me.
Not because my marriage was over.
But because I no longer knew whether a single person in my life had ever told me the whole truth.

At 11:46 p.m., I sat inside Sarah’s law office overlooking Madison Avenue.
The conference table was covered with documents.
Bank statements.
Corporate filings.
Photographs.
Letters.
The alleged transfer agreements bearing my forged signature.
And the photograph of Catherine in the hospital.
Sarah stood beside the window, speaking quietly to a detective.
Margaret was reviewing the corporate records.
Maya sat across from me, staring at her engagement ring.
She had taken it off at the Plaza.
Now it lay on the table between us.
A three-carat diamond.
A promise that had never been real.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I looked up.
“You’ve already said that.”
“I know.”
Her eyes filled.
“I just keep thinking about everything he told me.”
I said nothing.
She touched the ring with one finger.
“He told me he’d spent years grieving his wife. He said I was the first woman who made him feel alive again.”
I closed my eyes.
Michael had told me something similar when we met.
That he had lost so much.
That loving me gave him hope.
He had used pain as a way to create intimacy.
And I had mistaken his carefully chosen words for honesty.
Maya looked at me.
“Do you hate me?”
I studied her face.
The tired eyes.
The ruined makeup.
The trembling hands.
“No,” I said.
She started crying.
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
She covered her face.
“But I helped him.”
“You helped someone you trusted.”
I paused.
“Now you have a choice about what you do next.”
She nodded slowly.
“I’ll give Sarah everything.”
Her emails.
Her messages.
The company documents.
The photographs.
The notes Michael had sent about the business.
Everything.
For the first time, Maya and I were no longer two women connected by the same man’s lies.
We were two witnesses trying to understand what he had done.
Then Sarah returned to the conference table.
“Allison, the police have confirmed your mother is safe. She’s staying at a protected location tonight.”
I closed my eyes in relief.
“Thank you.”
“Robert Whitfield has not been located yet.”
My relief faded.
“Do they have enough to arrest him?”
“They’re investigating the threats, and we’ve provided the messages, the financial documents, and your mother’s account.”
I nodded.
Sarah sat across from me.
“Now we need to discuss the hospital photograph.”
I leaned forward.
“Is Catherine there?”
Sarah shook her head.
“The hospital would not confirm a patient without authorization. But a physician’s office associated with the facility passed along our request for Catherine Bellamy to contact us.”
My heart sank.
“So we don’t know.”
“Not yet.”
Daniel sat beside the window, looking exhausted.
Sarah turned toward him.
“And I need to ask you something, Mr. Mercer.”
He looked up.
“Yes?”
“Why did you suggest Michael could be Catherine’s son?”
Daniel hesitated.
I watched him carefully.
He finally said, “Because Catherine’s second child disappeared, and the circumstances involved people connected to the Whitmore family.”
Sarah folded her hands.
“Do you have a birth certificate?”
“No.”
“Adoption records?”
“No.”
“Any document connecting that child to Michael Davis?”
Daniel swallowed.
“No.”
I felt a surge of anger.
“Then why did you tell me he might be my brother?”
Daniel’s eyes filled.
“Because I recognized the signature on the card, and I remembered what Evelyn feared.”
“That’s not proof.”
“I know.”
I stood.
“You don’t get to do this to me.”
“Allison—”
“You don’t get to walk back into my life after nineteen years and destroy everything I believe with guesses!”
My voice cracked.
Daniel lowered his head.
“You’re right.”
I stared at him.
He continued softly.
“I was frightened. I saw the photograph, remembered Catherine’s missing child, and jumped to a conclusion. I should never have said it as though it were established.”
The room fell silent.
Sarah looked at me.
“We will verify the facts. Nothing more.”
I sat down slowly.
Because the truth was, I wanted Daniel to be wrong more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.

At 12:18 a.m., my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
Everyone looked at me.
Sarah nodded toward the speakerphone.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice spoke.
“Is this Allison Davis?”
My heart stopped.
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“My name is Catherine Bellamy.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
No one moved.
The woman continued.
“I understand you’ve been trying to find me.”
I couldn’t speak.
For thirty-four years, I had lived without knowing her name.
Without knowing her face.
Without knowing that she might still be alive.
And now I was hearing her voice.
“Are you…” My throat tightened. “Are you my mother?”
A long silence.
Then she began to cry.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
I covered my mouth.
“Oh my God.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
I wanted to ask a thousand questions.
Why did you leave?
Why didn’t you come back?
Did you ever think about me?
Did you know I got married?
Did you know I lost two babies?
Did you know how many nights I spent wishing my mother understood me?
But only one question came out.
“Why didn’t you find me?”
Catherine took a shaky breath.
“Because I believed the people protecting you were telling me the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That if I contacted you, you’d be killed.”
The room went silent.
I looked toward Daniel.
His face had gone pale.
Catherine continued.
“For years, I lived under another name. I was told you were safe with Richard and Helen. I received photographs occasionally. School pictures. Graduation pictures.”
My chest tightened.
“You watched me grow up?”
“From a distance.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because every attempt to reconnect came with another warning.”
I closed my eyes.
“And Michael?”
The silence on the other end changed.
It became heavy.
Careful.
“What about Michael?”
I forced the words out.
“Do you know him?”
“Yes.”
My heart hammered.
“How?”
Another pause.
Then Catherine said, “He visited me yesterday.”
I looked at Sarah.
She leaned forward.
“What did he want?”
Catherine exhaled.
“He said you were in danger. He said someone was going to use your inheritance to destroy you.”
I felt sick.
“Did he tell you he was my husband?”
“No.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He introduced himself as a representative of the people who had been helping me stay hidden.”
I stared at the phone.
“Did he say he was your son?”
Catherine went completely silent.
Then she whispered, “My son?”
I swallowed.
“Daniel told me you had another child.”
Catherine took a long breath.
“Allison, I need you to listen carefully.”
I gripped Sarah’s hand.
“The boy I gave birth to after you was named Matthew.”
I closed my eyes.
“He disappeared when he was an infant?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
“I’ve been searching for him for decades.”
I nearly stopped breathing.
“Could Michael be Matthew?”
Catherine was silent.
Then she said something I had not expected.
“No.”
I opened my eyes.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because Matthew was born in March 1995. Michael is older than you, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Then he cannot be Matthew if the ages you’ve given me are accurate.”
I leaned back.
A sob escaped my throat.
Relief.
Confusion.
Exhaustion.
All of it crashed through me at once.
But Catherine wasn’t finished.
“Allison, there is something else.”
I wiped my cheeks.
“What?”
“Michael didn’t visit me because he wanted to help you.”
“Then why?”
“He wanted something your grandmother gave me.”
My heart began racing.
“What was it?”
“A notebook.”
I stared.
“What kind of notebook?”
“Your grandmother spent years tracing the movement of Mercer Holdings assets. Before she died, she gave me a record of the people involved.”
I looked at Margaret.
Her eyes widened.
Catherine continued.
“Michael offered me two million dollars for it.”
I sat upright.
“Two million?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I didn’t have it.”
“Do you?”
Catherine hesitated.
Then whispered, “Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where?”
“I’ll show you when we meet.”
Sarah leaned forward.
“Ms. Bellamy, I’m Allison’s attorney. Because of the threats against her family, we’d like to arrange a safe meeting through the authorities.”
Catherine agreed.
Then she said, “But there’s something Allison needs to know before she comes.”
I held my breath.
“What?”
“Your grandmother didn’t just discover who stole the money.”
My pulse quickened.
“Then what?”
“She discovered who ordered my disappearance.”
A chill ran through me.
“Who?”
Catherine started crying again.
“Someone I trusted.”
I thought of Robert.
Charles.
Michael.
Jonathan.
Every name had become a possible betrayal.
“Tell me.”
Catherine’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Your father.”
I froze.
Richard Mercer.
The man who taught me to ride a bicycle.
The man who cried at my wedding.
The man who died of a heart attack six years ago.
I stared at the phone.
“No.”
Catherine continued softly.
“Richard told everyone I ran away. But he was the one who arranged for me to disappear.”
I shook my head.
“Why?”
“Because I found out what he was doing.”
My hands went cold.
“What was he doing?”
Catherine’s answer came slowly.
“He was helping Charles Whitmore steal from his own mother’s company.”
I looked toward Daniel.
His eyes were closed.
And suddenly, I understood something.
The story was not simply about outsiders stealing from our family.
Someone inside the family had helped them.
My own father.
Catherine continued.
“When I threatened to expose Richard, he told me I would never see you again.”
I covered my face.
“He took me away from you?”
“Yes.”
Tears slipped between my fingers.
“Did Grandma know?”
“Not at first. When she finally discovered the truth, she spent years trying to undo what he’d done.”
I thought of Grandma’s warnings.
The prenuptial agreement.
The strange things she’d said about trust.
The way she’d begged me to protect my future.
She hadn’t just been suspicious of Michael.
She had already watched one man in our family betray the people who loved him.
And she had feared history was repeating itself.

The next morning, at 9:15, I walked into a private consultation room at St. Anne’s Medical Center.
Sarah was beside me.
Margaret had remained in Manhattan coordinating the document review.
Maya had gone home after turning over her evidence.
Daniel stayed with the detectives.
I was grateful.
I needed this moment without another person explaining my life to me.
The woman sitting beside the window turned when I entered.
Catherine Bellamy.
Silver-streaked hair.
Thin shoulders.
A pale blue cardigan.
And eyes that looked exactly like mine.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she stood.
“Allison.”
My name sounded different in her voice.
As if she had been practicing it for years.
I stepped forward.
And suddenly, I was crying.
She reached for me.
I hesitated.
Then I let her embrace me.
Her arms trembled around my shoulders.
“My little girl,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes.
For thirty-four years, I had wondered why there were parts of myself I couldn’t explain.
Why my face looked so different from Helen’s.
Why Grandma sometimes watched me with a sadness I couldn’t understand.
Now I knew.
But knowing did not erase the pain.
I stepped back.
“I need answers.”
Catherine nodded.
“You deserve them.”
We sat.
Sarah quietly explained that she would remain nearby but allow us privacy.
Catherine took my hand.
“Your father wasn’t always cruel,” she began.
I looked at her.
“That doesn’t make what he did acceptable.”
“No,” she whispered. “It doesn’t.”
She stared at the window.
“Richard was charming. Intelligent. Ambitious. He made me believe we were building a wonderful life.”
I felt a familiar ache.
That description sounded painfully close to Michael.
“When I discovered the fraudulent transactions, I confronted Richard. He told me I was mistaken.”
“And when you wouldn’t stop?”
“He threatened to take you away.”
My throat tightened.
“How did you disappear?”
Catherine lowered her eyes.
“He arranged for me to be moved to a private facility under a different name. I was told you would be harmed if I contacted anyone. Later, people who were supposed to help me escape kept me isolated by repeating the same threat.”
I stared at her.
“Who helped him?”
“Robert Whitfield handled the money. Charles Whitmore handled the corporate arrangements.”
“And Helen?”
Catherine looked at me sadly.
“Helen was told I had abandoned you. By the time she learned parts of the truth, she loved you as her own daughter.”
I looked down.
Helen.
The woman who raised me.
The woman who held my hair when I was sick.
The woman who stayed awake sewing costumes for school plays.
The woman who cried when I left for college.
She had lied about my birth.
But she had also loved me.
Both things were true.
Catherine squeezed my hand.
“Don’t punish Helen for loving you.”
I looked up.
“I’m angry with her.”
“You have every right to be.”
I swallowed.
“But I love her.”
Catherine smiled through her tears.
“Then you are lucky to have had someone who loved you when I couldn’t be there.”
We sat quietly for a moment.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me.
“Why did Michael come to see you?”
Catherine’s expression darkened.
“Because he knew I had evidence.”
She opened the drawer beside her chair.
Removed a small brown notebook.
And placed it on the table.
The cover was worn.
The corners were bent.
Inside were handwritten entries, names, transaction references, and dates stretching back decades.
“My mother kept this,” Catherine said.
I turned the first page.
Evelyn Mercer’s handwriting.
Neat.
Precise.
Unmistakable.
Near the center was a list of names.
Robert Whitfield.
Charles Whitmore.
Richard Mercer.
Jonathan Whitmore.
And at the bottom, a name I recognized.
Michael Davis.
My breath caught.
“Michael?”
Catherine nodded.
“Your grandmother added his name shortly before she died.”
I stared at the entry.
Beside it was a handwritten amount.
$250,000 — Initial Placement Agreement.
My stomach twisted.
“What’s an initial placement agreement?”
Catherine looked at me.
“Your grandmother believed Michael was paid to become involved in your life.”
I closed my eyes.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
The price of meeting me.
The price of gaining my trust.
The price of our marriage.
I remembered our first date.
The wine.
The candles.
The way he held my hand across the table.
He had looked into my eyes and said, “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
I had thought it was romantic.
Now it sounded like a confession.
Catherine watched my face.
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head.
“Don’t apologize for what he did.”
She turned another page.
“There’s more.”
The following entry listed recurring payments from Northstar Legacy Management to a private consulting company.
The recipient name was partially abbreviated.
But the initials were clear.
M.D.
I stared.
“How much?”
Catherine slid her finger down the page.
“Over a million dollars across several years, according to your grandmother’s notes.”
I felt numb.
Michael hadn’t simply accepted one payment.
He had allegedly been paid repeatedly.
While sleeping beside me.
While telling me he loved me.
While letting me believe we were saving for a future together.
I whispered, “He was being paid to stay married to me.”
Catherine didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
Then Sarah approached the table.
“Allison, I received preliminary information from the financial investigator.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“They’ve traced a recent transfer connected to the suspicious holding company.”
My pulse quickened.
“To where?”
“An account associated with a real estate investment partnership registered in the Cayman Islands.”
I swallowed.
“How much?”
Sarah took a breath.
“Twenty-eight million dollars.”
I stared at her.
“Twenty-eight million?”
She nodded.
“That’s the amount identified in the preliminary records. We don’t yet know whether the transaction was completed or whether the funds remain accessible.”
I looked at Catherine.
She seemed unsurprised.
“Your grandmother suspected they were moving the assets overseas.”
I leaned forward.
“Can we stop them?”
Sarah nodded cautiously.
“We can pursue emergency legal measures, but we need solid evidence and the correct court orders.”
I looked down at the notebook.
“Then we give them this.”
Catherine placed her hand over mine.
“There’s one more thing.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She opened the notebook to the final page.
There was a date.
October 9, 2022.
Two days before my grandmother died.
Beneath it, written in red ink, were five words.
“Robert is not the leader.”
My stomach dropped.
I looked at Catherine.
“Then who is?”
She slowly turned the page.
A name was written in large letters.
E. WHITMORE.
Edward Whitmore.
The distinguished investor from the Plaza Hotel.
The man who had pretended to be surprised when I told him I was Michael’s wife.
The man who had promised to review the company documents.
The man who had stepped away as though he wanted no part of Michael’s scandal.
I felt cold.
“Edward?”
Catherine nodded.
“Your grandmother believed Charles handled the original scheme, but Edward eventually took control.”
I shook my head.
“But Edward was at the launch party.”
Catherine looked directly at me.
“Of course he was.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he wanted to see whether Michael had succeeded.”
My heart hammered.
“Then why would he pretend to be an investor?”
Catherine’s expression hardened.
“Because people reveal more when they think they’re speaking to someone who doesn’t know the truth.”
I stared at the notebook.
For the first time, the entire evening at the Plaza took on a different meaning.
Edward wasn’t simply attending the launch.
He may have been watching Michael.
And when I arrived, he had watched me too.
I remembered how quickly he’d approached us.
How interested he seemed in my identity.
How smoothly he’d stepped away when the confrontation began.
Had he been surprised?
Or had he been assessing how much I knew?
My phone buzzed.
An email from Margaret.
The subject line made my stomach tighten.
URGENT — EDWARD WHITMORE INVESTMENT DOCUMENTS
I opened it.
Margaret had uncovered a signed letter of intent.
Edward Whitmore’s investment group had agreed to consider a substantial investment in M&M Capital Partners.
But the agreement contained a condition.
Before the investment could proceed, the company had to obtain controlling interests in certain assets held through Davis Family Holdings.
I read the clause twice.
Then looked at Sarah.
“Edward wasn’t investing in Michael’s company because he believed in it.”
Sarah leaned closer.
“Why do you say that?”
I handed her the phone.
“Because the investment was conditional on Michael gaining control of my family’s assets.”
Sarah read the document.
Her expression changed.
“That’s certainly a significant conflict we need to investigate.”
I looked at Catherine.
“Michael was supposed to deliver my inheritance.”
She nodded slowly.
“And when he failed, he became a liability.”
I remembered Michael’s fear at the Plaza.
The way he kept checking his phone.
The message that said, “She knows. Fix this tonight.”
He hadn’t just been afraid of losing his company.
He was afraid of the people behind it.
And suddenly, I wondered something terrifying.
What if Michael wasn’t only a liar?
What if he was also being threatened?

At 11:32 a.m., Sarah received another call.
She answered.
Listened.
Then stood abruptly.
“Where?”
I watched her face.
“What happened?”
She held up a hand.
“Is he alive?”
My heart began racing.
“Sarah?”
She ended the call.
Then looked at me.
“Michael’s car was found abandoned near the East River.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Police located it this morning.”
I stared at her.
“Was he inside?”
“No.”
Relief and fear collided in my chest.
“Where is he?”
“They don’t know.”
Catherine pressed a hand to her mouth.
Sarah continued.
“His phone was found in the vehicle. There were signs that someone had searched the interior.”
I felt sick.
“Do they think he’s been kidnapped?”
“They haven’t determined that.”
I stood.
“I need to call him.”
Sarah shook her head.
“His phone is with the police.”
I looked at the photograph of my husband on my phone.
Seven years.
Seven years of marriage.
Three years of betrayal.
And now, possibly, something far worse.
I hated what he’d done.
But I had never wanted him dead.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A text message.
“If you want your husband alive, stop the investigation.”
My blood turned cold.
I showed Sarah.
She immediately photographed the message and contacted the detective.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Michael.
Sitting in a wooden chair in a dimly lit room.
His white dress shirt was wrinkled.
His face was bruised.
He was looking directly at the camera.
And beside him stood a man whose face had been deliberately cropped out.
I covered my mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Catherine leaned closer.
Her face turned pale.
“Allison…”
I barely heard her.
Because another message had appeared.
“Your grandmother made one mistake. She believed love could protect her family.”
I stared at the screen.
“You have six hours to deliver the notebook.”
Sarah took the phone gently.
“We’re giving this to the police immediately.”
But Catherine was no longer looking at the message.
She was staring at the photograph.
At the small section of the man standing beside Michael.
Only his hand was visible.
A man’s hand.
Wearing a gold signet ring.
A ring engraved with a tiny black star.
Catherine began trembling.
“That ring…”
I turned toward her.
“What?”
She whispered, “I’ve seen it before.”
“Where?”
Her eyes filled with horror.
“The night Richard took you away from me.”
I stared.
“Who was wearing it?”
Catherine swallowed.
Then said the name.
“Edward Whitmore.”
I felt a cold certainty settle over me.
The man behind the money.
The man behind the threats.
The man my grandmother had tried to expose.
And now, possibly, the man holding my husband captive.
But before I could speak, Catherine grabbed my wrist.
“Allison, listen to me.”
Her voice was suddenly urgent.
“There’s something I haven’t told you.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
She looked toward Sarah.
Then back at me.
“Michael came to see me yesterday, but he wasn’t alone.”
I stared.
“Who was with him?”
Catherine began crying.
“A young man.”
I frowned.
“What young man?”
She swallowed.
“He called me Mother.”
The room went silent.
My pulse hammered.
“Matthew?”
Catherine nodded.
“I think so.”
I stared.
“Your missing son?”
She nodded again.
“He had documents. Birth records. Photographs. He said he had spent years trying to find me.”
I could barely breathe.
“Where is he now?”
Catherine looked devastated.
“I don’t know.”
Then she whispered something that made every muscle in my body tighten.
“Before they left, Matthew told me Michael had helped him uncover the truth about his birth.”
I stared at her.
“Michael helped him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Catherine shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then she said, “But Matthew gave me a warning.”
My heart raced.
“What warning?”
“He said there was someone close to you who had been working for Edward Whitmore all along.”
I felt sick.
“Who?”
Catherine looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“He wouldn’t tell me the name.”
I stared at her.
“Why not?”
“Because he said he needed proof first.”
I stepped backward.
Someone close to me.
Someone I trusted.
Someone who had known about the investigation.
My mind raced.
Sarah.
Margaret.
Daniel.
Maya.
Helen.
Everyone who had helped me uncover the truth.
Then my phone rang again.
This time, it wasn’t an unknown number.
It was Edward Whitmore.
I stared at his name.
Sarah nodded.
“Answer. Put it on speaker.”
I did.
“Allison,” Edward said pleasantly. “I hope you’re having a better morning than last night.”
I felt my stomach twist.
“What do you want?”
He chuckled softly.
“Such hostility. After everything I’ve done to help your family.”
I gripped the phone.
“Where is Michael?”
A pause.
Then Edward said, “Michael made some unfortunate decisions.”
My heart hammered.
“Where is he?”
“That’s not the question you should be asking.”
I stared at the wall.
“Then what is?”
Edward’s voice became cold.
“You should be asking who gave me the notebook’s location.”
My blood froze.
Only a handful of people knew about the notebook.
Daniel.
Catherine.
Sarah.
Margaret.
And me.
Maya knew about the family documents but had not been told about the notebook.
I looked slowly around the room.
Sarah stood beside me.
Catherine sat near the window.
The notebook lay on the table.
Edward continued.
“Someone you trust has been helping me for years, Allison.”
I swallowed.
“Who?”
He laughed softly.
“Why don’t you ask your uncle?”
I felt my stomach drop.
Daniel?
The man who had been declared dead.
The man who kept my grandmother’s letter.
The man who had hidden for nineteen years.
The man who had known about my biological mother.
Could he have been working for Edward?
I wanted to reject the idea.
But then I remembered something.
Daniel had been the one who brought us to his apartment.
Daniel had been the one who produced the black case.
Daniel had been the one who told me Michael might be my brother.
And Daniel had been the one who seemed to know so much while providing so little proof.
Edward’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Your grandmother was clever, Allison. But she made one fatal mistake.”
I gripped the phone.
“What?”
“She trusted the wrong Mercer.”
The call ended.
I stood completely still.
Then Sarah’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
“Are you certain?”
She listened.
Then looked directly at me.
“Allison…”
“What?”
“The detective just received the preliminary forensic report on the forged signatures.”
My heart raced.
“And?”
Sarah swallowed.
“The signature on the original authorization wasn’t created by Michael.”
I stared.
“Then who forged it?”
She took a breath.
“The document appears to have been prepared using credentials assigned to Daniel Mercer’s old corporate office.”
I felt my knees weaken.
Daniel.
My dead uncle.
The man who claimed he’d been hiding from the people who destroyed our family.
The man who supposedly protected my grandmother’s secrets.
And suddenly, I remembered the first thing he said when I arrived at his apartment.
“Your grandmother told me you’d come one day.”
What if he hadn’t been waiting to protect me?
What if he had been waiting for me to bring him exactly what Edward needed?
My phone buzzed one last time.
A message from an unknown number.
Only six words.
“ALLISON, DON’T TRUST DANIEL. — MATTHEW”
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
A photograph.
Daniel Mercer.
Standing outside a Manhattan restaurant.
Shaking hands with Edward Whitmore.
The date stamp showed it had been taken three days earlier.
Three days.
Not nineteen years ago.
Not before Daniel disappeared.
Three days ago.
I looked at Sarah.
My voice was barely a whisper.
“Daniel has been lying to us.”
Then the hospital room door opened.
A nurse stood in the doorway.
Her face was pale.
“Ms. Davis?”
I turned.
“Yes?”
“There’s a gentleman downstairs asking for you.”
My heart raced.
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“He says he’s your brother.”
I stared at Catherine.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
The nurse continued.
“He said his name is Matthew Bellamy.”
My knees nearly gave way.
Then she added:
“And he says he has proof that your husband isn’t the man who betrayed you first.”
END OF PART 5 — THE HOSPITAL ROOM, THE DNA TEST, AND THE LIE THAT DESTROYED TWO FAMILIES
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 6: THE BROTHER WHO CAME BACK — AND THE TRAITOR SITTING BESIDE ME