Chapter 7 - The Mother Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The door opened slowly.
A woman stepped into the archive.
Older.
Thinner.
Her dark hair streaked with silver.
But her eyes were the same.
I knew them.
I had seen them in childhood photographs.
“Mom.”
She covered her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes.
I couldn't move.
For twelve years, I had believed she was dead.
She whispered my childhood nickname.
“Ellie.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Daniel caught my arm.
My mother looked at Grant.
“You brought her here.”
Grant shook his head.
“She found the archive.”
My mother looked at me.
“I tried to keep you away from all of this.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
She looked at the red folder.
“Because your grandfather discovered who was stealing from the trust.”
“Who?”
She shook her head.
“Not here.”
I stepped closer.
“You don't get to decide where I hear the truth.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she said something that changed everything.
“Your grandfather didn't trust the bank.”
I frowned.
“He owned it.”
“He owned part of it.”
“What's the difference?”
“He knew someone inside was building a second financial network.”
Daniel's expression hardened.
“Shadow accounts.”
My mother nodded.
“Millions were moved through them.”
I looked at Grant.
“Were you part of it?”
“No.”
My mother answered before he could.
“He wasn't.”
I stared at her.
“Then why did you tell him to leave me?”
“Because someone was watching you.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the ceiling.
“Your husband wasn't the only person who received instructions.”
My heart sank.
“Who else?”
She opened her coat.
Inside was a small envelope.
She handed it to me.
I opened it.
A handwritten letter.
My grandfather's signature.
If Eleanor reads this, the betrayal has already begun.
I read the next line.
Trust Grant.
I stopped.
Grant looked at me.
My mother whispered, “Your grandfather knew Grant would be blamed.”
I looked at him.
All those years.
All the anger.
All the questions.
Maybe he hadn't left because he stopped loving me.
Maybe he had left because he was afraid.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice said:
“You found her.”
I froze.
“Who are you?”
“You're closer than your grandfather ever got.”
“Where is my brother?”
There was silence.
Then the voice said:
“Your brother?”
I looked at Madison.
She had followed us into the archive.
Her face had gone white.
The man laughed softly.
“You still don't know which Cole I'm talking about.”
Then the call ended.
Madison whispered, “Adrian.”
I turned toward her.
“What did he mean?”
She didn't answer.
Instead, she looked at the photograph of my mother.
May you like
Then she said:
“My brother isn't the only Cole involved.”
