Chapter 2 - The Woman Beside My Wife
Natalie stepped off the hospital elevator and froze when she saw the envelope against my chest.
Beside her stood a silver-haired man carrying a leather document case.
Priya stared at the case.
A courthouse evidence sticker was attached to the side.
Someone had already been looking for my father’s records.
Natalie had not come to check on Raymond.
She had come for what he found.
“Grant?”
Her voice sounded genuinely surprised.
For half a second, I almost believed her.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She looked at Priya.
Then at the envelope.
Then back at me.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“My father is in emergency surgery.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Silence.
The man beside her stepped forward.
“Mr. Mercer, perhaps we should—”
“Who are you?”
Natalie spoke quickly.
“This is Martin Cole.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“He’s an attorney.”
I looked at Priya.
She did not take her eyes off him.
Martin gave her a polite nod.
“Ms. Desai.”
“Mr. Cole.”
The way they said each other’s names told me they were not strangers.
I turned toward Natalie.
“You brought a lawyer to the hospital?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“That sentence usually means it is exactly what I think.”
“Grant, please.”
“Did someone call you?”
She hesitated.
That was enough.
“Who?”
“A hospital employee.”
Priya immediately said, “No authorized hospital employee contacted Mrs. Mercer.”
Natalie’s eyes hardened.
“You don’t know that.”
“I checked.”
The hallway suddenly felt too small.
I looked at Martin.
“What kind of attorney are you?”
“Estate planning and family law.”
My stomach dropped.
“Family law?”
“Grant,” Natalie said.
“No. You explain why you came here with a family-law attorney twenty minutes after my father was taken into surgery.”
Martin cleared his throat.
“I advised Natalie to come because certain documents may involve her.”
“What documents?”
He glanced at the envelope.
“The documents your father obtained.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“You know what’s in this?”
“No.”
“But you know what he was looking for.”
Martin said nothing.
Priya stepped between us.
“Grant, your father retained me last week. My professional obligation is to him and, under specific instructions he signed, to you.”
Natalie looked at her.
“He signed instructions?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“That is confidential.”
Natalie’s face tightened.
I noticed it.
So did Priya.
“What was he investigating?” I asked.
Priya looked at Natalie and Martin.
“Not here.”
Natalie stepped toward me.
“Grant, whatever Raymond told this woman, you need to remember that he’s been confused lately.”
The words hit me like a slap.
My father had predicted them.
Someone will claim I’m confused.
I stared at my wife.
“When did you decide he was confused?”
“What?”
“You just said he’s been confused lately.”
“He has.”
“Give me one example.”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I stepped closer.
“Dad told me somebody would say exactly that.”
Natalie’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Martin placed a hand on her arm.
“Not here.”
I looked down at his hand.
Then back at him.
“Take your hand off my wife.”
He did.
Priya touched my elbow.
“Grant. Come with me.”
Natalie reached for me.
I moved away.
“Stay here.”
“Grant—”
“Stay here.”
Priya led me through a secured door into a small consultation room.
The moment it closed, she locked it.
“Why are you locking the door?”
“Because your father expected somebody to interfere.”
“You mean Natalie?”
“I mean somebody.”
She sat across from me.
The envelope lay between us.
“Before you open that, I need to tell you what Raymond hired me to do.”
I nodded.
“He contacted me six weeks ago.”
“Six weeks?”
“Yes.”
“He told me he had found discrepancies in records related to a closed adoption from 1987.”
My birthday year.
My mouth went dry.
“So it was mine.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
The room tilted slightly.
“Dad adopted me?”
“Raymond Mercer is legally your adoptive father.”
I stared at her.
Every childhood memory suddenly felt as if somebody had moved the furniture in a dark room.
“My mother?”
“Her name was Elena Walsh.”
“I thought her name was Susan.”
“Raymond’s late wife was Susan.”
I rubbed both hands over my face.
“Then who was Elena?”
“Your biological mother.”
“And my biological father?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Dad does?”
“Possibly.”
I looked at the envelope.
“Why did he hide this?”
“He believed he was protecting you.”
“From what?”
Priya hesitated.
“From the circumstances surrounding your adoption.”
I laughed once, but there was nothing funny in it.
“What does that mean?”
“Your adoption file was sealed unusually fast. Several signatures were added through emergency judicial orders. Two supporting documents disappeared from the archive.”
“Disappear?”
“Yes.”
“And Dad discovered this?”
“He discovered something else first.”
She opened her briefcase and removed a photocopy of an old property record.
The name ELENA WALSH appeared at the top.
Below it was a parcel description.
“What is this?”
“Approximately eighty-seven acres outside Boulder.”
I stared at her.
“Why are you showing me land?”
“Because Elena Walsh owned it.”
“So?”
“So that land was later sold to a development group for thirty-two million dollars.”
I almost laughed again.
“My mother owned thirty-two million dollars of land?”
“No. The land became worth that later.”
“What happened to the money?”
“That’s what your father was trying to determine.”
She slid another sheet toward me.
It contained a chain of ownership.
Elena Walsh.
Then a trust.
Then another company.
Then a corporation I didn’t recognize.
At the bottom was a recent filing.
My eyes stopped on the registered agent.
Martin Cole.
I looked up.
“The attorney outside?”
“Yes.”
A sick feeling settled in my stomach.
“And Natalie?”
Priya pulled out one more page.
A corporate authorization form.
My wife's signature was on it.
“What is this?”
“Three years ago, Natalie became an authorized beneficiary representative for the trust.”
I stared at her.
“She never told me about any trust.”
“I know.”
“How could she be a representative?”
“That is one of the questions your father was asking.”
I picked up the page.
The signature looked real.
Natalie Mercer.
My wife.
My house.
My life.
“What does the DNA test have to do with it?”
“The trust requires biological confirmation before certain assets can transfer.”
“To me?”
Priya nodded.
“Your father believed someone had been delaying that confirmation deliberately.”
“Why?”
“Because once your identity is legally confirmed, someone else loses control.”
I sat back.
“How much control?”
“Potentially several million dollars.”
I could barely process the number.
“But Dad didn’t care about money.”
“This wasn’t primarily about money to him.”
“What was it about?”
She looked toward the envelope.
“You.”
I reached for it.
Then stopped.
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“That if anything happened to him before the test results came back, you were to receive that envelope.”
My hands were shaking now.
I broke the seal.
Inside were five things.
A photograph.
A handwritten letter.
A certified adoption petition.
A flash drive.
And a laboratory receipt.
I picked up the photograph first.
Dad looked about thirty.
He was standing beside a young woman holding a baby.
Me.
Elena.
Beside them stood another woman.
I stared at her face.
Something about it was familiar.
“Who is she?”
Priya said nothing.
I turned the photograph over.
Dad had written three names.
RAYMOND.
ELENA.
MARGARET VALE.
I stared at the last name.
Natalie’s maiden name was Vale.
My heart stopped.
“Margaret is Natalie’s mother.”
“Yes.”
“What was she doing with my biological mother?”
“That’s what Raymond discovered six weeks ago.”
I grabbed the letter.
Dad’s handwriting covered two pages.
Grant,
If you are reading this before I can explain it myself, then I am sorry.
You deserved the truth years ago.
Elena was your mother.
She was also my closest friend.
When she died, she made me promise I would raise you somewhere nobody connected to her family could use you.
My eyes blurred.
I forced myself to continue.
Margaret Vale knew Elena.
She knew about the land.
And she knew about you.
I looked up.
Priya’s face had gone pale.
“What?”
She pointed toward the next paragraph.
I read.
Three months before your wedding, Margaret contacted me for the first time in twenty-seven years.
She asked one question.
Did Grant ever learn who his mother was?
My hands went numb.
Then there was a knock on the consultation-room door.
Priya stood.
“Who is it?”
A nurse answered.
“Ms. Desai? Mr. Mercer?”
Priya unlocked the door.
The nurse looked frightened.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Your father is out of surgery.”
Relief hit me so hard I nearly dropped the letter.
“He’s alive?”
“Yes. But there’s a problem.”
“What problem?”
The nurse looked at Priya.
Then at me.
“When we moved Mr. Mercer into recovery, we found someone inside his room.”
My pulse stopped.
“Who?”
She swallowed.
May you like
“Your wife.”
And Raymond’s medical chart was gone.
