Chapter 3 - The Adoption File
I ran toward my father’s recovery room while Priya shouted behind me, “Grant, don’t touch anything.”
The door was standing open.
A torn corner of Raymond’s medical chart lay beside the bed.
Written across it was a seven-digit case number.
Priya stopped when she saw it.
“That isn’t a hospital number.”
It belonged to the sealed adoption file.
Natalie had known exactly what she was looking for.
Dad lay unconscious beneath thin blankets, tubes running from his arms, his skin gray beneath the fluorescent light.
“Natalie?”
No answer.
I checked the bathroom.
Empty.
A nurse hurried in.
“Sir, you can’t—”
“Where is my wife?”
“She left before security arrived.”
“How did she get in here?”
“She said she was family.”
“She is family.”
“I mean she said Mr. Mercer had requested her.”
“He was unconscious.”
The nurse looked uncomfortable.
“I understand.”
Priya stepped toward the bedside table.
“Grant.”
“What?”
She pointed.
Dad’s brown jacket had been folded onto a chair.
One pocket had been turned inside out.
I touched it.
Empty.
“What was in there?”
“I don’t know.”
Then I remembered the backyard.
Dad reaching inside his jacket.
Stopping.
Pulling his hand out empty.
He had been carrying something.
“His phone,” I said.
The nurse shook her head.
“Personal belongings were inventoried downstairs. His wallet and phone should still be with security.”
“Then something else.”
Priya opened Dad’s handwritten letter again.
“Raymond mentions a key.”
“What key?”
She found the sentence.
If Margaret’s daughter ever learns what I kept, use the key before anyone gets to the box.
“What box?”
“No idea.”
My phone buzzed.
Natalie.
I stared at her name.
Priya said, “Answer it.”
I put the call on speaker.
“Where are you?”
“Grant, listen to me before you decide I’m some kind of criminal.”
“You entered my unconscious father’s room and stole his chart.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“Security says you left.”
“Because Martin told me to.”
“Why?”
“He panicked.”
“About what?”
Silence.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Stay there.”
“Grant—”
“I said stay there.”
I hung up.
Priya watched me.
“You’re going home?”
“Yes.”
“That may be what she wants.”
“She is my wife.”
“She is also connected to a trust she never told you existed.”
I knew that.
But I also knew Natalie.
Or I thought I did.
We had been married five years.
She cried during stupid dog commercials.
She knew how I took my coffee.
She called Dad every Christmas morning before I did.
She complained about him, yes.
She could be impatient.
Sharp.
Controlling.
But secretly manipulating my adoption records?
Stealing a hospital chart?
I needed to hear her explanation.
Before I left, I stood beside Dad’s bed.
His eyelids did not move.
“Stay alive,” I whispered.
Then Priya and I drove separately to my house.
Natalie was waiting in the kitchen.
Martin Cole was gone.
She had changed out of her sweater and into a dark cardigan.
The first thing I noticed was her hands.
They were shaking.
“Where is Martin?”
“He left.”
“With the chart?”
“I told you, I didn’t take the chart.”
“Then who did?”
She looked at Priya.
“Does she have to be here?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
I pulled the photograph from my pocket and laid it on the table.
Natalie stared at it.
Her face went white.
“You’ve seen it before.”
“No.”
“That was not a question.”
She sat down.
“Grant.”
“Your mother knew my biological mother.”
“Yes.”
The word barely came out.
The room seemed to narrow around us.
“How long have you known?”
“About Elena? Since before we got married.”
I looked at her.
“Say that again.”
“My mother told me.”
“When?”
Natalie swallowed.
“Two weeks before our wedding.”
Priya remained silent.
I gripped the back of a chair.
“And you married me without telling me?”
“I didn’t understand what it meant.”
“You knew my father was hiding my adoption.”
“No. I knew my mother recognized your last name. That’s different.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she begged me not to.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You chose her over me.”
“I thought she was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“My father.”
That stopped me.
“Your father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then explain.”
Natalie looked toward the windows.
“My father, Charles Vale, worked for a private development company in the eighties. Elena Walsh’s family owned land they wanted. She refused to sell.”
Priya leaned forward.
“What company?”
“North Ridge Development.”
Priya’s eyes narrowed.
“That company was dissolved in 1991.”
“My father was one of its attorneys.”
I stared at Natalie.
“And your mother?”
“She handled records at the county courthouse.”
Everything began fitting together in a way that made me sick.
“Adoption records.”
“Yes.”
I sat opposite her.
“Why was Elena hiding me?”
Natalie’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know everything.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
“My mother said Elena discovered that North Ridge had forged easements and property transfers. She planned to testify.”
“What happened?”
“She died before she could.”
“How?”
Natalie looked at the table.
“Car accident.”
Dad had always told me my biological mother died in a car crash.
Now the ordinary tragedy sounded like something else.
“Was it an accident?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your father?”
“My mother never said he caused it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“She said he helped cover something up afterward.”
The words sat between us.
I thought about the photograph.
Dad.
Elena.
Margaret.
“Why did your mother help with my adoption?”
“She was scared.”
“Of your father?”
Natalie nodded.
“She helped Raymond hide your file.”
“And then twenty-seven years later she contacted him.”
Natalie looked startled.
“You know about that?”
“Yes.”
She covered her face briefly.
“She was dying.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“You told me she died of cancer.”
“She did.”
“Then why call Dad?”
“She wanted to confess.”
“About what?”
Natalie looked at Priya.
“About the land.”
The trust.
Millions.
I felt fury rise again.
“You became an authorized representative.”
Her head snapped up.
“You found that?”
“Dad found it.”
“That wasn’t what you think.”
“Then tell me what it was.”
“My mother asked me to sign paperwork before she died.”
“What paperwork?”
“She said it would stop my father’s old partners from taking the trust.”
“You signed documents involving me without telling me?”
“I didn’t know you were the beneficiary.”
Priya spoke for the first time.
“That is difficult to believe.”
Natalie glared at her.
“It’s true.”
“Did Martin Cole prepare the forms?”
“Yes.”
“Who introduced you to him?”
“My mother.”
Priya leaned back.
Natalie looked at me.
“Grant, I swear I never took money from you.”
“How do I know?”
“Check our accounts.”
“The trust wouldn’t appear in our accounts.”
“No.”
“Then where would it appear?”
She looked down.
That was the moment I understood.
“You know.”
“I know where Martin said the money was being held.”
“Where?”
“A private management company.”
“Name.”
“Vale Strategic Holdings.”
My stomach turned.
“Your family company?”
“It was created after my mother died.”
“By Martin?”
“Yes.”
“And you never thought that was suspicious?”
“I did.”
“When?”
She looked at me.
“Six months ago.”
“So what did you do?”
“I started asking questions.”
“Without telling me?”
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of finding out why my mother wanted me to marry you.”
The sentence destroyed the room.
I stared at her.
“What did you just say?”
Tears finally slipped down her face.
“She knew you before I did.”
“What?”
“Not personally.”
“Natalie.”
“She saw your name on a charity board website. She showed me your picture.”
“When?”
“A month before you and I supposedly met by accident.”
My hands went cold.
We had met at a fundraiser.
She spilled wine on my jacket.
We laughed.
We had joked for years that fate had shoved us together.
It hadn’t been fate.
“Did your mother send you there?”
Natalie cried silently.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Grant.”
I walked away from the table.
“Please.”
“Was any of it real?”
“Yes.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?”
“Because I was supposed to meet you once.”
I turned.
She stood too.
“My mother told me to introduce myself. Learn what you knew. That was it.”
“And then?”
“I liked you.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I fell in love with you.”
“You lied every day for five years.”
“I was ashamed.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Priya.
Even though she stood only six feet away.
She had sent it instead of speaking.
DON’T REACT.
I looked at her.
She was staring past me.
Toward the hallway.
Then I noticed the small red light beneath the smoke detector.
Priya slowly raised one finger to her lips.
Someone was recording us.
I walked casually toward the hallway.
Natalie saw where I was looking.
Her expression changed.
“That wasn’t there yesterday.”
I reached up.
Pulled the device free.
A tiny wireless camera.
Priya examined it.
“This is transmitting.”
“To who?”
Before she could answer, the front door handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
A key slid into the lock.
Natalie whispered, “Martin still has a copy.”
May you like
The lock turned.
And someone began opening the door.
