Chapter 6 - Richard Blackwood's Secret
Ethan was upstairs before anyone could stop him.
I ran behind him.
Noah was still asleep.
The window was closed.
The door showed no damage.
But someone had taken that photograph.
Ethan lifted Noah from the bed.
My son woke slowly.
“Mom?”
“I'm here.”
He saw Ethan holding him and blinked.
For one strange second, father and son simply stared at each other.
Then Noah said, “You're really tall.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Ethan did too.
It lasted one second.
Maybe two.
But it was the first moment in seven years that didn't belong to whoever had separated us.
Security searched the estate.
No intruder was found.
The photograph had probably been taken through the window with a long lens.
Richard wanted me to cancel the meeting.
I refused.
The next morning, Ethan came with me.
Laura Vale was waiting in an unused administrative wing of the hospital.
She was older.
But I recognized her immediately.
She cried when she saw me.
I didn't.
“You knew I was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“You told them.”
“Yes.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“Who?”
Laura looked at him.
“Your uncle.”
Ethan froze.
Richard had one younger brother.
Charles Blackwood.
The charming one.
The harmless one.
The uncle who had spent decades allowing Richard to carry the weight of the company while quietly controlling its legal and financial machinery.
Laura explained everything.
Martin Vale had been her husband and a legitimate Blackwood attorney.
He discovered Charles diverting money from family trusts.
Martin intended to expose him.
Before he could, he died unexpectedly from a heart condition.
Charles then used Martin's identity in communications that couldn't easily be traced.
He manipulated Catherine.
He forged evidence against me.
He arranged the false bank transfer.
He paid Laura to watch me.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because if Ethan married you and acknowledged a child, Charles's access to the descendant trusts would eventually be audited.”
Ethan looked sick.
“He knew about Noah before I did.”
“Yes.”
Laura began crying.
“I told him.”
I wanted to hate her.
Part of me did.
But hate had already taken enough years.
“Why tell us now?”
“Because Richard found me.”
Ethan frowned.
“My father knew?”
Laura looked toward him.
“Richard has known about Charles for months.”
That was the secret.
Not two years.
Not three months.
Richard had suspected his own brother for almost a year.
When we confronted him, he didn't deny it.
“I needed proof.”
Ethan's anger exploded.
“You needed proof while Emma and Noah were being watched?”
“I needed enough to stop Charles permanently.”
“You could have told us.”
“And if I was wrong?”
“You weren't.”
Richard looked at me.
“I failed you.”
“Yes.”
He accepted it.
No excuse.
No defense.
“I thought protecting the family meant handling everything quietly. Catherine thought the same thing. We were both wrong.”
That afternoon, Richard arranged for Laura to give a formal statement to investigators and the company's independent counsel.
Charles was removed from all access to Blackwood accounts pending investigation.
But one piece remained missing.
The letters.
Especially number twelve.
The letter containing Noah's newborn photograph.
Laura claimed Charles kept them because they were leverage.
“Where?”
She hesitated.
“Catherine took them.”
Richard stared at her.
“What?”
“She found the box shortly before she died.”
“Where did she put it?”
“I don't know.”
Richard suddenly looked toward the old family house.
Ethan noticed.
“Dad?”
Richard whispered, “The music room.”
We drove there before sunset.
Catherine's piano had remained untouched since her death.
Richard opened the bench.
Nothing.
Ethan checked the cabinet.
Nothing.
Then I noticed scratches beneath the piano.
A rectangular outline.
Richard helped Ethan move it.
Underneath was a floor safe.
Inside were twenty-two letters.
Not twenty-three.
Ethan counted twice.
“Which one is missing?”
I already knew.
Number twelve.
Then Noah, who had followed Richard into the room, pointed beneath the stack.
“What's that?”
A small envelope remained inside the safe.
It wasn't addressed to Ethan.
It was addressed to me.
In Catherine Blackwood's handwriting.
I reached for it.
Before my fingers touched the paper, someone knocked on the front door.
Three slow knocks.
Richard looked at the security monitor.
May you like
His face hardened.
Charles Blackwood was standing outside.
