Chapter 4 - The Voice I Remembered
I couldn't move.
The voice on the phone was older than I remembered.
But I remembered it.
From childhood.
From a recording.
From the only photograph I had ever been allowed to keep hidden.
“Who is this?” I whispered.
There was silence.
Then the man said my name again.
“Emily.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Daniel stared at her.
“You know him.”
She didn't answer.
I reached for the phone.
“Tell me your name.”
The man breathed slowly.
“My name is Robert Reed.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
“Robert?”
Thomas nodded.
“My brother.”
The words felt unreal.
My mother's face crumpled.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You said my brother was Charles.”
Robert laughed softly through the phone.
“I was never Charles.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
My mother stood.
“Hang up.”
I ignored her.
“Who was Charles?”
Robert answered.
“Your brother.”
“But you said you're Robert.”
“I was born Robert.”
I looked at Thomas.
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
Robert continued.
“Your mother changed my name.”
My mother shook her head.
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
She whispered:
“Your grandfather.”
Robert's voice became bitter.
“He wanted an heir.”
I stared at my son.
An heir.
The word suddenly sounded frightening.
“What does my baby have to do with this?”
Robert went silent.
Then he said:
“Everything.”
Daniel moved closer.
“Explain.”
Robert said, “The name Charles was never about your grandfather.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“It was about your son.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“Because your father left something behind.”
“What?”
Robert hesitated.
“Proof.”
“What proof?”
“Proof that the family business wasn't what you were told.”
Thomas interrupted.
“Robert, that's enough.”
“No.”
Robert's voice hardened.
“She deserves to know.”
My mother looked at me.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“When?”
“When it was safe.”
“You had twenty-eight years.”
She flinched.
I felt tears burning my eyes.
“You let me believe I was an only child.”
“I was afraid.”
“You let me believe Charles was dead.”
“I thought he was.”
Robert said quietly:
“He wasn't.”
My mother looked toward the phone.
“Robert.”
“I survived.”
Her knees nearly buckled.
Daniel caught her arm.
She pushed him away.
“No.”
Robert continued.
“You left me at the hospital.”
“I came back.”
“Too late.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You protected yourself.”
Silence.
I closed my eyes.
My son began to stir.
I rocked him gently.
The irony was unbearable.
My mother had spent the morning insisting that our baby carry a name connected to a secret she had buried for decades.
Now I knew why.
But I still didn't know where Charles was.
I asked Robert.
“Where is he?”
Robert's breathing changed.
“He's dead.”
My mother gasped.
Thomas looked down.
I felt the room spin.
“What?”
Robert said:
“Charles died when he was nineteen.”
My mother began crying.
Daniel put his hand on my back.
I stared at her.
“You knew?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I thought the people who killed him would come for you.”
I froze.
“Killed him?”
Robert said nothing.
My mother whispered:
“Your brother discovered something.”
“What?”
“A bank account.”
Thomas opened his folder again.
“The account contained money that had been stolen from the family foundation.”
I stared.
“By whom?”
No one answered.
Then my phone vibrated.
Another unknown message.
This time there was a photograph attached.
I opened it.
It showed a young man.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A familiar smile.
Underneath the photograph was one sentence:
Charles didn't die eleven years ago.
My fingers went numb.
I looked at Robert.
“Who sent this?”
He went silent.
Then he said:
“Emily, don't open the next message.”
The phone vibrated again.
I looked down.
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