Chapter 4 - The Name on Lily's Birth Certificate
I looked at Daniel.
"Who?"
He didn't answer immediately.
That hesitation was enough to make everyone in the room tense.
"Daniel."
He turned the phone toward me.
The name on the screen was impossible.
Jonathan Reed.
My attorney.
My closest friend.
My best man.
The person who had handled Claire's estate.
"No."
Daniel remained silent.
"That's wrong."
"The records match."
"Jonathan has one son."
"Yes."
I knew the boy.
Noah Reed.
Seven years old.
Quiet.
Dark-haired.
He had attended Lily's birthday parties.
Played in my swimming pool.
Sat across from me at Christmas charity dinners.
I had bought him a telescope last year because Jonathan told me he loved astronomy.
I stumbled backward.
"You're telling me Noah is Claire's son?"
Warren nodded.
"Biologically, yes."
"And mine?"
Nobody spoke.
"Mine?"
Warren lowered his eyes.
"Most likely."
Most likely.
I almost laughed again.
The phrase was obscene.
Margaret sat motionless.
I turned to her.
"You knew?"
"Not at first."
"When did you find out?"
"Two years ago."
"You've watched me sit beside him at dinner."
Her eyes filled.
"I know."
"You've watched Lily play with him."
"Yes."
"And said nothing."
"Claire made me promise."
"Claire has been dead seven years!"
"Her reasons didn't die with her."
I wanted to throw something.
Instead, I picked up the brass storage key.
"Daniel, we're going to Stamford."
Anna stood.
"I'm coming."
"No."
"Claire was my sister."
"And Lily is my daughter."
"She's my daughter too."
That stopped me.
The truth was ugly because it belonged to more than one person.
I looked toward the stairs.
Lily had no idea what adults were about to do to the shape of her life.
"Stay with her."
Anna nodded.
My mother started toward me.
"You need me there."
"No."
"Thomas—"
"You are the last person I need."
Her face fell.
For once, I didn't care.
The storage facility sat behind an industrial park beside Interstate 95.
Unit B-19 had not been opened in years.
Dust covered the lock.
I inserted the key.
Daniel stood beside me.
"You want privacy?"
"No."
The door rolled upward.
Inside were six boxes.
A suitcase.
A wooden rocking horse.
And one white garment bag.
I recognized Claire's handwriting on the first box.
THOMAS.
My legs nearly failed.
I sat on the concrete floor.
Daniel looked away.
I opened the box.
Photographs.
Letters.
Medical files.
A flash drive.
And a sealed envelope.
FOR TOM. ONLY IF LILY ASKS ABOUT ME.
I stared at those words for a long time.
Then opened it.
Tom,
If you're reading this, I failed to keep the past from reaching our daughter.
Our daughter.
Not my daughter.
Our daughter.
I continued.
There are things I should have told you before our wedding. I was afraid. Then I was ashamed. Then I convinced myself silence was kindness.
It never is.
Anna is alive.
If Lily survived, Anna may not have.
If they both survived, please understand that Lily belongs with you.
She is your child.
My vision blurred.
I kept reading.
What happened between you and Anna was wrong, but not in the way you will blame yourself for. You didn't know.
Anna told me the truth immediately afterward.
I hated her.
Then I forgave her.
Eventually.
I was carrying your son when I found her again.
I knew we could either destroy everything or tell you the truth.
I chose truth.
Your father chose something else.
I stopped.
Daniel crouched.
"You okay?"
"No."
I continued.
Charles knows Anna survived the old crash.
He knows what Robert discovered.
He also knows I have copies of the financial records.
If anything happens to me, do not assume it was childbirth.
The letter slipped from my fingers.
Daniel picked it up.
"Your father."
I stared at the wall.
Charles Mercer had been dead six years.
A stroke.
At home.
At age sixty-eight.
I had mourned him.
Named a scholarship after him.
Continued his company.
What if I had spent my adult life protecting a legacy built on crimes?
I finished the letter.
Our son needs to disappear from the Mercer name until Charles can no longer reach him.
Jonathan agreed to help.
Please don't hate him.
He is doing this because I asked.
When it is safe, he will tell you.
If you ever find this before he does, ask him about the red book.
I love you.
I am sorry.
Claire.
I sat without moving.
Daniel finally asked, "Red book?"
I looked through the box.
No red book.
We searched all six boxes.
Nothing.
The flash drive was encrypted.
Daniel called one of his cybersecurity specialists.
"Can you open it?"
"Probably."
"How long?"
"Depends."
"Start now."
I called Jonathan.
He answered on the second ring.
"Thought you were in Chicago."
"I canceled."
Pause.
"Everything okay?"
"No."
Another pause.
"Where are you?"
"Stamford."
"Why?"
"Storage unit B-19."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Then Jonathan whispered, "Oh God."
I closed my eyes.
"So it's true."
"Tom—"
"Is Noah my son?"
He didn't answer.
"Jonathan."
"Yes."
One word.
Seven years collapsed into it.
I turned away from Daniel.
"How could you?"
"Claire begged me."
"You let me spend seven years believing I had one child."
"She believed your father would kill him."
"My father died six years ago."
"I know."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because your mother asked me not to."
Of course.
"Why?"
"She said whoever helped Charles might still be alive."
"What does that mean?"
"Tom, don't do this over the phone."
"Then come here."
"I can't."
"Why?"
A noise came through the line.
A car door.
Then Jonathan said something to someone nearby.
"Where are you?"
He lowered his voice.
"Taking Noah somewhere safe."
My blood froze.
"Why?"
"Because someone accessed the sealed adoption file three hours ago."
Daniel and I looked at each other.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Bring him to my house."
"No."
"He's my son."
"And right now your house is the first place anyone would look."
"Anyone who?"
Jonathan breathed heavily.
"Claire wasn't only hiding Noah from your father."
"Who else?"
"Find the red book."
"Where is it?"
"I gave it to Margaret."
I nearly crushed the phone.
"My mother says nothing about it."
"Then she's lying."
"What is in the book?"
"Names."
"Whose?"
"Everyone Charles paid."
A cold understanding began spreading through me.
The accident.
The hospital.
The altered records.
The missing report.
None of it had been one man's work.
"Where are you taking Noah?"
"I can't tell you."
"Jonathan."
"I'm protecting him."
"From me?"
"No."
His voice broke.
"From whoever killed Claire."
I couldn't speak.
"Claire died from complications."
"No, Tom."
I gripped the phone.
"What are you saying?"
"I saw her before she died."
The room went still.
"She was recovering."
"What?"
"She was weak, but stable."
My mouth went dry.
"Then what happened?"
"I left for two hours."
Jonathan's breathing trembled.
"When I came back, Warren told me she'd crashed."
I looked at Daniel.
"What does that prove?"
"Nothing."
Then Jonathan added, "Except Claire had called me fifteen minutes before she died."
"What did she say?"
"Someone had entered her room."
Every hair on my arms rose.
"Who?"
"She didn't know."
The call crackled.
Jonathan swore.
"What's happening?"
"Someone's following us."
I stood.
"Where are you?"
"No."
"Tell me."
"Tom, listen carefully. Don't go home. Don't trust—"
A horn blasted.
Tires screamed.
The call cut out.
"Jonathan!"
Nothing.
I called back.
Straight to voicemail.
Daniel was already moving.
"Send me his location."
I did.
We ran for the car.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
One photograph.
Jonathan's SUV sat crooked beside a guardrail.
The driver's door was open.
No one was visible.
Below the image were six words:
STOP LOOKING FOR THE BOY.
Then another photograph arrived.
May you like
It showed Lily standing beside Anna inside 417 Hawthorne.
Taken less than one minute earlier.
