Chapter 7: The Daughter Patricia Stole
“Patricia stole my sister?””
The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Arthur nodded slowly.
Claire stood beside me, one hand pressed against her chest.
“That woman raised Daniel,” Claire whispered.
“She stole Emily's inheritance. And now you're telling us she stole a baby?””
Arthur placed his phone on the table.
“Twenty-nine years ago, Margaret gave birth to twins at St. Mary's Hospital. A boy and a girl. Thomas Whitmore was the biological father of both children.””
I stared at him.
“Daniel and me?””
“No. Daniel was the boy Margaret gave birth to. You were born several years later, Emily. The second baby was your biological sister, but she wasn't the child Patricia claimed.””
My head spun.
“Then who was she?””
Arthur took a breath.
“Your grandfather's brother, Thomas, had another child with a different woman before Margaret. Patricia arranged for that child to be registered under Margaret's name.””
I looked at the photograph again.
Two babies.
Two families.
One woman who had spent decades rearranging other people's lives.
Arthur continued.
“Your grandfather discovered the switch after Thomas died. He tried to correct the records, but Patricia threatened to expose an affair that would have destroyed Margaret's reputation.””
“Why would Margaret agree to any of this?””
“She was terrified of losing her marriage and her children. Patricia convinced her that keeping quiet was the only way to protect the family.””
I shook my head.
“And the girl?””
Arthur looked down.
“She was taken from the hospital by Patricia and raised under another identity.””
“Where is she now?””
“I don't know.””
I grabbed the photograph.
“You keep saying you don't know. You were my grandfather's attorney. You had years to investigate!””
Arthur didn't defend himself.
Instead, he opened his briefcase and removed a document.
“Your grandfather left instructions for this exact situation. He knew Patricia might try to use the secret to control the family.””
He slid the document toward me.
It was a handwritten statement, signed by my grandfather.
If Patricia ever returns to claim the inheritance, she must first explain the disappearance of the second child.
At the bottom was another name.
*Evelyn Carter.*
I frowned.
“Who is Evelyn Carter?””
Arthur looked at me.
“Your grandfather believed that was the name Patricia gave your missing sister.””
I stared at the paper.
Then I remembered something.
My grandmother had once shown me a photograph of a little girl wearing a yellow ribbon.
I'd been about seven.
I remembered asking who she was.
Grandma had smiled sadly.
“Someone we lost a long time ago.””
I'd assumed she meant a relative who had died.
Now I understood.
She had been talking about a child.
My sister.
At 11:30 p.m., Arthur received a call from his former assistant.
He put it on speaker.
“Mr. Bennett, I found the hospital record you requested.””
Arthur leaned forward.
“Read the mother's name.””
There was a pause.
“Margaret Carter.””
“And the second child?””
Another pause.
“Female. The record was amended twice.””
My heart pounded.
“Who amended it?””
The assistant hesitated.
“First, Patricia Whitmore. Then a hospital administrator named Richard Cole.””
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Richard Cole died twelve years ago.””
“Yes, sir. But I found something else.””
“What?””
“The second child's discharge papers.””
Paper rustled.
Then the assistant spoke.
“The child was released to a woman named Patricia Whitmore.””
I gripped the edge of the table.
“Was there an address?””
“Yes.””
“Read it.””
The assistant gave us an address in a small town outside the city.
Arthur immediately wrote it down.
“There's one more thing,” the assistant added.
“What?””
“The discharge papers were signed on the same day Margaret was told her daughter had died.””
Silence.
Claire covered her mouth.
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
My grandmother had been told her baby was dead.
But Patricia had taken her.
And someone had helped her.
At 8:00 the following morning, we drove to the address.
It belonged to a small house with faded blue shutters and a white wooden fence.
A wind chime rattled above the front porch.
Arthur knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
Finally, the door opened.
An elderly woman stood there.
She wore a pale cardigan and held a walking stick.
Her eyes moved from Arthur to me.
Then she looked at the photograph in my hand.
“Oh,” she whispered.
I stepped forward.
“I'm looking for someone named Evelyn Carter.””
The woman's face changed.
“Who sent you?””
“Arthur Bennett.””
She looked at Arthur for a long moment.
Then she stepped aside.
“Come in.””
The living room smelled of lavender and old books.
A family photograph stood on the mantel.
I walked closer.
A young woman with dark hair stood beside the elderly woman.
Her eyes were familiar.
Not because I'd seen her before.
Because they looked exactly like mine.
I pointed at the photograph.
“Who is she?””
The woman sat down.
“My daughter.””
“What's her name?””
“Evelyn.””
I felt my knees weaken.
“Is she alive?””
The woman nodded.
“She lives in Boston. She's a doctor.””
I swallowed.
“Does she know about her birth?””
The elderly woman looked toward Arthur.
Then she shook her head.
“No. Patricia told me the baby was an orphan. She paid me to raise her, and I believed her.””
Arthur leaned forward.
“You knew Patricia?””
The woman nodded.
“She visited every year. Always brought money. Always asked whether Evelyn was happy.””
I felt sick.
“She paid you to keep her?””
The woman began crying.
“I didn't know who the child's real parents were. I swear. I loved that little girl like my own.””
I sat beside her.
“What happened to the records?””
She wiped her cheeks.
“Patricia gave me an envelope. She said I should never open it unless someone came asking questions.””
She stood slowly and walked toward a cabinet.
From a locked drawer, she removed a yellowed envelope.
Inside was a photograph of a newborn baby.
On the back, in my grandfather's handwriting, were four words:
*My second granddaughter, Evelyn.*
I couldn't stop crying.
I had a sister.
She was alive.
She had grown up believing she was someone else's daughter.
And Patricia had known exactly where she was all along.
Then the elderly woman looked at me.
“There's something else you should know.””
I wiped my face.
“What?””
She reached for a second envelope.
“This arrived yesterday. Patricia sent it.””
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Sophie leaving Claire's apartment.
A handwritten note was attached.
Tell Emily to stop looking. If she finds Evelyn, the company will be the least of her problems.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered.
His voice was strangely calm.
“Good morning, Emily.””
“What do you want?””
“I heard you've been visiting people.””
“Who told you?””
He laughed.
“You really should be more careful about who you trust.””
Then his voice became cold.
“Bring Sophie and Arthur to the Whitmore estate tonight.””
“Why?””
“Because Mother has something to tell you.””
“And if I refuse?””
He paused.
“Then you'll never meet your sister.””
The call ended.
A message arrived seconds later.
It contained a photograph of a woman standing outside a Boston hospital.
The caption read:
*EVELYN CARTER.*
May you like
And beneath it:
*SHE'S ALREADY ON HER WAY TO US.*
