Chapter 5: The Night My Mother Died
I couldn't remember leaving Richard's office.
One moment, I was staring at Vanessa. The next, I was sitting in my brother's car, watching Chicago's evening traffic move past the window.
My mother had died eleven years earlier.
A heart attack.
That was what the doctors had told us.
She had been found unconscious in her kitchen by a neighbor. The ambulance arrived within minutes, but she never regained consciousness.
I had been twenty-seven.
Daniel had held me through the funeral.
He had organized the flowers, paid the remaining medical bills, and promised my mother that he would take care of me.
I had believed him.
Now I couldn't stop hearing his voice.
She wasn't supposed to have survived that night.
“Richard?””
He glanced at me.
“I'm here.””
“Do you think Daniel had something to do with Mom's death?””
Richard tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“I don't know.””
“You heard the recording.””
“I did.””
“Then why aren't you saying it?””
“Because an eleven-year-old death certificate and a disturbing recording don't establish what happened. We need evidence.””
I looked out the window.
“What if there is evidence?””
“Then we'll find it.””
We spent the following morning at my apartment, going through every document I had kept from my mother's estate.
I had boxes in the storage closet.
Old tax returns. Insurance papers. Probate documents. Medical records.
Richard carefully sorted everything into piles.
“Here's the estate inventory,” he said.
I sat beside him.
“Does it mention the trust?””
He scanned the pages.
“No.””
“What about the bank accounts?””
“Two checking accounts, one savings account, and a retirement fund. Nothing unusual.””
I opened another folder.
Then I stopped.
There was a letter.
It was handwritten on cream-colored stationery, with my mother's familiar looping handwriting.
The envelope had my name on it.
I recognized the date.
Three weeks before she died.
My hands began shaking.
“Richard.””
He looked up.
“What?””
I passed him the letter.
He read it silently before handing it back.
The message was short.
My darling Emily,
There are things I should have told you before now. Your father made choices that affected more than just our marriage, and I have spent years trying to protect you from the consequences.
If anything happens to me, please speak to your brother before trusting anyone with your inheritance.
There is a blue folder in the bottom drawer of my bedroom desk.
I love you more than anything.
Mom.
I read it again.
My father.
I had never known him.
My mother had always told me he died before I was born.
“Richard, what choices?””
My brother looked troubled.
“Mom never told me much about Dad either.””
“But she mentioned him here.””
“I know.””
I stood up.
“Where's the blue folder?””
My childhood home had been sold after my mother's death.
The new owners had renovated it, and most of the original furniture was gone.
But I remembered the desk.
It had belonged to my grandfather.
We drove there that afternoon.
The current owner, an elderly woman named Mrs. Collins, recognized me immediately.
“Emily? Oh, goodness. It's been years.””
I explained that I needed to look for an old family document.
She hesitated.
Then she invited us inside.
“I kept some of the original furniture in the basement,” she said.
“Your mother was very particular about that desk. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.””
The basement smelled of dust and cedar.
There it was.
The old wooden desk.
Richard opened the bottom drawer.
Empty.
I ran my fingers along the interior.
“Mom said the bottom drawer.””
Richard crouched down and examined the wood.
“Wait.””
He pressed against the back panel.
It shifted.
A narrow compartment opened.
Inside was a blue folder.
My knees nearly gave way.
I pulled it out.
The folder contained a birth certificate, several legal documents, and a photograph.
I picked up the photograph first.
It showed my mother standing beside a man.
He was tall, with dark hair and a serious expression.
A young boy stood between them.
The boy was Richard.
I looked at my brother.
“Do you know him?””
Richard studied the photograph.
“No.””
I turned it over.
In my mother's handwriting were three words:
*Your father. Thomas.*
I looked at the birth certificate.
My mother's name appeared under the section marked Mother.
The father's name was Thomas Ellis.
Not Daniel.
Not anyone connected to Daniel.
Thomas.
But that wasn't the strangest part.
The certificate listed a birth date for Richard that was different from the one on his driver's license.
I looked up.
“Richard?””
He took the document.
His expression changed.
“That's not possible.””
“What?””
He checked the date again.
Then he sat down on the basement steps.
“Emily, I think Mom changed my birth records.””
I stared at him.
“Why would she do that?””
He didn't answer.
Instead, he opened the second document.
It was a legal declaration establishing a family trust.
The date was twelve years before my mother's death.
My mother had been named trustee.
Richard was listed as the primary beneficiary.
I was listed as the secondary beneficiary.
The trust contained one sentence written in bold:
The controlling ownership interest in Carter Construction Group shall remain protected until both children reach the age of thirty-five.
I felt my stomach drop.
“Carter Construction?””
Richard looked at me.
“That's Daniel's company.””
“But it was established when I was twenty-seven.””
Richard examined the document.
“According to this, the original business was established much earlier.””
He turned the page.
The original owner was Thomas Ellis.
My father.
I sank onto the old wooden chair.
For years, I had believed Daniel had started his company from nothing.
I had believed my inheritance had financed his success.
But the documents suggested something completely different.
My father had founded the original company.
My mother had protected its ownership.
And Daniel had somehow become involved.
Richard continued reading.
“There's an amendment.””
He held up another sheet.
It was dated three months before my mother died.
The document stated that if either beneficiary became unable to manage the trust, the other would assume responsibility.
I looked at him.
“So you're the primary beneficiary?””
“According to this document.””
“But why would Mom tell me to speak to you before trusting anyone with my inheritance?””
Richard looked at the photograph again.
“Maybe she knew something was coming.””
I picked up the final envelope.
Inside was a small USB drive and a folded note.
Richard,
If you're reading this, Daniel has probably found the old records.
Do not let him obtain the original ownership certificate.
The certificate is not the only thing he wants.
He knows what happened to Thomas.
And he knows what happened to me.
My throat tightened.
“What happened to Thomas?””
Richard turned the note over.
There was another sentence.
Your father is alive.
I stared at the words.
Alive?
My mother had told us he died before I was born.
Richard stood abruptly.
“Emily, we need to leave.””
“Why?””
He pointed toward the basement window.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
Its engine was running.
A man sat behind the steering wheel.
Watching the house.
Richard pulled out his phone.
“I'm calling the police.””
The SUV's headlights suddenly came on.
Then it pulled away.
I grabbed the blue folder.
As we hurried upstairs, my phone rang.
Daniel.
I almost didn't answer.
But Richard motioned for me to put it on speaker.
“Hello?””
His voice was unusually gentle.
“Emily, sweetheart. I've been worried about you.””
I said nothing.
“Your brother has been filling your head with lies.””
“What lies?””
“About your mother. About the company. About your inheritance.””
I gripped the phone.
“Did you know my father was alive?””
Silence.
Then Daniel laughed softly.
“Your mother should have burned those papers.””
My blood ran cold.
“What did you do to her?””
His voice changed.
“Listen to me very carefully. You have no idea what your mother did to our family.””
“Our family?””
“Yes.””
Then he said something I would never forget.
“Because Thomas Ellis wasn't just your father, Emily.””
May you like
A pause.
“He was mine, too.””
