Chapter 23 - The Child in the Records
The hospital records arrived at 5:20 in the morning.
They were supposed to be sealed.
Instead, someone had delivered them in an unmarked box.
No sender.
No return address.
Inside were nineteen years of records.
My birth.
Natalie's birth.
The missing child's birth.
And the medical records from my pregnancy.
I didn't want to open them.
But I did.
The first page was my birth certificate.
Claire Margaret Williams.
Father: Arthur Williams.
Mother: Margaret Williams.
The second was Natalie.
Same father.
Same mother.
Twin.
I stared at the document.
Mom had lied about that too.
But the third record was different.
Male.
Name at birth: Daniel Arthur Williams.
Mother: Evelyn Carter.
Father: Arthur Williams.
Date of birth: April 17.
Forty-three minutes after Natalie.
I stared at it.
So the man I'd been told might be my brother had existed.
He had a legal birth record.
He had a biological mother.
He had a father.
He had been alive.
Then disappeared.
The next page made my heart stop.
Discharge status: deceased.
I looked at Arthur.
“You told me he was missing.”
“He was.”
“This says he died.”
“It was falsified.”
“By who?”
“Blackwell.”
I turned the page.
There was another document.
A death certificate.
But the signature belonged to Mr. Bennett.
The real Bennett.
The man who had supposedly died the night before.
I stared at the date.
It had been filed seventeen years ago.
One day after Daniel's birth.
I looked up.
“The real Bennett was involved from the beginning.”
“Yes.”
Arthur nodded.
“He helped fake Daniel's death.”
“Why?”
“Because someone was looking for him.”
“Who?”
Arthur looked at my mother.
“Her father.”
I turned.
“My grandfather.”
Mom nodded.
“He knew Daniel existed.”
“Why would my grandfather want him dead?”
“Because Daniel was his insurance.”
I didn't understand.
Evelyn took the file.
“Your grandfather was not just a businessman.”
“What was he?”
“A man who built Blackwell before it had a name.”
I stared.
“He's Blackwell?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“Then why did he call himself my grandfather?”
“Because he is.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does when you understand what he wanted.”
“What?”
“The Williams family.”
I looked at Arthur.
Evelyn continued.
“He believed Arthur stole something that belonged to him.”
“What?”
“The network.”
I nearly laughed.
“This is about money again?”
“No.”
She placed a finger on the trust documents.
“Control.”
My grandfather wanted the trust.
Not the money.
The legal structure.
The beneficiary chain.
The information stored inside it.
And Daniel was the one person who could activate it.
“So why did Ethan replace him?”
“Because Blackwell needed a face.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Daniel disappeared.”
“Who took him?”
“Ethan.”
“What?”
Arthur looked at me.
“Ethan was ordered to bring Daniel to Blackwell.”
“But he didn't.”
“No.”
“He saved him.”
“Yes.”
“Then where is Daniel?”
Arthur looked at the hospital records.
“That's what we never discovered.”
My phone buzzed.
A message.
I opened it.
A photograph appeared.
A teenage boy.
Dark hair.
A crescent-shaped birthmark near his collarbone.
The caption read:
HE'S ALIVE.
I stared.
Another message.
HE HAS BEEN WATCHING YOU.
Then:
HE THINKS YOU STOLE HIS LIFE.
I felt sick.
“Who sent this?”
Morales looked at the number.
“Encrypted.”
“Can you trace it?”
“Not yet.”
The third message arrived.
MEET ME AT THE RIVER.
ALONE.
I showed Arthur.
He shook his head.
“No.”
“I have to go.”
“You're exactly who they want.”
“They have my husband.”
“They may have been lying.”
“What about the boy?”
Arthur's expression changed.
“You believe that's Daniel.”
“I don't know.”
“You can't risk it.”
“What choice do I have?”
He looked at me.
“You have more choices than you think.”
Then my mother spoke.
“I know where Daniel is.”
Everyone turned.
“What?”
Mom was crying.
“I knew years ago.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She whispered:
“Ethan took him.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“Ethan didn't abandon him.”
“Then where?”
“He was sent to a private school under a different identity.”
“What identity?”
Mom shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Then how do you know he's alive?”
“Because I paid the school.”
My chest tightened.
“With my money?”
She nodded.
“Some of it.”
I stared at her.
The $68,420.
The payments.
The support.
The shell companies.
The hidden accounts.
“Where?”
She pulled out a receipt.
One line was circled.
Hawthorne Academy.
I knew the name.
My son's pediatrician had once recommended a summer program there.
I looked at Arthur.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You let me live inches from him.”
“I was trying to keep both of you alive.”
Then the phone rang.
A voice answered.
“You've been looking for Daniel.”
I froze.
The voice was young.
Male.
“You don't know me.”
“No.”
“You know my father.”
“Who?”
The boy laughed.
“You met him tonight.”
I frowned.
Then he said:
May you like
“Grandfather.”
The line went dead.
