Chapter 5 - THE FATHER WHO WASN’T DEAD
Vincent looked older than he had the night before.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like a man who had spent too long carrying something heavy alone.
I held up the photograph.
“You lied to me about your father.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Since before we married.”
“Why?”
He closed the front door.
“Because I needed to keep him away from you.”
“Why would I need protection from your father?”
“Because you were never his problem.”
I stared at him.
“You were.”
His face tightened.
“He wanted your family's money.”
I almost laughed.
“My family's money?”
“You don't know what your father did.”
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Vincent looked toward the nursery.
“Is Lucas upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Is your mother here?”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“Good.”
That frightened me.
“What is going on?”
“My father built the first Carter business using stolen money.”
I said nothing.
“He didn't build the restaurants,” Vincent continued. “He bought struggling businesses, stripped their assets, and moved them into private companies.”
“And?”
“Your father discovered it.”
I felt cold.
“What did my father do?”
“He tried to expose him.”
“Then why did nothing happen?”
Vincent looked away.
“Because my father threatened to destroy everything your family owned.”
I thought of the strange holding companies.
The hidden trust.
The account labeled 814.
“And your father is still doing this?”
“He tried.”
“What does that mean?”
Vincent sat down.
“Five years ago, he was caught.”
“By whom?”
“Me.”
He looked at me.
“I found the records.”
“Then why didn't you report him?”
“Because he had already transferred assets into companies that could have destroyed dozens of innocent employees.”
I stared at him.
“You protected him.”
“I protected the employees.”
“You lied to me.”
“I protected you.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You protected your secret.”
He didn't argue.
I continued.
“Did he know about me?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know we were married?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know about Lucas?”
“Yes.”
“Then why create the company for our son?”
Vincent's eyes filled with something I couldn't name.
“Because I wanted Lucas to have something that nobody could take from him.”
“Except Camille.”
“She was supposed to be temporary.”
“Temporary trustee?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I expected my father to come after the assets.”
I stared at him.
The explanation made sense.
And somehow that made everything worse.
“You should have told me.”
“I couldn't.”
“Because you didn't trust me?”
“Because I was afraid you would leave.”
I laughed once.
“You abandoned me in a hospital.”
His face fell.
“I know.”
“You disappeared during the most frightening moment of my life.”
“I was trying to end it.”
“End what?”
“My father's control.”
The room went silent.
He finally looked at me.
“The night you went into labor, I got proof he was moving against us.”
I remembered the phone call.
The elevator.
The traffic.
The music.
“You left because of him?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
“To meet a man who had the original records.”
“Who?”
Vincent hesitated.
“My father's accountant.”
“And why did you smell like perfume?”
His face changed.
“Camille was there.”
I swallowed.
“So you were with another woman.”
“I was with Camille.”
“For business?”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“Would you believe me if I said I don't know?”
He nodded.
“No.”
That honesty hurt.
Then he pulled something from his pocket.
A folded hospital bracelet.
Not Lucas's.
Mine.
My name.
My birth date.
The hospital where I had been born.
I stared at it.
“What is this?”
“My father used it to identify you.”
“Identify me?”
“He knew your family.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent sat back.
“Your father wasn't just an investor in his business.”
My heart stopped.
“What was he?”
“A partner.”
“No.”
“I wish I could tell you otherwise.”
“You're lying.”
“I am not.”
He placed another photograph on the table.
Two men standing beside a young woman.
My father.
Vincent's father.
And my mother.
Diane.
My stomach dropped.
“My mother knew him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent shook his head.
“I don't know.”
I looked at the photograph again.
My mother was young.
Pregnant.
And beside her was Vincent's father.
On the back was a date.
Twenty-nine years ago.
The year I was born.
I could barely breathe.
“Why would your father have a photograph of my mother?”
Vincent didn't answer.
Then I noticed something in the corner of the photograph.
A hospital sign.
Northwestern Memorial.
The same hospital where I had just nearly died giving birth to Lucas.
I looked up.
“Why was my mother there?”
Vincent stared at the photo.
May you like
Then he said something that made my entire life feel suddenly unfamiliar.
“Because, according to my father, your mother gave birth to a child that wasn't you.”
