Chapter 6 - THE CHILD BEFORE ME
I thought I had misheard him.
“What?”
Vincent didn't repeat himself.
My hands shook.
“My mother had another child?”
“That is what my father claimed.”
“Before me?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe this?”
“No.”
His answer stopped me.
He looked exhausted.
“That's why I wanted the records.”
I stared at the hospital photograph.
My mother's face was young.
Afraid.
And standing beside her was the man who had apparently been lying about his own death for years.
“I need to speak to my mother.”
Vincent nodded.
“Where is she?”
“At your house.”
“I'll call her.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because if my father is connected to this, we don't know who else knows.”
My mind raced.
The family companies.
The hidden account.
Camille.
My mother.
The photograph.
Lucas.
Everything had become connected.
Then my phone rang.
It was my mother.
I answered.
“Mom?”
She was crying.
“Where is Vincent?”
“With me.”
Silence.
Then she said:
“He told you.”
My heart stopped.
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
The room went still.
“How long?”
“Your whole life.”
I closed my eyes.
“What child?”
She began crying harder.
“Your brother.”
I couldn't speak.
“You had a son before me?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
“I was seventeen.”
Her voice broke.
“Your grandfather made me give him up.”
“For adoption?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he was born with a heart condition.”
I looked toward Lucas's nursery.
Mom continued.
“He needed care we couldn't afford.”
I swallowed.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent looked at me.
I put the call on speaker.
“Mom, what does Vincent's father have to do with this?”
She went silent.
“Mom?”
Finally she whispered:
“He bought the hospital bill.”
My blood ran cold.
“Why?”
“He said he could get my baby into a better facility.”
“And?”
“I signed papers.”
“What papers?”
“I don't know.”
“Mom.”
“I was seventeen.”
Her voice became smaller.
“They told me he would be safe.”
I could barely breathe.
“Who?”
“Vincent's father.”
The room went silent.
I looked at Vincent.
His face had gone pale.
“Did you ever see the baby again?” I asked.
“No.”
“What was his name?”
My mother hesitated.
Then she said:
“Benjamin.”
The name struck me.
I had seen it somewhere.
On one of Vincent's old business documents.
B. Carter.
A company beneficiary.
A signature.
I looked at Eleanor's files.
“Mom, was Benjamin alive when you gave him up?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Vincent's father tell everyone he died?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at Vincent.
His expression had changed.
He reached for the file on the table.
“What's wrong?”
He pointed to a name.
Benjamin Shaw Carter.
I stared.
“That can't be.”
“It can.”
“Who is he?”
Vincent looked at me.
“My father had another son.”
My heart stopped.
“You mean—”
“Yes.”
“Benjamin is your brother?”
“I thought he died when he was young.”
I looked at the photograph of my mother.
Then at Vincent.
Then at Lucas.
A child had been taken from my mother.
A family had hidden him.
And now another family secret had placed his name inside my son's financial structure.
I suddenly understood why Camille had been terrified.
She hadn't been protecting money.
She had been protecting a person.
“Where is Benjamin now?”
Vincent shook his head.
“I don't know.”
I looked at him.
“Then why is his name on documents connected to Lucas?”
He didn't answer.
I picked up the watch.
The initials inside the clasp.
CR-814.
Then I understood the number.
“814 wasn't an account.”
Eleanor looked confused.
I pointed to the watch.
“It was a room.”
“What room?”
I turned to Vincent.
“Hospital room 814.”
He stared at me.
“My father kept records there.”
“Of what?”
He whispered:
“The children.”
A terrible silence filled the room.
Then we heard a baby cry upstairs.
Lucas.
I ran toward the nursery.
Vincent followed.
My son was awake.
But beside his crib was something neither of us had placed there.
A small photograph.
My mother.
A teenage girl.
Holding a baby.
May you like
On the back was one handwritten sentence:
You were not the only child they took.
