Chapter 7 - THE BLUE HOUSE
The car pulled away before I could reach the door.
I ran outside.
Too late.
Thomas was gone.
So was the man from JFK.
I stood on the sidewalk, furious.
Then I noticed something lying beside the curb.
A small wooden horse.
Lily's favorite toy.
She had been holding it that morning.
I picked it up.
A note was tied around it.
MIDNIGHT. BLUE HOUSE. COME WITH THE GIRLS.
Evelyn ran outside.
When she saw the horse, she nearly collapsed.
“Where did that come from?”
“Thomas.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He wouldn't take her toy.”
“Then who did?”
She didn't answer.
We returned inside.
Lily was crying.
Claire held her hand.
I knelt beside them.
“Nobody is taking you anywhere.”
Lily looked at me.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Evelyn watched me.
Something in her expression changed.
For six years, I had been the man she believed might abandon them.
Now I was the man promising not to.
My mother came into the room carrying an old map.
She placed it on the table.
“The blue house.”
She pointed to a property outside Boston.
I recognized the address.
It was the estate I had been preparing to acquire.
My heart sank.
“The historic estate.”
My mother nodded.
“Thomas's original family property.”
“Why is it called the blue house?”
“Because your grandfather painted it blue.”
Evelyn looked at the map.
“I've been there.”
“When?”
“Before I met Marcus.”
I stared.
“You said you didn't remember.”
“I didn't.”
She pointed to the road.
“I remember this.”
My mother looked at her.
“You were there when Thomas confronted your father.”
Evelyn's breathing changed.
“I remember a red door.”
Everyone became silent.
“The boy,” she whispered.
“What boy?”
“He was there.”
My mother looked at me.
“Thomas's son.”
I frowned.
“Thomas had a son?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
My mother looked away.
“He died.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
“I saw him.”
“Where?”
“In the blue house.”
My mother looked terrified.
“That's impossible.”
Evelyn stared at her.
“He was older than the girls.”
“How old?”
“Maybe twelve.”
I suddenly understood.
Thomas had another heir.
Another person who could complicate the trust.
But if the boy was alive, why had everyone said he was dead?
My mother whispered,
“His name was Adrian.”
The room went silent.
I searched the family records.
Adrian Vance.
Born eighteen years ago.
Death certificate dated six years ago.
Cause of death: drowning.
But there was no hospital record.
No autopsy.
No photograph.
No grave.
I looked at my mother.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn't you investigate?”
“Because Thomas told me he was dead.”
I stared.
“That's enough for you?”
She closed her eyes.
“I was afraid.”
The same word again.
Fear had ruled this family for decades.
It had separated me from Evelyn.
It had kept my mother silent.
It had made everyone believe Thomas was more powerful than he really was.
I stood.
“We're going to the blue house.”
Evelyn grabbed my arm.
“With the girls?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that's what they want.”
I looked at her.
“Then we'll go without them.”
Lily suddenly spoke.
“I want to go.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Because it's dangerous.”
She looked at Claire.
Then back at me.
“Daddy, you said you'd stay.”
I froze.
She had never called me Daddy before.
I knelt.
“I will.”
She hugged me.
It was such a small gesture.
But it changed something inside me.
I wasn't going to spend another minute being controlled by people who believed fear was the same thing as family.
We drove to Boston that evening.
My business deal was officially postponed.
I didn't care.
The blue house stood at the edge of a wooded property.
The paint had faded.
The red front door remained.
Evelyn stopped walking.
“I remember.”
“What?”
She pointed.
“Your father stood there.”
My mother followed.
“And Thomas?”
“He was inside.”
We entered.
The house was empty.
Dust covered the furniture.
But on the wall were photographs.
My grandfather.
My father.
Thomas.
And a young boy.
Adrian.
Then I saw something else.
A recent photograph.
Lily.
Claire.
Taken at the airport.
I grabbed it.
“Someone has been here recently.”
Evelyn looked at the floor.
There were small footprints in the dust.
Children's footprints.
Two sets.
Leading toward the back hallway.
My mother whispered,
“Lily and Claire?”
“No.”
I followed them.
They ended at a red door.
I opened it.
Inside was a child's bedroom.
There were toys.
Books.
A small wooden train.
And on the wall were dozens of drawings.
The same blue house.
The same red door.
The same four figures.
But one drawing was different.
It showed five people.
Two girls.
A woman.
A man.
And an older boy.
Underneath was written:
ADRIAN BROTHER.
Evelyn covered her mouth.
Then someone spoke from behind us.
“You finally remembered.”
We turned.
A young man stood in the doorway.
Maybe eighteen.
Dark hair.
Vance eyes.
He looked at me.
Then at Evelyn.
And finally at my mother.
She whispered,
“Adrian.”
May you like
He smiled sadly.
“Hello, Grandma.”
