The line went silent.
I looked at Dad.
“What happened?”
Detective Ellis answered.
“During transport, the vehicle was intercepted.”
“By whom?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“One officer is injured.”
“Where is Adrian?”
“Gone.”
I closed my eyes.
After everything, he was free again.
But the worst part wasn't his escape.
It was the message.
The danger is the person who knows he is not the father.
Adrian knew Dad was not his brother's biological son.
But he had already known that.
Unless Mom meant someone else.
Someone who had learned the truth recently.
Someone inside our circle.
I looked at Gregory.
He understood immediately.
“Who knows about the DNA report?”
“Me,” Lena said.
“Dad.”
“Gregory.”
“And Detective Ellis.”
“Adrian's lawyers,” Dad added.
Lena shook her head.
“The report was never entered into evidence.”
“So someone leaked it.”
We returned to the estate.
Security doubled.
Wren stayed beside me.
Every room was checked.
Every camera was reviewed.
Then Gregory found something.
A small black device had been attached beneath the study desk.
Another recorder.
I stared at it.
“How long?”
He checked the battery.
“Months.”
My skin prickled.
“Then they heard everything.”
“Possibly.”
“Who installed it?”
Gregory looked at the footage.
“There was one person who had access without being questioned.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“Lena.”
She stared at him.
“That is absurd.”
“You had access to the study.”
“So did you.”
“Yes.”
“So did Simone.”
Dad looked between them.
“Stop.”
But I couldn't.
Something was wrong.
The recorder had been placed behind a panel that only someone familiar with the house would know could be removed.
Mom had designed the study.
Lena had handled the estate documents.
Gregory had protected the property.
Dad had lived there.
Any of them could have known.
Then the doorbell rang.
Everyone froze.
A courier stood outside the gate.
He carried a sealed envelope.
“For Simone Caldwell.”
Security brought it in.
The handwriting was mine.
My own handwriting.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Mom holding me as a newborn.
On the back:
Ask Dad what happened in the hospital on the third night.
I looked at Dad.
He went pale.
“What happened?”
“I don't remember.”
“You do.”
He shook his head.
“Simone, I was told to go home.”
“By whom?”
“Your mother.”
“Why?”
“She said you and the baby needed rest.”
I looked at Gregory.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I saw Adrian outside.”
The room went quiet.
“Outside the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your mother told me not to.”
I felt anger rising again.
“Everyone always says Mom told them not to.”
Gregory looked ashamed.
“She was trying to protect you.”
“She kept protecting me until I didn't know my own life.”
Dad lowered his head.
“I remember something.”
“What?”
“The third night.”
He closed his eyes.
“Your mother called me.”
“Why?”
“She said someone had entered the maternity ward.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn't say.”
“Then what?”
“She told me to bring the family attorney.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Who was it?”
“Adrian.”
My heart dropped.
“Your brother was your attorney?”
“No.”
Dad looked at Lena.
“Marcus Ellis.”
Lena stiffened.
“Detective Ellis's namesake?”
“Yes.”
I remembered the payment.
Marcus Ellis.
The attorney Adrian had paid.
The same name we had dismissed as coincidence.
It wasn't.
He had been involved from the beginning.
But there was another question.
“Why did Mom call him?”
Dad shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Lena stood.
“We need to find the hospital records from that night.”
Detective Ellis arrived within the hour.
She listened carefully.
Then she made a call.
“We found the archived security footage.”
“From twenty-nine years ago?”
“The hospital kept a backup because of a security incident.”
We watched it in the conference room.
Black-and-white footage.
A hallway.
Nurses moving.
A man entering.
The picture was grainy.
But the face was clear enough.
Dr. Mercer.
Then another man appeared.
My grandfather.
They spoke outside my mother's room.
A third person joined them.
I leaned closer.
It was Marcus Ellis.
The attorney.
Dad whispered, “Why were all three there?”
The footage continued.
My grandfather handed Mercer an envelope.
Mercer nodded.
Then Marcus pointed toward my mother's room.
The footage ended.
I looked at Detective Ellis.
“Can you enhance the audio?”
“No audio.”
“What happened afterward?”
“According to the incident report, Dr. Mercer left the hospital.”
“Three days later.”
“Yes.”
“And my grandfather?”
“Left the same night.”
Marcus left ten minutes later.
I looked at Dad.
“Did Mom know?”
“She must have.”
“That's why she changed the trust.”
“Possibly.”
Then Gregory spoke.
“She wasn't afraid of Adrian.”
I turned.
“She was afraid of what Adrian knew.”
“What did he know?”
“That your grandfather had paid Mercer to falsify something.”
I stared at him.
“Falsify what?”
“Your birth records.”
“Why?”
Gregory hesitated.
“To hide the identity of your biological father.”
I looked at Dad.
The room seemed to shrink.
“Then the DNA report was genuine.”
“Yes.”
“Dad is my father.”
“Yes.”
“And Adrian knew that?”
“He knew enough to suspect it.”
“But why would he claim to be my father?”
“Because if he could convince you, he could destroy the trust.”
I understood.
If I believed Adrian was my biological father, the entire history of the family would become uncertain.
He could challenge Dad's legal relationship to me.
He could challenge my control over the trust.
He could claim that the Caldwell line had been manipulated.
The lie was not about love.
It was about ownership.
Then Detective Ellis's phone rang.
She listened.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Someone accessed your mother's original trust file.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
She turned toward the estate.
“From your father's study.”
Everyone looked at one another.
“We're standing in the study,” Dad said.
“Not this room.”
“What do you mean?”
“The access came from a terminal in the old library.”
We ran.
The computer was on.
A single document was open.
It was the trust amendment.
But the final page was missing.
Again.
I searched the desk.
Nothing.
Then Wren began crying upstairs.
I froze.
I had left her with a nurse.
Dad moved toward the door.
Gregory stopped him.
“Wait.”
We heard footsteps above us.
Slow.
A door opened.
Then closed.
Someone was upstairs.
Security rushed toward the staircase.
A moment later, the nurse came down alone.
Her face was white.
“Where is my daughter?”
She pointed toward the nursery.
“I—I don't know.”
I ran.
The nursery door was open.
The crib was empty.
Again.
But this time there was no window open.
No broken lock.
No sign of forced entry.
On the floor lay a single object.
A brass key.
The same key Mom had given me.
I picked it up.
There was writing on it.
Not Mom's handwriting.
Adrian's.
You keep looking for the person who took her.
Ask who opened the door.
I turned toward the hallway.
The nurse was gone.
So was Lena.
I shouted her name.
No answer.
Then my phone rang.
Adrian.
I answered.
His voice was calm.
“You finally understand.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“Safe.”
“Give her back.”
“Not yet.”
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“You already know it.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“You know who your father is.”
I held my breath.
“You don't know who your mother was protecting you from.”
“Tell me.”
“You're standing beside him.”
The call ended.
I turned.
Dad stood behind me.
His face was devastated.
But he wasn't looking at me.
He was looking at Gregory.
And Gregory was holding the missing final page.
Click Here to continue read next: PART11: The Missing Page Revealed Why My Mother Distrusted Everyone Around Her and Why the Person Protecting Me Might Also Have Been Her Greatest Fear
Six Days After Giving Birth, I Realized My Husband Had Not Left Me Behind by Accident
Part 10 of 16
