Chapter 2 - THE TWIN THEIR FATHER REJECTED
No one spoke for several seconds.
Then Isabella laughed.
It was a small, broken sound.
“You’re lying.”
Eleanor looked at her.
“I wish I were.”
“You told me Dad died in a car accident.”
“He did.”
“Then what does that have to do with us?”
Eleanor glanced toward Sophia.
“That depends on what Sophia thinks she knows.”
Sophia reached into the envelope.
“I know enough.”
She pulled out a faded police report.
Arthur Bennett stepped closer.
“Where did you get that?”
“From Margaret Reed.”
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened.
“Margaret is alive?”
Sophia ignored her.
“She raised me until I was sixteen.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
For the first time, Eleanor looked almost relieved.
Sophia saw it.
“So that makes you happy?”
“No.”
“You looked relieved.”
“I was relieved she couldn’t lie to you anymore.”
Sophia’s expression hardened.
“She was the only person who told me anything.”
“She kidnapped you.”
The room exploded.
Sophia froze.
Isabella stared.
“What did you just say?”
Eleanor pointed toward the police report.
“Read the original investigation, not whatever edited story Margaret gave you.”
Sophia unfolded it.
“I have the original.”
“No, you have a copy.”
Arthur reached for the report.
Sophia hesitated.
Then handed it over.
He scanned the first page.
His expression became grave.
“This is authentic.”
Eleanor looked stunned.
Arthur continued reading.
“Jonathan Hawthorne was found dead at 11:42 p.m. on October seventeenth, twenty years ago.”
Isabella whispered:
“My birthday is October seventeenth.”
Sophia nodded.
“So is mine.”
Arthur kept reading.
“Vehicle located at the base of Quarry Road. No mechanical failure noted. Blood alcohol below legal limit.”
He stopped.
“There was a witness.”
Eleanor looked away.
Sophia said:
“Margaret.”
Arthur read silently.
Then looked up.
“She told police Jonathan argued with Eleanor shortly before leaving.”
Isabella turned toward her mother.
“Did you?”
Eleanor’s lips tightened.
“Yes.”
“About us?”
“Yes.”
Sophia’s voice became sharper.
“Because Dad learned one of us wasn’t his.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Jonathan received the DNA results that afternoon.”
Isabella slowly sat down.
A chair scraped loudly against marble.
Sophia remained standing.
“Which one?”
Eleanor said nothing.
“Which one of us wasn’t his daughter?”
“I’m not answering that here.”
Isabella stared at her.
“You buried my sister and raised me inside a lie, and now you care about privacy?”
“You don’t understand what that answer will do.”
Sophia laughed bitterly.
“You already decided what it would do twenty years ago.”
Eleanor’s face tightened.
“That decision saved one of you.”
“Which one?”
No answer.
Sophia grabbed another sheet.
“This is a copy of the original DNA lab invoice.”
Arthur examined it.
The testing had been ordered under Jonathan Hawthorne’s private physician.
Two samples.
Two children.
One father.
But the result page was missing.
Isabella shook her head.
“So nobody knows?”
Sophia looked at Eleanor.
“She does.”
Eleanor whispered:
“I destroyed the results.”
“Why?”
“Because Jonathan wanted to.”
Sophia stepped toward her.
“What?”
“He found out one child wasn’t biologically his.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled.
“He became obsessed.”
“With what?”
“With finding the biological father.”
Isabella’s voice cracked.
“Who was he?”
Eleanor went silent again.
Sophia looked around at the guests.
Then toward the reporters.
“You see?”
She pointed toward her mother.
“This is what she does. She gives just enough truth to control the next lie.”
Eleanor’s face twisted.
“You think Margaret was innocent?”
“She saved me.”
“She sold you.”
Sophia stopped breathing.
Eleanor’s words cut through the room.
“She demanded five million dollars to keep you hidden.”
Sophia stared at her.
“No.”
“I paid her.”
“No.”
“For eleven years.”
Sophia’s grip loosened around the envelope.
A photograph slipped out.
It landed facedown.
Isabella picked it up.
Then froze.
The picture showed Margaret Reed standing beside a much younger Eleanor.
Between them was five-year-old Sophia.
Behind the photograph, someone had written:
FIRST PAYMENT RECEIVED.
Isabella slowly looked at her sister.
Sophia appeared physically sick.
“She never told me.”
Eleanor whispered:
“Of course she didn’t.”
Sophia reached for the photograph.
But another voice came from the ballroom entrance.
“She didn’t tell you because she wasn’t the one being paid.”
Everyone turned.
An elderly man stood between two security guards.
White hair.
Walking cane.
A face Isabella recognized from old Hawthorne family portraits.
Arthur Bennett whispered:
“Impossible.”
Eleanor looked as though her heart had stopped.
The man smiled faintly.
“Hello, Eleanor.”
Sophia looked between them.
“Who is that?”
Isabella whispered:
“Our grandfather.”
Eleanor backed away.
“No.”
The elderly man entered the ballroom.
Charles Hawthorne.
The man the entire city had believed was dead for twelve years.
May you like
And as he approached Sophia, he said:
“I’m the one who paid Margaret to keep you alive.”
