Chapter 4 - THE FATHER WHO DIED TWICE
My father had been dead for six years.
I attended the funeral.
Closed the casket myself.
Took control of Whitmore Holdings forty-eight hours later.
And spent the next half decade becoming exactly the kind of man he had trained me to become.
Now Willa was telling me a photograph showed Charles Whitmore alive three years after the funeral.
I drove back to the cottage.
The image lay on the kitchen table.
My father.
Older.
Thin.
Standing beside Victor outside a private medical building.
A date was printed in the corner.
Three years ago.
I stared at Lorraine.
"Explain."
She looked frightened.
"I didn't know he was alive."
Willa pointed toward the back of the photograph.
There was writing.
Charles moved again. V. says the son still believes the funeral.
I felt sick.
"Who wrote this?"
Lorraine shook her head.
"I don't know."
Willa opened one of Marianne's journals.
"Maybe my mother."
She searched several pages.
Then stopped.
Her face changed.
"What?"
She turned the journal toward me.
A dated entry.
Charles is not dead. Victor transferred him under the name Henry Ward. Lorraine must never know.
My mother covered her mouth.
I stared.
"Why would Victor fake my father's death?"
Willa continued reading.
Charles became unstable after the ledger disappeared. He threatened Victor. Said he would confess everything to Declan.
My hands tightened.
My father had intended to confess.
Victor had made him disappear instead.
I thought about the funeral.
The closed casket.
Victor's hand on my shoulder.
His voice telling me I had to be strong.
He had watched me mourn a man who was still alive.
I looked toward Lorraine.
"Did my father ever try to find you?"
She shook her head.
"Not that I know."
Willa turned another page.
Then whispered:
"There's more."
I looked at her.
"My mother wrote that Charles asked to see Lorraine."
My mother froze.
"When?"
"Four years ago."
Lorraine began crying.
"He knew where I was?"
Willa nodded slowly.
"Apparently."
My jaw tightened.
"What did Victor do?"
She continued reading.
Victor refused. Charles became violent. Said Lorraine deserved the truth.
I stared at the floor.
The man I'd hated for lying about my mother had eventually tried to tell the truth.
Maybe too late.
Maybe for selfish reasons.
But Victor had stopped him.
Then Willa found a location.
Grayhaven Recovery Center.
Upstate New York.
A private facility.
I knew the name.
Whitmore Holdings had purchased the property twelve years earlier.
Victor had handled the acquisition.
I looked toward Willa.
"Call your attorney."
She blinked.
"My attorney?"
"Yes."
"I don't have one."
"You do now."
She stiffened.
"I don't want one who works for you."
That stopped me.
Then I nodded.
"Fair."
I contacted an independent legal aid firm and arranged for Willa and Lorraine to receive separate representation if they chose.
For once, I understood that protecting someone didn't mean controlling every decision.
By afternoon, investigators were reviewing Grayhaven.
Then came the call.
A patient named Henry Ward existed.
Age seventy-one.
Medical history partially sealed.
Admitted three years after Charles Whitmore's supposed death.
My hands trembled.
"Is he alive?"
The investigator paused.
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
Then he added:
"But there's another problem."
"What?"
"His legal guardian isn't Victor Shaw."
I frowned.
"Who is it?"
A silence.
May you like
Then the answer came.
"You are."
