Chapter 11 - WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO MY FATHER
Thomas refused to speculate.
So did I.
We needed evidence.
Not anger.
Not theories.
Evidence.
Dr. Samuel Kirk was retired and living in Massachusetts.
Arthur found him first.
Not because I asked him to.
Because for the first time in his life, he seemed determined to uncover something his mother wanted buried.
Their conversation was recorded with Kirk's consent.
"I treated Richard Carter," the doctor said.
"What was wrong with him?"
A pause.
"His symptoms were consistent with heavy-metal exposure."
Arthur went silent.
"So he didn't have cancer?"
"No."
My chest tightened as I listened from Barcelona.
Dr. Kirk explained that initial tests suggested chronic poisoning.
Not necessarily intentional.
Industrial exposure could cause it.
Contaminated water.
Manufacturing chemicals.
Old equipment.
But Richard's blood levels were unusually high.
Kirk ordered further testing.
Before results were completed, another physician took over the case.
At whose request?
Victoria Vance's.
"Why would you allow that?"
"I was young. The Vance family funded the hospital wing."
Dr. Kirk sounded ashamed.
"I told myself someone more experienced would handle it."
"Did you ever see Richard again?"
"Once."
"When?"
"The night before he died."
My hands started shaking.
Kirk said my father had been awake.
Coherent.
Terrified.
And he had asked one question.
"Did Victoria send you?"
Then security removed Kirk from the room.
The next morning, Richard Carter was dead.
There was no autopsy.
My mother had been told his illness was advanced and further examination would only cause pain.
I stopped the recording.
Thomas sat across from me.
"We still cannot claim murder."
"I know."
But financial fraud was no longer our only question.
Arthur sent another message.
Police have the records now.
For the first time, he'd done something without asking what it would cost his family.
Then the Spanish lawyers called.
The court had issued a temporary injunction freezing several Vance-controlled European accounts.
Victoria had lost access to nearly ninety million dollars overnight.
That should have been the day's biggest development.
It wasn't.
An hour later, Brooke appeared at the front gate of my Barcelona villa.
Alone.
Pale.
Carrying one suitcase.
Thomas's security team stopped her outside.
She raised both hands.
"I need to talk to Emma."
I stepped onto the terrace.
Brooke looked nothing like the woman from the divorce office.
The smugness was gone.
So was the confidence.
"What are you doing here?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"My mother knows I contacted you."
"And?"
Brooke swallowed.
"She told me I was never her daughter."
Silence.
May you like
Then Brooke said something even stranger.
"Emma... I'm not Arthur's biological sister."
