Chapter 3 - THE SECRET HER MOTHER TOOK TO THE GRAVE
Fay had never seen a wealthy man look terrified of her mother's name.
But Charles Vanderpool did.
His perfectly polished expression crumbled the moment he heard Marguerite Delacroix mentioned.
“Your mother,” he repeated. “Was she a nurse?”
Fay stared.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“She worked at St. Augustine's when she was younger.”
Charles stepped backward.
Rafferty noticed.
“You knew her?”
Charles forced a smile.
“Many people worked at the orphanage.”
“That wasn't my question.”
The room went silent again.
Charles glanced toward Celeste.
“We should discuss this privately.”
Rafferty shook his head.
“Not until Miss Delacroix is taken care of.”
He turned toward Mrs. Odette.
“Please see that she receives her full pay and whatever medical attention she needs.”
Fay immediately protested.
“I don't need special treatment.”
Rafferty looked at her.
“You deserve to be treated decently. That isn't special treatment.”
Something tightened in her throat.
For months, she'd been struggling so hard that ordinary kindness felt almost unbearable.
Mrs. Odette gently guided her toward the kitchen.
Before leaving, Fay turned back.
“Mr. Cain?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Then she added quietly, “My mother used to say that no one becomes important by making someone else feel small.”
Rafferty went completely still.
He remembered those words.
A woman kneeling beside his childhood bed.
A cool hand against his forehead.
A promise that he wasn't unwanted.
Marguerite.
He had forgotten her surname.
Never her voice.
Meanwhile, Charles Vanderpool followed Rafferty into the private study.
The door closed.
Rafferty turned.
“You knew Marguerite Delacroix.”
Charles remained silent.
“You also recognized her daughter.”
“Rafferty, this is ancient history.”
“Then it should be easy to explain.”
Charles poured himself a drink.
His hands trembled.
“Your father financed St. Augustine's.”
“I know.”
“He also funded a medical assistance program for the children.”
Rafferty frowned.
“What does that have to do with Fay?”
Charles looked away.
“Marguerite discovered irregularities.”
“What kind?”
“Money disappearing. Treatment funds being redirected.”
Rafferty's jaw tightened.
“Who controlled those accounts?”
Charles didn't answer.
Rafferty stepped closer.
“Who?”
Charles swallowed.
“Your father.”
The silence was terrible.
Rafferty thought of the paper boat.
The frightened boy.
The woman who'd stayed beside him while he was sick.
Then Charles revealed something worse.
“Marguerite kept copies of the records.”
“Where are they?”
Charles shook his head.
“We never found them.”
Rafferty stared.
“We?”
Charles realized his mistake.
Too late.
Rafferty's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Who else was looking?”
Charles closed his eyes.
May you like
Then whispered:
“The man who arranged her death.”
