Chapter 8 - THE CHILD THEY PUT IN MY HOUSE
I had believed fate brought Ivan to me.
A social worker.
A photograph.
A frightened three-year-old with large brown eyes.
Three meetings.
Then home.
Now Brenda was telling me someone had arranged it.
“Why me?”
She hesitated.
“Your husband.”
My late husband, Robert, had been dead for fourteen years.
My heart tightened at his name.
“What about Robert?”
Brenda looked at Samuel.
“Did she know?”
Samuel frowned.
“Know what?”
“Robert knew Harrison.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“He did.”
“From where?”
“They served on a private investment board together.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It isn’t.”
She handed Samuel another document.
A board roster from twenty-seven years earlier.
Robert Whitmore.
Harrison Cole.
And four other names.
My husband had never mentioned him.
Not once.
I sat down.
Robert and I had been married thirty-one years.
He was gentle.
Quiet.
Patient.
He adored Ivan.
When he died, Ivan was seventeen.
For years I had considered Robert the best man I ever knew.
I was suddenly terrified of what the next document might do to that memory.
Brenda said, “My father needed someone safe to raise Ivan.”
“Why not raise his own son?”
“Because of Elena.”
“What about her?”
“She had evidence.”
“Of what?”
“Financial crimes.”
Of course.
Everything circled back to money.
“She threatened to expose my father unless he provided for Ivan.”
“So Harrison arranged an adoption?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Brenda looked uncomfortable.
“Robert arranged it.”
My mouth went dry.
Samuel stared at the board roster.
“Why?”
“Because Robert owed my father.”
I stood.
“No.”
Brenda flinched.
“My husband did not traffic a child into my home to repay a debt.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That is exactly what you’re saying.”
“I think Robert wanted to protect Ivan.”
“From Harrison?”
“Yes.”
“Then why not tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
Twenty-five years of memories shifted beneath my feet.
Ivan learning to ride a bicycle while Robert ran beside him.
Robert teaching him baseball.
Robert crying at his high-school awards ceremony.
Had it all begun as an arrangement?
Could love still be real if the beginning was manipulated?
My phone rang.
Ivan.
I answered.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Safe.”
“Police opened the gates. Harrison’s gone.”
“I know.”
“Brenda?”
I looked at her.
“Safe.”
He exhaled.
Then anger returned.
“You’re with her?”
“Yes.”
“She lied to me for three years.”
“You lied to me for longer.”
He went silent.
“Ivan, I need you to answer something.”
“What?”
“Have you ever seen your original birth certificate?”
“No.”
“Did you know Elena Reyes?”
Long silence.
“Why?”
“Answer.”
“I met her once.”
Brenda stood.
“What?”
I put the phone on speaker.
“When?” I asked.
Ivan sounded confused.
“When I was sixteen.”
My chest tightened.
“Where?”
“Dad took me.”
Robert.
I closed my eyes.
“What did he tell you?”
“That she was someone from my birth family.”
“Did you know she was your mother?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“She hugged me.”
His voice softened.
“She cried.”
“Then?”
“Dad took me home.”
“Did you ever see her again?”
“No.”
Brenda covered her mouth.
I asked the question I suddenly feared.
“Ivan, when did Elena die?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t know.”
Samuel was already searching.
No death certificate appeared.
No obituary.
Nothing.
Brenda whispered, “Dad told me she died twenty years ago.”
Ivan laughed nervously.
“That’s wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I met her nine years ago.”
Brenda stared at me.
Harrison had lied to his daughter.
Robert had hidden the meeting from me.
And Elena Reyes had vanished after seeing Ivan.
Samuel’s phone chimed.
He looked at the screen.
“What?”
He turned it around.
A bank account connected to North Crown Management had just been accessed.
The company holding property stolen from me.
Someone withdrew $4.8 million.
“Where?”
Samuel read the authentication location.
“Sacramento.”
Brenda’s face changed.
“No.”
“What?”
“That’s where Elena lived.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“You said she was dead.”
“My father said she was.”
Then my phone received a photograph.
An older woman standing beside an ATM camera.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Alive.
May you like
Brenda whispered:
“That’s Elena.”
