Chapter 8 - THE LOVE AFFAIR THAT BUILT A FORTUNE
My father had known Elaine Whitmore before my mother.
Not casually.
Not professionally.
They had been in love.
My mother told me the story inside Rachel’s conference room while rain covered the windows.
“Michael met Elaine when they were twenty-three.”
“How?”
“He was working as a junior accountant for her father.”
“They dated?”
“For almost four years.”
“What happened?”
“Charles Whitmore found out.”
Preston’s grandfather.
The founder.
“He didn’t approve?”
“Michael had no money.”
“That simple?”
“In families like theirs, nothing is simple.”
Mom looked toward the old photograph.
“Charles threatened to cut Elaine off.”
“So Dad left her?”
“No.”
“She left him.”
I stared.
“She chose the family.”
“Yes.”
“Then Dad met you.”
“Two years later.”
“Did you know?”
“Eventually.”
“Before you married him?”
“Yes.”
That hurt differently.
“You never told me.”
“It wasn’t my story.”
“It became my story when I married Elaine’s son.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“I never imagined that would happen.”
“Did Elaine?”
“I don’t know.”
I thought about Elaine researching me before Preston introduced us.
Maybe she knew exactly who I was.
“Why did Dad go back to working for the Whitmores?”
“He needed money.”
“And she hired him.”
“Yes.”
“Was the affair over?”
Mom hesitated.
I saw it.
“Mom.”
“I don’t know.”
I stood.
“You do.”
“I know they were emotionally close.”
“That is a diplomatic answer.”
She began crying.
“There were letters.”
“Physical affair?”
“I never proved it.”
“When?”
“After you were born.”
My stomach turned.
“Did Dad love her?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
“Did he love you?”
“Yes.”
“Both?”
“People are messy, Natalie.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently.”
Rachel returned to the financial issue.
“If Michael and Elaine remained close, maybe Hartwell began as a joint structure.”
Mom nodded.
“That’s what I think.”
I stared.
“Then who stole the money?”
“Daniel.”
“Maybe.”
“Or Charles.”
“Maybe.”
“Or Dad.”
Mom shook her head.
“Michael discovered the bribery later.”
“How?”
“He realized HCS accounts were being used for payments he never authorized.”
“And Daniel blamed Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Elaine?”
“She wanted Michael to leave with her.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Leave the family?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he?”
Mom looked directly at me.
“Because of you.”
I stopped.
“He told her he would not abandon his daughter.”
That landed hard.
Whatever else my father had done, he stayed.
My mother continued.
“Elaine wanted him to take you.”
“What?”
“She said she could raise you.”
I felt sick.
“Was she obsessed with him?”
“Yes.”
“Did Preston know?”
“No.”
“Did Charles?”
“Probably.”
I suddenly understood something.
Elaine’s strange interest in me.
Her questions.
Her subtle criticism.
Her habit of saying I had “Michael’s stubbornness.”
She had known my father personally.
Maybe intimately.
Then another possibility entered my mind.
“Sloan.”
Mom looked at me.
“What?”
“Sloan was born twenty-nine years ago.”
“Michael was alive.”
My mother’s face changed.
“No.”
I whispered:
“Could Sloan be my father’s daughter?”
Silence.
The dates fit.
Elaine as mother.
Father blank.
Daniel later adopted her.
My mother stood.
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“I would have known.”
“Would you?”
She looked wounded.
But she couldn’t answer.
Rachel arranged a DNA test recommendation immediately.
Then Preston called again.
“I found Mom.”
“Where?”
“She called me.”
“Is she safe?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“She wants to meet.”
“Where?”
“Whitmore Tower.”
The company’s original headquarters.
“Don’t go alone.”
“I’m already here.”
Of course he was.
“Preston.”
“I need answers.”
“So do I.”
I grabbed my coat.
Rachel tried to stop me.
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“My mother is connected.”
“My father is connected.”
“My husband is there.”
“And my daughter’s money is tied to all of it.”
Rachel cursed.
Then came with me.
Whitmore Tower was nearly empty after 9 p.m.
Preston waited in the executive conference room.
He looked exhausted.
No arrogance left.
Elaine sat at the far end.
Alive.
No visible injuries.
Her coat was stained with someone else’s blood.
I stopped.
“Whose blood?”
She looked at me.
“Sloan’s.”
Preston stood.
“What?”
Elaine began crying.
“She came to confront me.”
“About what?”
“The money.”
“Where is she?”
Elaine’s voice shook.
“Daniel took her.”
My blood ran cold.
“Why?”
“Because she found the box.”
“What box?”
Elaine looked at me.
“Your father’s.”
The safe-deposit box.
Daniel had lied.
It wasn’t secure.
It had been found.
“What was inside?”
Elaine stared at me.
“Enough to send Daniel to prison.”
“Then why take Sloan?”
“Because she copied everything.”
“Where are the copies?”
Elaine looked toward Preston.
“She gave one to him.”
Preston froze.
“No, she didn’t.”
Elaine frowned.
“She told me she did.”
Preston’s face changed.
Then he slowly pulled out his phone.
A scheduled email had arrived forty minutes earlier.
From Sloan.
Subject:
IF I DISAPPEAR.
Attached were dozens of documents.
One file was labeled:
PATERNITY.
Preston opened it.
Then looked at me.
His face went white.
“What?”
He turned the screen.
DNA comparison.
Sloan Mercer.
Michael Bennett.
Probability of paternity:
99.99%.
Sloan was my half-sister.
Elaine’s daughter.
My father’s daughter.
Preston sank into a chair.
And suddenly the affair I thought I had discovered was something much stranger.
My husband had been secretly moving our daughter’s money to support my sister.
A sister neither of us knew I had.
Then Elaine whispered:
“That isn’t the worst file.”
May you like
She pointed toward another attachment.
“Open the one called PRESTON.”
