Chapter 10 - VANESSA WAS MY SISTER
Vanessa did not believe me.
Not at first.
She laughed.
Then accused me of trying to punish her.
Then I showed her the records.
Her face collapsed.
“No.”
Her biological mother had supposedly died giving birth.
That was what her adoptive parents told her.
In reality, she had been created in Richard’s lab using my mother’s egg.
That made Richard her biological father.
And the triplets?
Her children conceived using Richard’s sperm.
Her own father’s genetic material.
Vanessa became physically ill.
The clinic had never disclosed the relationship.
Richard had knowingly created children using his daughter’s eggs and his own sperm.
The medical risks alone were horrifying.
The emotional violation was worse.
Vanessa screamed for a nurse.
Then cried until sedatives helped her sleep.
I sat outside the room shaking.
Rachel arrived.
She hugged me.
I let her.
For weeks, everyone had treated Vanessa as villain, mistress, conspirator.
She had done terrible things.
She had knowingly helped destroy my marriage.
But Richard had also manipulated her entire identity.
Two things could be true.
Again.
Julian joined us later.
He looked through the glass toward Vanessa.
“I hated her yesterday.”
“You can still hate what she did.”
“I don’t know what I feel now.”
“Welcome to the family.”
He almost smiled.
Then Richard called me directly.
From federal custody.
I nearly refused.
My attorney advised recording it.
I answered.
“Evelyn.”
“You have thirty seconds.”
“You found Vanessa’s birth file.”
“Yes.”
“She was never supposed to see it.”
“That seems to be your philosophy about everyone.”
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
“Your mother agreed.”
I went still.
“To what?”
“The embryo.”
“You’re lying.”
“She signed the original consent.”
“Why?”
“Research.”
My mother had participated willingly?
Richard continued.
“She believed genetic disease could be eliminated through controlled matching.”
“That doesn’t mean she agreed to create your daughter.”
“She did.”
“Then why was Vanessa hidden?”
Silence.
“Richard?”
“Because Laura changed her mind.”
Of course.
“She wanted the child?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She threatened to expose everything.”
“What did you do?”
“I did not kill your mother.”
I hadn’t accused him.
That made the denial terrifying.
“My mother died in a car accident.”
Richard said nothing.
My blood went cold.
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
“Did someone working for you?”
“I said no.”
“That’s not the same question.”
He hung up.
My mother died when I was nineteen.
Another accident.
Another road.
Another death that suddenly looked different.
Daniel pulled the police report.
Single vehicle.
Rain.
Loss of control.
No witnesses.
The pattern was nauseating.
Agent Warren reopened that case too.
By now, Richard faced enough investigations to spend several lifetimes in court.
But he still held one piece of leverage.
The Whitmore family trust.
Billions.
And because Julian was not his biological son, Richard’s lawyers claimed Julian had no inheritance rights.
Vanessa, however, was Richard’s biological daughter.
Her triplets were legally complex because of the incestuous genetic origin.
Then there were my four babies.
Biologically Julian’s.
Julian was Elias Cross’s son.
So my children had no biological connection to Richard.
For the first time, that felt wonderful.
The Whitmore dynasty suddenly had no claim over them.
Or so I thought.
Three days later, Margaret arrived with an old trust document.
She placed it on the table.
“Richard doesn’t know I have this.”
“What is it?”
“The original Whitmore succession agreement.”
I read the clause.
Heirs included not only biological descendants of Richard Whitmore.
They included any legitimate children born to the legal marriage of a Whitmore heir.
Julian had been legally acknowledged as Richard’s son from birth.
His children could still inherit.
My four babies.
Margaret looked at me.
“If Richard loses control of the trust, your children may become its largest future beneficiaries.”
I stared at her.
“How much?”
She swallowed.
“Current trust assets exceed four billion dollars.”
I laughed in disbelief.
My children had not even been born.
And already billions of dollars were circling them.
“No.”
Margaret blinked.
“What?”
“I don’t want it.”
“You can’t simply—”
“Watch me.”
I wanted my children free.
Not rich enough to become targets.
Then Daniel called.
His voice was urgent.
“Evelyn, don’t sign anything.”
“Why?”
“We found a clause.”
“What clause?”
“If you disclaim the children’s interest before birth, control reverts to Richard.”
Of course it did.
The only way to keep him from controlling the money was to keep the inheritance.
I stared at the trust papers.
Then Daniel added:
“And there’s one more beneficiary listed ahead of your children.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
May you like
“Vanessa.”
My half-sister—the woman who had slept with my husband—was now legally positioned to help me take Richard’s empire away from him.
