Chapter 12 - MY MOTHER DIDN’T DIE BY ACCIDENT
Rebecca Sterling died when I was six months old.
That was what the family records said.
Complications following illness.
No details.
No public obituary.
No grave I had ever visited.
Alexander Vale’s message changed everything.
We met that afternoon at a private office overlooking Central Park.
Alexander was in his late forties.
Calm.
Reserved.
He resembled the man in my grandmother’s old photograph enough to make me uneasy.
“Thomas Vale was my father,” he said.
“I know.”
“He spent the final year of his life trying to protect Rebecca.”
“My biological mother.”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“From whom?”
Alexander hesitated.
“Nathaniel.”
That made no sense.
“He was David’s brother.”
“He was obsessed with controlling what remained of David’s estate after David died.”
Richard leaned forward.
“How did David die?”
Alexander looked at me.
“Car crash.”
“Accident?”
“No.”
The room went silent.
“Nathaniel?”
“We could never prove it.”
I felt sick.
Alexander continued.
“David discovered Nathaniel’s offshore theft. He planned to expose him.”
Just like Thomas.
Two men.
Two suspicious deaths.
One name.
Nathaniel Cole.
“What happened to Rebecca?”
“After David died, she became terrified.”
“She gave birth to me.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“She tried to leave New York.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“Why didn’t she?”
Alexander slid a police report across the table.
Rebecca Sterling had been found unconscious inside a vehicle in a Connecticut garage.
Carbon monoxide poisoning.
Ruled accidental.
“But it wasn’t,” I whispered.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Thomas hired an investigator.”
Alexander handed me photographs.
The garage door mechanism had been tampered with.
A ventilation vent blocked.
Rebecca had survived for three weeks in intensive care before dying.
“She knew who did it?”
“She never regained full consciousness.”
I thought about Nathaniel.
His crimes.
His obsession with Eleanor.
His strange insistence that he was protecting me.
“Why would he help me now if he tried to kill my mother?”
Alexander looked surprised.
“He didn’t.”
“What?”
“Nathaniel did terrible things. But I don’t believe he harmed Rebecca.”
“Then who?”
Alexander opened another folder.
The garage belonged to a Harrington family property.
My stomach dropped.
“Charles?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Alexander looked toward Carter.
Carter stiffened.
“Margaret Harrington.”
Carter’s mother.
Nobody spoke.
Alexander continued.
“Rebecca discovered Margaret’s affair with Thomas Vale.”
Everything tangled together.
Thomas had been involved with Margaret.
Rebecca was secretly raising David Cole’s child.
Nathaniel was stealing.
Charles was protecting the company.
Every relationship overlapped.
“Why would Margaret hurt Rebecca?”
“She believed Rebecca planned to expose her affair.”
Carter whispered, “My mother tried to kill Serena’s mother?”
“We believe so.”
He stood abruptly and walked to the window.
I almost followed him.
Almost.
Alexander continued.
“Thomas planned to tell Charles everything in Boston.”
“The meeting before his plane crash.”
“Yes.”
“And Margaret knew?”
Alexander nodded.
Carter slowly turned.
“Are you saying my mother sabotaged Thomas’s plane?”
“No.”
He looked at Charles.
“I’m saying Charles knew who did.”
Everyone stared at Charles.
He looked devastated.
Carter’s voice was barely audible.
“Dad?”
Charles closed his eyes.
“It was your grandfather.”
“My grandfather?”
“William Harrington.”
Charles sank into a chair.
“He believed Thomas would destroy the family.”
Carter stared at his father.
“And you buried it.”
Charles nodded.
“I buried everything.”
I finally understood what my grandmother had spent decades constructing.
Not merely a trust.
A reckoning.
Then Charles looked at me.
“There’s one thing Eleanor never knew.”
“What?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Rebecca survived long enough to write you another letter.”
May you like
“Where is it?”
Charles whispered, “I’ve had it for thirty-one years.”
