Chapter 10 - THE CHILD REBECCA FOUND
Police reached Gertrude’s house before we did.
Derek was gone.
Gertrude was alive.
Barely calm.
For the first time since I met her, she looked old.
Not powerful.
Not cruel.
Just terrified.
She sat on the same porch where she had refused me entry.
I stood on the sidewalk.
She looked at me.
“You came.”
“I’m not here for you.”
“I know.”
Good.
“What child?”
Her hands shook.
“Twenty-seven years ago, Derek had another son.”
Brandon, standing several feet away, froze.
“What?”
Gertrude looked at him.
“Before you.”
“With who?”
“Rebecca Morgan.”
My father stopped breathing.
I stared.
“My aunt?”
“Yes.”
Dad stepped forward.
“That’s impossible.”
“She never told your family.”
“Why?”
“Because Derek was married.”
Dad looked sick.
Gertrude continued.
“Rebecca planned to expose the financial fraud and leave Michigan with the baby.”
“What happened to the child?” I asked.
Gertrude started crying.
“Derek took him.”
Brandon whispered:
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“I swear.”
She looked at me.
“Rebecca came to me because she knew I was pregnant too.”
With Brandon.
“She thought Derek might listen to me.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
Her eyes dropped.
“Nothing.”
The word sat between us.
Nothing.
She had known a woman was in danger.
Known Derek had taken her child.
And done nothing.
Because protecting herself was easier.
I understood suddenly why she demanded obedience from everyone else.
She had built her life around surrender and renamed it virtue.
“After Rebecca died?” I asked.
“I asked about the boy.”
“And?”
“Derek said the matter was handled.”
My father turned away.
I felt sick.
Noah asked:
“Do you know the child’s name?”
Gertrude nodded.
“Rebecca called him Noah.”
Everything stopped.
I looked at Noah Grant.
He did not move.
My heartbeat became painfully loud.
“No.”
Gertrude stared at him.
“You?”
Noah’s face had gone completely white.
My father whispered:
“How old are you?”
Noah answered.
“Twenty-seven.”
Silence.
He looked at Gertrude.
“My mother died in childbirth.”
“That’s what your adoptive parents told you?”
“Yes.”
Gertrude covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Noah backed away.
I reached for him.
Then stopped.
The last weeks had taught me not to assume touch was welcome.
He noticed.
After one second, he took my hand himself.
His fingers were cold.
Federal investigators later confirmed the first piece.
Noah had been adopted privately at four months old.
His original birth records were sealed.
The attorney handling the adoption?
Marianne Holt’s brother.
My stomach dropped.
Dad stared at Noah.
“If Rebecca was your mother…”
Noah looked at him.
“Then you’re my uncle.”
My father started crying.
Noah looked overwhelmed.
I squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back.
Then the investigator entered the room.
“We found Derek Shaw.”
“Where?”
“At the airport.”
“Leaving?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
The investigator placed a briefcase on the table.
Inside were old bank records.
Rebecca’s original complaint.
And a birth certificate.
Mother:
Rebecca Morgan.
Father:
Derek Shaw.
Child:
Noah Morgan.
Noah stared at it.
Then at Brandon.
Brandon looked back.
Half brothers.
The man I almost married.
And the lawyer helping me escape him.
My life had apparently decided subtlety was unnecessary.
Then the investigator removed one more document.
A life insurance policy.
On Rebecca Morgan.
Beneficiary:
Derek Shaw.
Amount:
May you like
$500,000.
Purchased six weeks before she died.
