Chapter 8 - THE SECRET INSIDE THE CASTLE
The dollhouse was covered in dust.
My father had stored it in the attic after my mother died.
I stood in front of it while Ethan, Brian and my father watched.
“It’s just a toy,” my father said.
“No.”
My hands moved automatically.
I remembered playing with it for hours.
My mother had built tiny curtains.
Tiny rugs.
Tiny books.
One room had a fireplace that never fit correctly.
I touched it.
The miniature brick wall moved.
Behind it was a hidden compartment.
Inside sat a plastic-wrapped envelope.
My father whispered something under his breath.
I opened it.
Documents.
Photographs.
A flash drive.
A letter.
My mother had hidden everything inside my childhood dollhouse because nobody would look there.
The first pages contained financial records tied to Victor Russo.
Judges.
Police officers.
City inspectors.
Union officials.
Millions moving through fake businesses.
Then came photographs.
Men meeting.
Cars.
License plates.
Warehouses.
One picture showed Thomas.
My uncle.
Standing beside Victor.
Another showed him handing Victor an envelope.
I felt sick.
“He betrayed her.”
My father said nothing.
Then Ethan opened the flash drive on a secure laptop.
Video files appeared.
The first showed my mother sitting at a table.
Thomas stood across from her.
They were arguing.
“I can’t protect you anymore,” he said.
“You’re not protecting me. You’re protecting yourself.”
“You don’t understand what Victor will do.”
“I understand exactly what he does.”
Then Thomas said something that froze the room.
“He knows Jane is yours.”
My father went pale.
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Nobody answered.
I rewound the video.
“He knows Jane is yours.”
My mother replied:
“Jane is my daughter.”
Thomas:
“You know what I mean.”
My father sat down.
The truth arrived before anyone spoke.
I stared at him.
“Am I not your daughter?”
Pain crossed his face.
“Yes.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
He closed his eyes.
My entire life seemed to tilt again.
Finally, my father said:
“I raised you.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Ethan moved toward me.
I stepped away.
My father’s voice broke.
“No. Biologically, you are not mine.”
I felt nothing at first.
Then everything.
“Who is?”
My father looked at the screen.
Victor.
No.
My stomach turned.
“Please don’t say Victor.”
“No.”
I breathed.
Then he said:
“Ethan’s father.”
The attic became completely silent.
I looked at Ethan.
He looked just as stunned as I felt.
His father, Michael Carter, had been dead for fifteen years.
My mother had known him before she married my father.
Which meant Ethan and I—
My mind stopped.
My father immediately understood.
“No. Michael was not Ethan’s biological father.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Ethan’s face went cold.
“What did you just say?”
My father looked between us.
“There are two family secrets tangled together.”
May you like
And suddenly the question was no longer only who my father was.
It was who Ethan’s father had really been.
