Chapter 13 - The Secret My Father Hid Beneath My Floor
My father had been dead for seven years, yet somehow he was still protecting me.
I stood inside my small bedroom in the Mercer estate while investigators examined the floor.
The room contained almost nothing valuable.
A narrow bed.
A dresser.
A secondhand bookshelf.
And a framed photograph of Dad holding me when I was six.
For two years, I'd slept above a secret I didn't know existed.
Then I remembered something.
When I first applied for the housekeeping position, Owen insisted I occupy this particular room.
He claimed it was the only available staff accommodation.
But other bedrooms had been empty.
I looked toward Caleb.
"He knew."
Caleb sat in his wheelchair beside the doorway.
His expression darkened.
"He put you here deliberately."
I nodded.
"Because he believed I'd find whatever Dad hid."
An investigator carefully lifted a loose floorboard beneath the bookshelf.
Inside was a narrow metal compartment.
My heart stopped.
The investigator opened it.
A small leather case lay inside.
On the front were two initials.
T.H.
Thomas Holloway.
My father.
I covered my mouth.
The investigator photographed the case before opening it.
Inside were documents, a flash drive, and a sealed letter.
The handwriting on the envelope was unmistakable.
My darling Grace.
Tears filled my eyes.
The investigator allowed me to read a copy after the materials were documented.
I unfolded the letter.
Sweetheart, if you're reading this, I hope you've found someone who will help you understand why I spent so much of my life fighting the Mercer family.
My hands trembled.
Not every Mercer was cruel. Helena Mercer tried to do the right thing. Vincent tried too.
But others used fear to steal what didn't belong to them.
A tear slipped onto the paper.
I hid these records because they prove workers were cheated out of their retirement money.
If I can't finish what I started, I hope you'll choose the truth.
I covered my mouth.
Then I read the final paragraph.
And Grace, there's something I never told you about your mother.
My heart stopped.
Mom had died when I was eight.
Dad rarely spoke about her.
He said the memories hurt too much.
I continued.
Your mother, Caroline Holloway, was Helena Mercer's younger sister.
I stared at the words.
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
Caleb noticed.
"Grace?"
I looked up.
My voice trembled.
"Your mother and my mother were sisters."
His expression changed.
"What?"
I held out the letter.
He read it.
Then stared at me.
"We're cousins."
The words hung between us.
Everything shifted.
The tenderness growing between us suddenly had a new meaning.
Not romance.
Family.
A family neither of us had known existed.
Caleb looked down at the letter.
Then back at me.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, he whispered:
"My mother had a sister?"
I nodded through tears.
"And your family kept us apart."
He looked toward the window.
Then his expression hardened.
"Not anymore."
But the final document inside the case revealed something even stranger.
Helena Mercer had created a second trust.
One that named Caroline Holloway and her descendants as beneficiaries.
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And according to the records, Owen Pike had spent seven years trying to locate its missing heir.
Me.
