Chapter 5 - MY MOTHER'S SECOND FAMILYI didn't want to believe what the photograph suggested.
Not because I trusted my mother.
That trust had already been destroyed.
But because every new secret made my childhood feel less real.
The family dinners.
The birthday parties.
The vacations.
The photographs of my parents smiling beside the ocean.
Were any of those memories what I thought they were?
Rebecca noticed my expression.
“Claire, a name written on a photograph doesn't tell us the whole story.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
But I couldn't stop thinking about Dr. Amelia Warren.
A woman I'd never heard of.
A woman who met my father three days before he died.
A woman whose name my mother apparently knew.
The following morning, Rebecca contacted the hospital where Amelia had worked.
She was a cardiologist.
She had treated my father during the final year of his life.
That didn't seem unusual.
Dad had a history of heart problems.
But the hospital records revealed something unexpected.
He had requested a private appointment on March 24.
Not a routine checkup.
An urgent consultation.
When Rebecca obtained the appropriate medical authorization through the estate process, we learned that Dad had complained of worsening chest discomfort and severe stress.
Dr. Warren had advised further evaluation.
He'd been concerned that financial problems and family conflict were affecting his health.
I stared at the summary.
He'd been sick.
Frightened.
And trying to solve everything alone.
My eyes filled.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
Rebecca looked at me gently.
“Maybe he didn't want to worry you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That sounds exactly like him.”
Then she handed me another document.
“This was among the materials in the blue ledger.”
I looked down.
It was a handwritten note from Dad.
Amelia has copies of the revised medical instructions. Margaret must not interfere with treatment decisions.
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Rebecca answered carefully.
“We need to determine whether there was a disagreement about his medical care.”
“Did Mom try to stop him from getting treatment?”
“We don't know.”
I stared at the paper.
For the first time, I realized that recovering my inheritance might be the simplest part of this nightmare.
The harder part would be learning who my parents really were.
That afternoon, Graham called.
I almost ignored him.
His connection to Vanessa made every conversation uncomfortable.
But he had been cooperative since the wedding.
“Claire?”
“Hi.”
“I'm sorry to bother you.”
“It's okay.”
He hesitated.
“I found something while sorting through Vanessa's documents.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A lease agreement.”
“Whose?”
“Your mother's.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“An apartment in Boston.”
I stared at the phone.
“My mother lives in Newport.”
“I know.”
“Then why does she have an apartment in Boston?”
Graham sighed.
“That's what I wondered.”
He continued.
“The lease began six years ago. The rent has been paid through a company called Northstar.”
I felt cold.
Nathaniel's company.
My mother's apartment.
Six years of payments.
“Graham, what are you saying?”
“I think Margaret has been maintaining a second residence.”
I sat down.
“Why?”
He paused.
“There's another name listed as an authorized occupant.”
My heart pounded.
“Who?”
“Nathaniel Cross.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Then Graham added:
“Claire, I believe your mother and Nathaniel may have been having an affair.”
I couldn't speak.
For a moment, I was twelve years old again, watching Dad bring Mom flowers after a business trip.
He'd always remembered her favorite color.
Yellow.
He'd carried groceries into the house.
Taken care of her when she was sick.
Defended her when relatives criticized her.
And all that time, she'd eventually chosen another man.
“Are you sure?” I whispered.
“No. Not about the affair itself. The lease only establishes a connection. But it's something investigators should examine.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
After we hung up, I sat silently.
Then my phone rang again.
My mother.
I answered.
“Claire.”
Her voice sounded strained.
“We need to talk.”
I stared at the wall.
“Are you calling from Boston?”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
“The apartment.”
A long pause.
“Who told you?”
I closed my eyes.
“So it's true.”
“Claire, please.”
“How long, Mom?”
She began crying.
“It's complicated.”
I laughed.
There it was again.
The word my family used whenever they didn't want to admit the truth.
“Everything is complicated with you.”
She said nothing.
“Were you having an affair with Nathaniel?”
A long silence.
Then she whispered:
“Yes.”
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
“How long?”
“Almost nine years.”
Nine years.
Two years before Dad died.
Seven years afterward.
The room seemed to tilt.
“Did Dad know?”
“Yes.”
My eyes filled.
“When did he find out?”
“A few months before he died.”
I closed my eyes.
“And you kept seeing Nathaniel after the funeral?”
She sobbed.
“I didn't know how to get away from him.”
I felt anger rise.
“You could have told the truth.”
“He threatened me.”
“With what?”
“He said if I exposed the financial transactions, I would go to prison.”
I stared at the wall.
“So you stole from your daughters instead?”
“Claire—”
“No.”
My voice hardened.
“You don't get to call it survival when Lily and I paid the price.”
She began crying harder.
Then she whispered:
“Your father wasn't supposed to find out about the accounts.”
I felt cold.
“What accounts?”
“The ones Nathaniel opened.”
I sat upright.
“Mom, what did you do?”
She inhaled shakily.
“I signed documents I shouldn't have signed.”
“What documents?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
Her voice became almost inaudible.
“Your father's life insurance paperwork.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
She began sobbing.
“Nathaniel said the policy would protect the company if Edward died.”
I gripped the phone.
“And?”
“There was a seven-million-dollar policy.”
I stared at the wall.
“Who received the money?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom!”
May you like
Her voice broke.
“Nathaniel did.”
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