Chapter 23 #2
“So you just assumed I was his and never bothered to check? I don’t buy it.”
Her eyes widen, a flash of surprise crossing her face.
“We did check, Luke,” she insists. “When you were born, we made sure to confirm, because I needed to find out, I wanted to be prepared if you ever needed that information for health reasons.”
She takes a deep breath, recalling the past with precision. “Your father arranged for the tests to be done discreetly in Cedar Hollow to avoid any possible scandal. We received the results that confirmed he was your father, and we moved on.”
I shake my head, my heart pounding wildly. “Except that’s not true.”
Her face pales, the realization dawning on her like a slow, creeping shadow. “He lied to me?”
I know my mother well. She’s not without her flaws, but to her, family is everything. Her devotion to each of us has been unwavering for as long as I can remember. She had no idea Nathaniel was keeping this secret from us.
“He lied to all of us, it would seem.”
“But why?” she asks, her head shaking as if trying to dislodge the confusion.
Her eyes are wide, and her fingers fidget with the hem of her baby blue cashmere sweater. She’s reeling, and I recognize the turmoil because I was in that same state just a few days ago.
“I don’t know,” I reply, my voice firm with determination. “But I plan to find out.”
Her lips tremble, and for a fleeting moment, I expect her to plead with me to let the issue rest.
But then she straightens, and a fierce determination sets in her gaze. “I want to be the one to confront him.”
I consider her words before answering. “We will do it together.”
She gives a resolute nod and turns her attention to a blank spot on the wall, lost in thought.
“I’ll come back this evening,” I assure her.
“I’m not sure how late he’ll be,” she says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “He’s been holed up with Nik, working endless hours on some acquisitions in Cedar Hollow.”
“Then call me when he gets home.”
She stands, her arms still wrapped protectively around herself. “Luke, I had no idea.”
I close the distance between us, enveloping her in a comforting embrace and pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “I believe you.”
She cries silently against my chest, her silent sobs shaking us both.
When her tears subside, I look down into her reddened eyes. “There’s a lot to talk about, but we will get to that later.”
She nods, her voice trapped in her throat, unable to form words.
As I reach the door to the library, I pause and remind her, “Call me when he gets home.”
I intend to head for the front door, but my feet carry me upstairs instead, toward my father’s library. If he was capable of lying to my mother and keeping this from her all these years, what other secrets might he be hiding?
I step into his office, my eyes narrowed with suspicion. Every creak of the floorboards sounds like a gunshot in this museum of his ego. If there’s any secret he’s hiding, it’s bound to be in this room.
The office is pristine, with every item meticulously arranged, just as it always is. My gaze drifts toward the gun case. The SIG 9mm catches my eye, and before I realize it, my fingers are unlatching the case and reaching for the weapon.
I cradle it in my hands, noting the cold, solid weight of the metal. As I rotate it, a chilling image surfaces in my mind—the gun that had fired at me. It had been the same model, only with a suppressor.
For some inexplicable reason, I check the cartridge. Every bullet is accounted for. I slide my pinky through the barrel, feeling the smooth, polished interior. It’s spotless.
What am I doing? My father might be concealing something, but he’s not a killer. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, and return the gun to its designated spot in the case.
That’s when a sharp, unexpected scent hits me—the acrid odor of cigarette smoke. It’s odd because my father doesn’t smoke, only an occasional cigar.
In the middle of the mahogany desk sits a large marble ashtray, and nestled within it is a half-smoked cigarette. It must belong to a business associate. Nik had been here earlier; perhaps it was his. My father wouldn’t permit just anyone to smoke in this sacred space.
Leaning closer to inspect the remnants, my breath catches in my throat. Next to the ashtray on my father’s desk sits a rock—ruby red and flat. It looks like it was haphazardly thrown on the desk, in much the same way as the one I found on the road.
I pick it up and turn it over in my hand, almost convinced it’s the same object I had sent to the lab. But it’s slightly smaller in my palm, and the texture is just a bit rougher.
I begin to pace, the thoughts swirling in my mind. This probably doesn’t belong to the person who was at the scene. But why is it here?
But the thought gnaws at me persistently. What if...what if it’s true? What if one of my father’s business associates has something to do with all of this? The idea is like a giant jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, but then again, nothing in Wildhaven has made sense lately.
I need to uncover everything I can about my father’s business dealings.
I begin my search methodically, drawer by drawer, sifting through the contents of his desk.
Each drawer yields only mundane items: pens, paperclips, and old receipts.
But when I reach the bottom drawer, I find it locked, unlike the others.
I recall the time Gabe picked a lock at the lab, and I quickly grab a paperclip from the tray on the desk—it’s my only option. I unfold the metal wire and insert it into the lock, manipulating it until I hear that satisfying, soft click.
As the drawer glides open, I’m greeted by a stack of files. I flip through them rapidly, my fingers brushing over the edges of papers that seem irrelevant. But then, as I push past the last file, I notice a narrow gap at the back of the drawer.
Wedged in this hidden space, I discover a sleek, black phone—the very one my father claimed was exclusively for his business associates.