Chapter 8 - The Emerald Necklace
I found Camille at the house.
She was packing.
Not emotionally.
Efficiently.
Two suitcases stood open across my mother’s old bed.
A driver waited downstairs.
Camille turned when I entered.
“You don’t knock?”
“This wasn’t your bedroom first.”
Her face sharpened.
“Neither was the boardroom yours.”
“Things change.”
She zipped a garment bag.
“Congratulations. You finally beat your father.”
“This isn’t about him.”
“Everything you do is about him.”
I looked at the emerald necklace around her throat.
“Take that off.”
Her hand moved instinctively toward it.
“Excuse me?”
“It belonged to my mother.”
“Gregory gave it to me.”
“He didn’t own it.”
Her expression flickered.
There.
A tiny reaction.
I stepped closer.
“Mom’s jewelry was placed in trust.”
Camille smiled.
“You should read the trust more carefully.”
“I did.”
“No. You read the version Eleanor gave you.”
My pulse changed.
“What does that mean?”
Camille removed the necklace.
For a moment, I thought she might hand it over.
Instead she placed it inside her jewelry case.
“Your family loves documents. Wills. Trusts. Board minutes. Contracts. You think paper makes truth clean.”
“What do you have on Vanessa?”
That stopped her.
She slowly looked up.
“Gregory told you.”
“He told me to ask you who her biological father is.”
Camille laughed.
“Of course he did.”
“Who is it?”
“You should ask your grandmother.”
I hated the games.
I stepped between her and the door.
“Who is Vanessa’s father?”
Camille’s eyes became cold.
“Not Gregory.”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“Why would I?”
“To hurt him.”
“I don’t need to hurt Gregory. He does that himself.”
“Who?”
She closed her suitcase.
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
“What’s the right one?”
“Why did Rebecca give you twenty-eight percent and Vanessa nothing?”
I said nothing.
“Your mother loved both children, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then why make one child the largest shareholder and leave the other outside the company?”
There could be a hundred reasons.
But now doubt entered.
Camille saw it.
She enjoyed that.
“Your mother knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Gregory wasn’t Vanessa’s biological father.”
My stomach twisted.
“Who was?”
Camille walked past me.
I caught her arm.
Not hard.
But enough to stop her.
She looked down at my hand.
I released her immediately.
“Tell me.”
She smiled.
“Charles Whitmore.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t process the name.
The diner.
The letter.
Charles defending Mom.
Charles selling his shares.
“No.”
“Ask him.”
“You’re lying.”
“Then why did Rebecca write to him privately?”
I stared at her.
She knew about the letter.
“How do you know that?”
Another small smile.
“Because Daniel, your mother wasn’t the only person keeping copies.”
She walked toward the door.
I said, “The shell companies.”
She stopped.
“Northstar. Crescent Ridge. Bellweather.”
Camille remained facing away.
“Sixty-three million dollars.”
She slowly turned.
“You really think I stole sixty-three million dollars?”
“I think the money leads to you.”
“You’re smarter than your father.”
“Not an answer.”
“No.”
She tilted her head.
“It’s a warning.”
She picked up her suitcase.
“When you discover where that money actually went, you’ll wish I had stolen it.”
Then she left.
I stood alone inside the bedroom.
Ten minutes later, Grandma came upstairs.
She found me sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Is Charles Vanessa’s father?”
Grandma stopped.
That answered me.
“How long have you known?”
“Since she was a baby.”
I stood.
“Does Vanessa know?”
“No.”
“Does Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Mom?”
“Of course.”
I walked to the window.
“Was Mom having an affair?”
Grandma shook her head.
“No.”
I turned.
“Then how?”
She sat beside me.
“Your parents separated briefly before Vanessa was conceived. Almost nobody knew.”
I remembered nothing.
I had been five.
“Rebecca believed the marriage was finished. Charles and your mother became close.”
“Did Dad know?”
“Eventually.”
“And he stayed?”
“Rebecca and Gregory reconciled before she learned she was pregnant.”
I tried to understand.
“Why raise Vanessa as his daughter?”
“Because he loved her.”
That answer complicated everything.
Gregory Hale, the man who had humiliated me publicly, had raised another man’s child without ever exposing her.
People rarely fit neatly inside the roles we assign them.
Villain.
Victim.
Good father.
Bad father.
My father could protect Vanessa from one truth and destroy me with another.
Both could be real.
“Why did Camille know?”
Grandma looked away.
“I don’t know.”
The answer did not convince me.
I thought about Gregory saying Camille had evidence that could destroy Vanessa.
If Camille revealed the truth publicly, my sister’s entire identity would become entertainment.
The viral dinner already made millions of strangers feel entitled to our family.
This would be worse.
My phone rang.
Charles.
I answered.
“Are you Vanessa’s biological father?”
Silence.
Then a long exhale.
“Yes.”
No denial.
No manipulation.
Just yes.
“Does she know?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“Because Rebecca asked me not to.”
“You gave up your daughter?”
His voice broke slightly.
“No.”
Then:
“I watched her from a distance because that was the only promise her mother allowed me to keep.”
I closed my eyes.
“How does Camille know?”
“I don’t know.”
Another call appeared.
Marcus.
I told Charles I would call back.
“What?”
Marcus spoke rapidly.
“Camille just transferred the shell-company holdings.”
“To where?”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
He sent the file.
I opened it.
The ultimate beneficiary of the accounts was not Camille.
It was a trust.
A trust created six years earlier.
Beneficiary:
Vanessa Hale.
I stared at the screen.
The stolen money had not been going to Camille.
May you like
Sixty-three million dollars had been quietly placed in my sister’s name.
And the trustee authorized to control it was Gregory Hale.
