Chapter 3 - Blood Doesn’t Lie
I returned to Fern’s room before Stellan discovered me listening.
Not because I suddenly developed respect for privacy.
Because I needed time to think.
His mother.
The words repeated themselves inside my head.
By one in the morning, Fern had rolled onto her side with her stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her arm.
I sat in a chair near the crib.
My daughter had inherited her father’s eyes.
Or at least I had always believed she had.
Now I didn’t even know what her father’s real name had been.
At 1:37, somebody knocked.
Stellan entered without waiting.
His face told me he knew.
“You followed me.”
I should have denied it.
“I heard enough.”
“I told you to stay here.”
“You’re hiding information about my daughter.”
“I was confirming information.”
“Your mother?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Why would your mother falsify your brother’s death records?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
He stared at me.
“You know something.”
“I know my mother is capable of doing things that make sense only to her.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“Nothing about my mother is convenient.”
I stood.
“Then tell me who she is.”
Stellan crossed the room and checked Fern instinctively before answering.
“My mother is Helena Cross.”
The name meant nothing to me.
He saw that.
“She hasn’t lived in Chicago for twelve years.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked her not to.”
“That politely?”
“No.”
That sounded more believable.
“What happened?”
He took a slow breath.
“Our father died when I was twenty-three. He controlled most of the family businesses. Legal and otherwise.”
There it was.
The subject everybody avoided.
I didn’t interrupt.
“After his death, everything became unstable. Evan wanted nothing to do with it. Adrian wanted freedom. My mother wanted control.”
“And you?”
“I wanted my brothers alive.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly to be rehearsed.
“Evan left Chicago first,” he continued. “Three years ago, he was killed during a robbery in Seattle.”
“Actually killed?”
Stellan looked at me sharply.
“Yes. I identified him myself.”
“Sorry.”
He nodded once.
“After that, Adrian blamed the family. He blamed me. Maybe he had the right to.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
“Then fourteen months ago, you were told he died.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother provided the records.”
“Apparently.”
I looked at Fern.
“So Adrian may have disappeared, changed his name to Evan Hart, met me, and then actually died fourteen months ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why use his dead brother’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because unlike everyone else in this house, I don’t invent answers when I don’t have them.”
I folded my arms.
That shut me up.
For approximately three seconds.
“Then find her.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
His expression went cold.
“I already did.”
I blinked.
“That quickly?”
“She landed in Chicago this afternoon.”
Something dropped inside me.
“Before the blood test?”
“Yes.”
“How would she know?”
“I don’t know.”
This time the words frightened both of us.
By sunrise, the mansion had changed.
More guards.
Locked exterior doors.
Vehicles checking the perimeter.
I wasn’t allowed to leave.
Stellan called it temporary.
I called it imprisonment.
He ignored me.
At nine, Helena Cross arrived.
I expected someone terrifying.
Instead, the woman who stepped from the black sedan looked elegant enough to host charity dinners.
Early sixties.
Silver-blonde hair.
Cream coat.
Perfect posture.
She smiled at Stellan like they had seen each other last weekend rather than twelve years earlier.
“My son.”
Stellan didn’t move.
“Mother.”
Her eyes passed him.
Found me.
Then Fern.
Her smile disappeared.
The reaction lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
So did Stellan.
“You know who she is,” he said.
Helena removed her gloves slowly.
“I know she has Adrian’s eyes.”
My heart stopped.
Stellan stepped between us.
“You knew.”
Helena sighed.
“Must we do this in the entryway?”
“We can do it on the sidewalk if you prefer.”
She studied him.
“You always did inherit your father’s flair for unnecessary drama.”
“Why did you falsify Adrian’s death?”
Helena looked at Fern again.
“For the same reason Adrian changed his name.”
“And that was?”
“To stay alive.”
Nobody spoke.
Finally I said, “Alive from whom?”
Helena’s attention shifted to me.
“Selene Hart.”
My skin went cold.
“You know my name.”
“I know considerably more than your name.”
Stellan’s expression darkened.
“That was the wrong answer.”
Helena gave him a tired look.
“Perhaps we should sit.”
“No.”
“Stellan—”
“Why was Adrian hiding?”
Helena looked toward the guards nearby.
Then lowered her voice.
“Because your brother found something your father had buried.”
“What?”
“Accounts.”
“What accounts?”
“Payments. Judges. Police. Contractors. Politicians. Enough information to destroy people who built careers pretending they had never met the Cross family.”
Stellan’s face remained controlled.
“Father kept records?”
“Of course he did. Your father trusted leverage more than loyalty.”
“Where are they?”
“If I knew, we would not be having this conversation.”
Stellan took one step closer.
“What does any of that have to do with Fern?”
Helena’s gaze rested on my daughter.
“Adrian was convinced someone inside the family intended to kill him for those records. He created Evan Hart. He removed himself from Chicago. I helped establish the identity.”
“You helped him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why tell me he was dead?”
“Because Adrian asked me to.”
That hit Stellan visibly.
“He contacted you?”
“Twice.”
“When?”
“Once after he disappeared. Once shortly before the accident.”
“What did he say?”
Helena’s voice became quieter.
“He said he had finally found something worth leaving the Cross family behind for.”
She looked at me.
“You.”
My throat tightened.
“He told you about me?”
“He told me about Selene.”
Her expression softened when she looked at Fern.
“He did not tell me about the baby.”
Stellan’s eyes narrowed.
“But you knew when you arrived.”
Helena said nothing.
“Who told you?”
Still nothing.
Stellan’s voice dropped.
“Mother.”
She reached into her handbag.
Every guard in the room moved slightly.
Helena rolled her eyes.
“A lifetime away and you still surround yourself with nervous men.”
She removed a folded envelope.
“My attorney received this yesterday.”
She handed it to Stellan.
The envelope was yellowed.
Old.
His name was handwritten across the front.
Stellan opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
I watched his eyes move across it.
“What?”
He gave me the letter.
The handwriting stopped my heart.
I knew it instantly.
Evan’s handwriting.
Adrian’s handwriting.
Selene,
If anything happens to me, do not believe the first story they tell you.
Fern must never be taken to the Cross estate unless Stellan himself is alive.
If she is ever there, it means everything has already gone wrong.
Trust Stellan with her.
Trust no one else.
Not even my mother.
My fingers went numb.
Beneath the message was one more sentence.
A sentence addressed to Stellan.
Brother, if you are reading this, find the blue ledger before they find Fern.
I looked up.
Stellan’s face had become stone.
Helena whispered, “Now you understand.”
“No,” he said.
His eyes moved toward my daughter.
“Now I understand that Adrian knew Fern would exist before he died.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Stellan pointed toward the letter.
“He used her name.”
Fern had been named after my grandmother.
A name I chose in the hospital.
A name I had never told Evan.
I suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Adrian had written the letter before his death.
Before Fern was born.
Yet somehow he knew exactly what I would call her.
Unless—
I looked at Helena.
She looked away.
And I realized the blood test might have answered only the easiest question.
May you like
Because somebody else had been watching me long before Fern was born.
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