Chapter 2 - The Letter Rebecca Never Delivered
Adrian waited until the birthday candles were extinguished.
He did not confront Charles.
Not yet.
Instead, he found Rosa in the pantry twenty minutes later.
“Give me the letter.”
She looked uncertain.
“It belongs to your mother.”
“Then we'll give it to her.”
Rosa removed an envelope from her purse.
It was old.
Adrian recognized his mother's name immediately.
Eleanor Whitmore.
Written in blue ink.
Across the back was another sentence.
FOR SAM, WHEN SOMEONE IS FINALLY WILLING TO LISTEN.
Adrian's stomach tightened.
“Did Charles know this existed?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Rebecca accuse him of something?”
“She wouldn't tell me.”
“Why?”
“She was frightened.”
Adrian turned the envelope over.
The seal was intact.
“Where did you get it?”
“Rebecca gave it to me before she left.”
“Seven years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And you kept it?”
“She made me promise.”
“To hide it?”
“To wait.”
“For what?”
Rosa's eyes moved toward the dining room.
“For someone in this family to show kindness to her son without knowing who he was.”
Adrian stared at her.
“That sounds impossible.”
“She believed character reveals itself before information changes it.”
That sounded like something Rebecca might have learned from Eleanor.
Adrian remembered his mother saying something similar when he was young.
“How did Sam end up here tonight?”
“He followed me.”
“You said that already.”
“He knew I was coming to Mrs. Whitmore's birthday. He wanted to see the house where his mother worked.”
“And you let him?”
“I told him he could wait near the staff entrance.”
Adrian frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he's seven, Mr. Whitmore. He wanted to see one place his mother used to talk about.”
The answer silenced him.
“Where is he sleeping tonight?”
Rosa looked down.
“I was hoping my sister could take him.”
“Hoping?”
“She hasn't answered.”
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
“No.”
Rosa looked up.
“He isn't going back to a shelter tonight.”
“Mr. Whitmore—”
“He can stay in the guest wing.”
“That will create questions.”
“Let them.”
And it did.
Charles found Adrian fifteen minutes later.
“This is absurd.”
“What is?”
“You've apparently instructed the staff to prepare a room for that child.”
“His name is Sam.”
“I don't care what his name is.”
Adrian's voice cooled.
“You should.”
Charles stopped.
“Why?”
Adrian watched him.
“Rebecca Hale.”
The color left Charles's face so quickly that Adrian almost missed it.
Almost.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“So you remember her.”
“Of course I remember her. She stole from us.”
“Did she?”
Charles looked offended.
“There were irregularities.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“Adrian, don't turn a child's unfortunate circumstances into some ridiculous conspiracy.”
“I haven't.”
“Then stop digging through ancient business.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother is seventy years old and deserves one evening without scandal.”
Adrian smiled without humor.
“Interesting choice of word.”
Charles walked away.
That was when Adrian knew.
Whatever Rebecca's letter contained, Charles was afraid of it.
Later that night, after the guests had left, Eleanor sat in the library with Adrian.
The envelope rested between them.
Sam was upstairs.
Lily had insisted that he be given the room across from hers.
Eleanor touched Rebecca's handwriting.
“I wondered what happened to her.”
“You believed she stole money?”
“No.”
Adrian stared at his mother.
“Then why was she fired?”
“I was told she resigned.”
“Charles says she stole.”
Eleanor's face changed.
“Charles told you that?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor picked up the letter opener.
The paper inside contained three handwritten pages.
She read silently.
Halfway through the second page, her hand began trembling.
“Mother?”
Eleanor continued.
Then she covered her mouth.
Adrian stood.
“What is it?”
She handed him the letter.
Rebecca had discovered payments from the Whitmore Foundation to a network of shell charities.
The amounts were small enough individually to avoid scrutiny.
Together, they totaled almost two million dollars.
Rebecca had traced the authorization codes.
They belonged to Charles.
But there was more.
She had confronted him.
According to the letter, Charles threatened to accuse her of theft if she spoke.
Then came the sentence that made Adrian sit down.
I was pregnant when he dismissed me. The stress and accusations cost me every reference I had. I am not asking for money. I am asking you to make sure my child never grows up believing his mother was a thief.
Adrian read it twice.
Then a third time.
At the bottom was a photocopied ledger entry.
Eleanor whispered, “I never saw this.”
“I believe you.”
“I would have helped her.”
“I know.”
Eleanor looked toward the ceiling.
“That's her son upstairs?”
“Yes.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Seven years.”
Adrian sat beside her.
“We don't know whether the accusations are true.”
“I know Charles.”
“So do I.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “You know the version of Charles who survived what he did.”
Adrian frowned.
“What does that mean?”
His mother folded her hands.
“When your grandfather died, the company was almost bankrupt.”
Adrian knew that.
“Charles saved it.”
“That is the story.”
“Isn't it true?”
“Partly.”
Eleanor looked at Rebecca's letter.
“He became obsessed with never being poor again.”
Adrian almost laughed.
The Whitmores had not been poor in generations.
But Eleanor shook her head.
“Not poor like you understand it. When Charles was nine, our father lost almost everything. For eighteen months, we lived with relatives. Charles never forgot the humiliation.”
“That doesn't excuse stealing charitable money.”
“No.”
A sound came from the doorway.
They turned.
Sam stood there.
Barefoot.
He was wearing borrowed pajamas.
“I'm sorry.”
Adrian rose.
“You're fine.”
“I couldn't sleep.”
Eleanor looked at him.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she smiled.
“Come here.”
Sam hesitated.
Adrian expected him to refuse.
Instead, he crossed the room.
Eleanor reached for his hand.
“I knew your mother.”
Sam froze.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Was she bad?”
The question broke something in the room.
Eleanor's eyes filled.
“No.”
Sam swallowed.
“People said she stole.”
“She didn't.”
“How do you know?”
Eleanor glanced at the letter.
“Because your mother told the truth when lying would have been easier.”
Sam looked at the envelope.
“Is that hers?”
“Yes.”
“Can I read it?”
“When you're older, if you want.”
Sam nodded.
Then he asked the question Adrian had been dreading.
“Did she say anything about my dad?”
Eleanor looked at Adrian.
Adrian looked at the final page.
There had been no mention of Sam's father.
Except for one line he had initially overlooked.
A line written vertically in the margin.
If anything happens to me, ask Thomas Mercer what he gave Charles the night Sam was born.
“Who's Thomas Mercer?” Adrian asked.
Eleanor's face went white.
Sam looked between them.
“Grandma?”
It was the first time he had accidentally called her that.
Nobody corrected him.
Eleanor stared at the name.
“Thomas Mercer was our family attorney.”
“Was?”
“He disappeared seven years ago.”
“When?”
Eleanor looked at Sam.
Then back at Adrian.
May you like
“Three days after this boy was born.”
---
