Chapter 11 - The Mother Eliza Buried
Catherine Reynolds had supposedly died four years earlier.
Cancer.
Eliza had held her hand in hospice.
She had watched nurses stop the monitors.
She had arranged the funeral.
Dominic said nothing when Eliza repeated those facts.
Gabriel did.
“Closed casket?”
Eliza stared.
“Yes.”
The pattern was becoming horrifyingly familiar.
Catherine had been buried in Vermont.
Within twenty-four hours, Dominic obtained authorization for an exhumation through lawyers cooperating with federal investigators.
The coffin was empty.
Eliza sat beside the grave and laughed.
Then cried.
Then stopped feeling anything.
“Everyone is alive,” she whispered.
Dominic sat beside her.
“Apparently.”
“Maybe my kindergarten teacher is secretly running a cartel.”
“Possible.”
She looked at him.
“Was that humor?”
“I’m experimenting.”
She almost smiled.
They searched Catherine’s old records.
A rental unit in Albany led to photographs.
Files.
New identities.
Catherine had spent decades collecting evidence against the Castellanos.
Not because she hated Eliza.
Because she hated Victoria.
And Dominic’s father.
Catherine’s husband—Eliza’s adoptive father—had been killed in a construction accident linked to one of their companies.
Eliza barely remembered him.
She had been three.
Catherine blamed the family.
Yet she raised Isabella’s daughter anyway.
Why?
A letter explained.
Because Elizabeth was never responsible for what her blood relatives did.
Eliza cried while reading it.
Catherine had loved her.
That truth survived every lie.
Then they found something else.
A train ticket purchased two weeks earlier under Catherine’s alias.
Destination: Montreal.
Dominic’s team located her within hours.
She lived above a bakery.
When Eliza knocked, Catherine opened the door.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Eliza slapped her.
Catherine accepted it.
Then Eliza hugged her.
Both women collapsed into tears.
“You died.”
“I know.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
“You are the worst mother.”
“I know.”
Eliza laughed through tears.
“Stop agreeing.”
Catherine touched her face.
“You look beautiful.”
“I look exhausted.”
“You always looked beautiful exhausted.”
Dominic waited downstairs.
Catherine noticed.
“That’s Dominic?”
“Yes.”
“He looks like his father.”
“He hates hearing that.”
“Good.”
Over coffee, Catherine revealed her plan.
She had discovered Crown years earlier.
When Victoria threatened Eliza, Catherine staged her death to investigate without making Eliza a target.
Mark eventually found her.
Together, they tried to expose Victoria.
But Catherine did not trust Dominic.
“Why?”
“Because his father taught him.”
Dominic accepted the accusation quietly.
Catherine studied him.
“But he may have changed.”
Eliza smiled faintly.
“He makes terrible eggs.”
Catherine looked confused.
“Long story.”
Then Catherine revealed another twist.
She knew Mark was not the baby’s biological father.
She knew about the embryo.
She had attempted to stop the transfer.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because by the time I discovered it, you were already pregnant.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“I wanted evidence first.”
Eliza stood.
“No.”
Catherine looked startled.
“No more protecting me with lies.”
“Eliza—”
“No. Everybody says they lied because they loved me. Mark. You. Gabriel. Dominic’s family. Enough.”
Silence.
“If you love me, tell me the truth even when it hurts.”
Catherine nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
That was the moment Eliza changed.
Not from frightened analyst to mafia heiress.
From someone things happened to—
into someone who chose what happened next.
She returned to New York.
She released a public statement.
Not through Dominic.
Not through lawyers.
On camera.
“My name is Eliza Reynolds. For the last several days, strangers have discussed my pregnancy, my family, and my life as if I were a headline instead of a person.”
Millions watched.
“I did not choose the circumstances that created this situation. But I choose what happens now.”
She announced full cooperation with federal investigators.
She froze every Castellano company tied to Crown.
She created an independent legal trust for employees whose jobs could be affected.
And then she said:
“My unborn child is not a bargaining chip, an heir for sale, or a symbol for strangers to fight over.”
The clip went viral.
Overnight, public opinion changed.
People shared it.
Women wrote messages of support.
Parents defended her.
Even hostile outlets softened.
But attention created new danger.
The next morning, someone mailed a package to Eliza’s temporary residence.
Inside was a baby blanket.
And one photograph.
Mark standing outside the hospital.
Taken that morning.
On the back:
HE LIED TO YOU AGAIN.
Eliza confronted him.
Mark looked at the photograph.
Then sat down.
“What?”
He looked terrified.
“Eliza…”
“What did you lie about?”
“I didn’t want to tell you until I knew.”
“Knew what?”
He handed her a medical report.
Mark Tanner’s fertility diagnosis had been falsified.
He was not infertile.
In fact, the paternity test excluding him had been manipulated.
Eliza stared.
“What?”
Mark’s voice shook.
May you like
“The baby might be mine after all.”
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