When I asked Mercer what had happened to the third baby, the detective looked away.
“I don’t know the whole truth, Rowan.”
We were in his office, surrounded by the files from the investigation that had destroyed my marriage to Megan a year earlier.
Back then, I had believed the photographs, the messages, and the accusations of infidelity. Above all, I had trusted Claire Whitmore, the woman who claimed she wanted to protect my family.
Now I was learning that Megan had given birth to three children.
And I had only met two of them.
Mercer opened a drawer and pulled out a brown folder.
“These documents reached me after your divorce. A nurse at St. Catherine’s Hospital noticed suspicious changes in the medical records.”
I picked up the first page. Megan’s name appeared beside the date of her delivery. Farther down, one sentence caught my eye:
Multiple pregnancy. Three live births.
It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Mercer hesitated.
“I tried to contact you. Claire answered at your office. Then she offered me forty thousand dollars to stop asking questions.”
I stared at him.
“You took it?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, I wanted to grab him by the collar.
But one question mattered more than my anger.
“Where is my son?”
Mercer took out another document. The third newborn had been transferred urgently after birth. He had a heart defect and needed specialized care.
The name of Dr. Elias Voss was on the form.
I knew him. He had worked as a consultant for Bellamy Technologies and had close professional ties to Claire.
“Find him,” I ordered.
Mercer nodded.
Before we left his office, he handed me an envelope. I recognized Megan’s handwriting immediately.
Inside was a letter.
Rowan,
I never cheated on you. I didn’t steal your grandmother’s necklace, either. I tried to talk to you, but someone got between us every time.
Our children are safe, as far as I can keep them protected.
If you ever decide to look for the truth, take a close look at the people you trusted.
Megan.
I stared at those words for a long time.
Then I asked Mercer who had given him the letter.
“Judith Hale. Your grandmother’s former housekeeper.”
That evening, we went to see her.
Judith lived in a small house in Murfreesboro. When she saw me at the door, she didn’t smile.
“So you’ve finally decided to listen, Rowan?”
I lowered my head.
“I came to find out what happened to Megan.”
She let us in. In her cinnamon-scented living room, Judith told me what no one else had dared to reveal.
After our separation, Megan had tried to reach me many times. She had called, sent letters, and even waited outside the gates of my property.
Claire had intercepted every message.
“And the third child?” I asked.
Judith folded her hands.
“Megan signed a form allowing him to be transferred to a specialized facility. She was told it was necessary to save his life.”
“And then?”
“They wouldn’t let her see him again.”
A sharp pain tightened in my chest.
Judith went on.
“When Megan asked for information, she discovered that the baby had been placed temporarily with a family. The documents listed a different surname.”
“Which one?”
“Vale.”
I knew that name, too. Nathaniel Vale had been an executive in my company’s medical division. He had left his position around the same time as Dr. Voss.
“Does Megan know where the child is?”
“Not exactly. But she never stopped looking for him.”
Judith explained that Megan worked part-time at a bookstore in Franklin and was raising the twins with enormous sacrifices. She wasn’t waiting for me to come back and save her.
She only wanted to find her son.
“There’s something else,” Judith added.
She stood up and returned with a small brass key.
“Megan had written everything down in a notebook: names, dates, phone calls. She gave it to your grandmother before she died.”
I looked at the key.
“Where is the notebook?”
“Maybe in her old desk.”
I immediately remembered the dark wooden desk. After my grandmother died, Claire had arranged to move the furniture from her library to a storage facility owned by my company.
Just then, my phone rang. It was Daniel Price, my chief financial officer.
“Rowan, we’ve found several suspicious transactions in your grandmother’s trust.”
“What kind of transactions?”
“Payments to a medical-records management company in Oregon and a private family-services organization in Georgia.”
I stiffened.
“Who authorized them?”
Daniel hesitated.
“An old executive access account registered under Claire Whitmore’s name.”
I ordered him to freeze the account immediately and preserve every transaction record.
Then Mercer and I headed to the storage facility.
It was almost midnight.
My grandmother’s desk stood at the back of a room filled with furniture covered in sheets. I put the key in the lock.
It turned easily.
Inside the drawer, I found letters, photographs, a silver pen, and a small black notebook. My name was written on the first page.
I recognized Megan’s handwriting.
I flipped through the pages quickly. There were notes about the hospital, the missing necklace, and several meetings I had never heard about.
Then I found a page marked with a blue ribbon. Three names were underlined:
Elias Voss.
Nathaniel Vale.
Claire Whitmore.
A fourth name appeared just below them:
Lydia Vale — temporary guardian.
I turned the page. A photocopy showed a hospital certificate. The child’s name was perfectly clear:
Elliot Bellamy.
My son.
For nearly a year, I hadn’t even known his name.
Beneath the certificate was a guardianship authorization. My signature was at the bottom.
But I had never signed that document.
Another line stated that approval had been confirmed through an executive biometric access account.
Someone had used my identity.
I was about to call Daniel when a handwritten note from my grandmother caught my attention:
Claire didn’t make this decision alone. She’s protecting someone.
I looked up at Mercer.
“Who is Lydia Vale, really?”
Before he could answer, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen.
“It’s Megan.”
I took the phone from him.
“Megan?”
“Rowan, I know you found the notebook.”
I couldn’t speak for a moment.
“How do you know?”
“Because someone is watching the house.”
I looked around.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes. The twins are with Rosa.”
“Tell me where you are. I’m coming right now.”
“No. You need to listen to me first.”
Her voice trembled slightly.
“Elliot may not know he’s our son. Lydia and Nathaniel may have raised him believing everything was legal.”
I closed my eyes.
“We’ll find the proof, Megan. I promise.”
There was a long silence.
“Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock, at Rosa’s,” she finally said. “Come alone.”
“I’ll be there.”
She hung up.
I stood in front of the desk, the notebook open in my hands. At last, I knew my third child’s name—but I still didn’t know who had arranged for him to disappear.
Then I noticed one final note hidden in the corner of the page. It was written in my grandmother’s hand:
“If Claire is protecting someone, find out who was truly afraid of Rowan learning that Elliot existed.”
I looked at Mercer.
For the first time, I realized that he seemed terrified, too.
END OF PART 2 — THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART 3. GO BACK TO THE COMMENTS AND CLICK THE PART 3 LINK TO KEEP READING.
