Chapter 9 - The Sister Who Knew Too Much
Diane’s house showed no signs of forced entry.
Her purse was still there.
Wallet.
Car keys.
Prescription glasses.
But her passport was gone.
So was one suitcase.
Police initially considered voluntary disappearance.
Tom did not.
“People fleeing internationally usually take their glasses.”
Diane could barely read without them.
Her phone had last pinged near the airport.
But surveillance showed no clear image of her.
Only Rebecca using the alias.
My father sat in my apartment while police searched.
He looked exhausted.
“You should sleep.”
I said.
“So should you.”
“Neither of us will.”
He almost smiled.
At noon, Aunt Carol arrived.
My father’s older sister had distrusted Rebecca for years.
That fact had caused constant family tension.
Rebecca called Carol bitter.
Jealous.
Controlling.
Now Carol walked into my apartment, placed a casserole on the counter, and said the most Carol sentence possible.
“I assume nobody has eaten properly.”
Then she hugged me.
I cried unexpectedly.
Not because Carol was warm.
She rarely was.
Because she believed me without asking for proof.
“I should have listened sooner.”
She stiffened.
“About what?”
“Mom.”
Carol pulled back.
“You tried to tell your father.”
“Yes.”
“Then the person who owes the apology is standing over there.”
My father winced.
Carol looked at him.
“I love you.”
“But you were an idiot.”
My father nodded.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She sat.
“Now tell me everything.”
We did.
Carol listened.
When we mentioned Rebecca Morgan, she frowned.
“What?”
“You know something?”
She stood.
“Wait.”
Carol opened her handbag and pulled out her phone.
She searched photographs.
Then turned the screen toward us.
An old newspaper clipping.
Twenty-seven years earlier.
Charity gala.
My parents.
Young.
Smiling.
Beside them stood a younger Caleb Morgan.
My father stared.
“That’s impossible.”
I looked closer.
Caleb looked perhaps twenty-five.
My parents had been married two years.
“You said you met Caleb ten years later.”
“I thought I did.”
Carol shook her head.
“No.”
“This was the Lexington Children’s Hospital gala.”
“You invited me.”
My father stared at the image.
“I don’t remember him.”
Carol zoomed in.
Caleb stood behind my mother.
His hand rested on the back of her chair.
Not romantic.
But familiar.
My father whispered, “She knew him.”
“For years.”
Carol nodded.
“I remember Rebecca introducing him as someone from college.”
My father looked sick.
“She told me they met through Northbridge.”
“Apparently not.”
The entire affair timeline changed.
Caleb was not a friend who became a lover decades later.
He had existed before my father even knew his name.
Why?
Tom ran background history.
Caleb Morgan grew up in Dayton, Ohio.
So did Rebecca.
They attended the same high school.
Same college.
They had known each other since they were teenagers.
My father stared at the report.
“Twenty-nine years.”
I felt cold.
“Maybe the affair is older too.”
He did not respond.
Tom found another record.
Marriage license application.
Rebecca Lane.
Caleb Morgan.
Twenty-nine years and eight months ago.
No completed certificate.
“They applied to marry.”
My father looked pale.
“Four months before she married me.”
Silence.
“What happened?”
I asked.
No one knew.
Then Carol whispered, “Money.”
We looked at her.
“What?”
“Daniel had just inherited the land from Dad.”
My father frowned.
Our grandfather died the year before my parents married.
He left my father eighty acres outside Richmond.
That land became the first Reeves Development project.
It made him wealthy.
Carol continued.
“Rebecca met you right after the inheritance.”
My father looked at her sharply.
“Are you saying she married me for land?”
“I’m saying Caleb and Rebecca filed for a marriage license.”
“Then four months later, she married the man who inherited development property.”
My father looked toward the window.
“It could be coincidence.”
Carol almost laughed.
“Daniel.”
He closed his eyes.
Tom searched property records.
Three weeks before my parents’ wedding, Caleb incorporated a small construction consultancy.
Ten months later, Reeves Development hired it.
My father stared.
“I didn’t hire Caleb.”
“Who did?”
“Rebecca recommended the company.”
There it was.
Caleb had been inside my father’s business almost from the beginning.
Quietly.
Through vendors.
Consulting.
Then later directly.
My father whispered, “She brought him in.”
Tom nodded.
“Looks that way.”
I felt nauseated.
Project Lily might not have been a late-life betrayal.
It could be the final stage of something that began before I was born.
My phone rang.
Diane.
Everyone froze.
I answered immediately.
“Aunt Diane?”
Breathing.
Then a whisper.
“Anna.”
My father stood.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t…”
Her voice shook.
“I can’t talk long.”
“Are you safe?”
“No.”
Tom moved closer and began tracing.
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
Diane started crying.
“Rebecca came to my house.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“What did she do?”
“She said she needed my passport.”
“Why?”
“She said she needed time.”
My father whispered, “Diane, where are you?”
She heard him.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Forget that.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“I don’t know.”
Her breathing became faster.
“They put me in a car.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“Rebecca and Trevor.”
Trevor Kane.
Monica’s boyfriend.
“Caleb?”
“No.”
“Where did they take you?”
“A building.”
“Can you see anything?”
Diane whispered.
“No windows.”
Tom gestured for me to keep her talking.
“Why are they holding you?”
“Because I wanted out.”
“Out of what?”
“The plan.”
Silence.
My father’s face hardened.
“You knew all of it?”
Diane began sobbing.
“I knew enough.”
“How much?”
“The fake pregnancy.”
“The baby.”
“The shares.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I was scared.”
“And paid.”
My father said it coldly.
Diane cried harder.
“Yes.”
“At least tell the truth now.”
She took a breath.
“Rebecca promised me eight million.”
My father closed his eyes.
“We know.”
“She said nobody would get hurt.”
I almost shouted.
“You helped her fake a pregnancy and steal Dad’s company.”
“How did nobody get hurt?”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
She went quiet.
I heard a door.
Diane inhaled sharply.
“They’re coming.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Aunt Diane, listen to me.”
“You need to leave your phone on.”
“I can’t.”
“Please.”
Her voice dropped.
“Anna.”
“Yes?”
“Ask your father about the night you were born.”
My skin prickled.
“What?”
She started crying again.
“Rebecca never told him.”
“Told him what?”
The line crackled.
Then Diane whispered the sentence that made my father go completely still.
“Caleb was at the hospital.”
The call ended.
Tom stared at his tracing screen.
My father stared at me.
I felt something terrible forming between us.
“No.”
He said.
I knew what he was thinking.
So did Carol.
My father’s voice became barely audible.
“Why was Caleb at the hospital when Anna was born?”
No one answered.
And for the first time in my life, I saw my father afraid that the man who had stolen his wife and tried to steal his company might have taken something from him twenty-eight years earlier.
May you like
Me.
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