Chapter 4 - THE BABY IN THE WHITE HOUSE
I remembered every Sunday.
The drive through the iron gates.
The white stone mansion surrounded by carefully trimmed hedges.
Graham Whitmore greeting us in his private sitting room with expensive coffee and a newspaper folded beside his chair.
And the baby.
A little girl named Evie.
Tessa's supposed cousin's daughter.
Sometimes she sat in a high chair near the breakfast table.
Sometimes a nanny carried her through the room.
Once, she reached toward my watch and laughed when the silver band caught the sunlight.
I had played peekaboo with her.
I had kissed the top of her head.
And I had no idea she was mine.
Maren watched me go pale.
“You've seen her,” she said.
I nodded.
“Several times.”
Her hand tightened around Oliver.
“Was she healthy?”
“Yes.”
“Did she look happy?”
I couldn't make myself answer immediately.
I remembered Evie's smile.
But I also remembered how quickly the nanny had taken her away whenever Tessa entered.
“She looked cared for,” I said.
“That wasn't what I asked.”
I lowered my eyes.
Maren looked down at the pink mitten in her lap.
“Does she still have the mark above her eyebrow?”
“Yes.”
Maren closed her eyes.
For a moment, the only sound in the cabin was Noah breathing softly in his crib.
Then she stood.
“I want to see her.”
“We need to do this carefully.”
“Carefully?”
Her voice remained quiet.
“Rowan, I've spent eight months being careful. I've been polite to people who called me unstable. I've written letters nobody answered. I've saved grocery money for bus tickets to appointments that were canceled when I arrived.”
She looked directly at me.
“Careful hasn't brought my daughter home.”
She was right.
But I also knew Graham Whitmore.
He had enough lawyers to keep a case tied up for years.
And Tessa had already demonstrated how far she would go.
“We'll go today,” I said. “But we won't do anything that gives them an excuse to keep June.”
Maren studied me.
“We?”
I nodded.
“If you'll let me help.”
She looked at the two boys.
“Helping isn't the same as deciding.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
I met her eyes.
“I'm trying to.”
We spent the next hour organizing the evidence.
I called my longtime attorney, Eleanor Price, a woman who had handled my corporate affairs for fifteen years.
When I explained the situation, her response was immediate.
“Rowan, this is a family court matter and potentially a criminal one. You need separate counsel for both. I'll coordinate, but you don't get to solve this by walking into somebody's house and making demands.”
I glanced at Maren.
“She wants to see her daughter.”
“Then our first priority is a lawful emergency request for contact and preservation of the existing records. Bring me everything.”
I told Eleanor about the forged signature.
“And don't contact Tessa yet,” she added. “Not until we understand what she knows.”
I agreed.
Then I did something I should have done long before.
I asked Maren what she wanted.
She considered it.
“I want a lawyer who represents me. Not you.”
“Of course.”
“And I don't want your money to make me dependent on you.”
“I understand.”
She looked at the patched stroller.
“I could use a new wheel.”
Something in my chest broke.
I could have purchased the entire property without checking my bank balance.
But the woman I'd once promised to love had been choosing between stroller repairs and groceries.
“I'll fix the stroller,” I said.
“No,” she replied. “You'll find somebody who knows how to fix it. You always did think you were better with tools than you actually were.”
For the first time, I heard the faintest trace of the woman I'd married.
I almost smiled.
Then I remembered why I was there.
By afternoon, we were at Eleanor's office.
Maren sat across from an independent family attorney named Grace Holloway.
Grace listened without interrupting.
She examined the hospital receipt, the visitor's pass, and the forged signature.
Then she asked Maren to describe the day June had been taken.
Maren told the story steadily until she reached the part about the little pink mitten.
Her voice failed.
Grace waited.
Nobody rushed her.
When she finished, Grace leaned forward.
“You didn't abandon your daughter. Your account and this receipt indicate that you consented to medical treatment, not permanent adoption.”
Maren pressed a hand against her mouth.
Grace continued.
“We still need the original medical and court records. But we have grounds to challenge the guardianship and request immediate contact.”
I wanted to promise Maren we'd have June back before nightfall.
Instead, I stayed silent.
I was beginning to learn that a promise meant nothing without the work behind it.
Eleanor had an investigator confirm that June was still at the Whitmore estate.
Then she arranged for Grace to seek an expedited hearing.
It couldn't happen immediately.
But Grace obtained permission for Maren to deliver a request for a welfare visit through the proper channels.
That evening, we drove to Graham's estate.
Maren insisted on coming.
I didn't argue.
As we approached the house, she leaned forward.
“There.”
A little girl was sitting beside a window on the ground floor.
The room behind her glowed warmly.
A woman in a navy uniform crouched beside her, holding a stuffed rabbit.
June reached for the toy.
Maren made a sound I would remember for the rest of my life.
It was barely a whisper.
“My baby.”
I stopped the SUV outside the gates.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Maren unbuckled her seat belt.
“I need to get closer.”
I reached for my phone.
“Let me call Eleanor.”
She waited.
I spoke to Eleanor, who told us not to enter the property without permission.
Maren listened without complaint.
But her eyes never left that window.
A security guard approached the vehicle.
“Mr. Whitlock?”
“Tell Mr. Whitmore I'm here.”
“He's expecting you, sir.”
That startled me.
The gates opened.
Maren looked at me.
“Why would he be expecting you?”
I had no answer.
We drove to the front entrance.
Graham stood on the steps wearing a cream-colored sweater, his gray hair perfectly combed.
He greeted me with the familiar smile he'd used at every family dinner.
“Rowan. I was beginning to wonder when you'd come.”
Then he noticed Maren.
His smile disappeared.
“I see.”
Maren stepped forward.
“I want to see my daughter.”
Graham glanced toward the window.
“I'm afraid that isn't possible tonight.”
“She's right there.”
“She has a routine.”
Maren's hands trembled.
“She's a baby, not an appointment.”
Something flickered across Graham's face.
Not anger.
Weariness.
“I realize this is difficult.”
I stepped beside Maren.
“Where's Tessa?”
“At a hospital fundraiser.”
“Does she know I'm here?”
“She will.”
Graham studied me.
“You found Mercer's file, didn't you?”
I stared at him.
He sighed.
“Your father was a complicated man, Rowan.”
“Don't talk to me about my father. Tell me why my daughter is in your house.”
Graham looked toward the front door.
For a moment, I thought he might tell us everything.
Instead, he said, “Come inside.”
Maren hesitated.
I waited for her decision.
She nodded.
We followed him into the sitting room.
On the mantel stood a framed photograph of Tessa holding June.
Beside it was an older picture.
My father and Graham Whitmore shaking hands outside Whitlock Industries.
The photograph had been taken years before I'd ever met Tessa.
Maren noticed something on the mantel.
A small silver music box shaped like a swan.
She stopped breathing.
“That belonged to my mother.”
Graham turned.
“What?”
Maren picked up the music box with trembling hands.
“My mother gave me this when I got married. I kept it in the nursery closet.”
I stared at Graham.
“How did that get here?”
He looked genuinely startled.
“I was told the child's belongings came from storage.”
“From whose storage?”
Graham opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
A woman's voice came from the hallway.
“Daddy, don't answer that.”
Tessa stood in the doorway wearing a dark green evening gown.
She held June against her shoulder.
And the moment June saw Maren, the baby reached both arms toward her.
Tessa tightened her hold.
“Careful, Maren,” she said softly. “If you touch her, the court may consider it a violation.”
Maren went completely still.
Tessa looked at me.
Then she smiled sadly.
“Rowan, there's something nobody has told you.”
She shifted June to her other arm.
“Your father didn't steal this baby because he wanted to punish Maren.”
May you like
Her eyes moved toward Graham.
“He took her because he believed June was the only person who could save your company.”
