Chapter 4 - THE WATCH MY MOTHER LEFT BEHIND
“My mother knew Julian?”
The question hung inside the armored sedan.
My father stared at the blue paper as if it had appeared from another world.
“That's impossible,” he said.
I studied his face.
“Why?”
“Because Julian was nowhere near our family when Helena died.”
“Then explain his name.”
He couldn't.
Caspian leaned forward.
“We shouldn't assume the writing was added at the same time.”
He pointed toward the ink.
My mother's note was written in faded blue.
Julian's name appeared in darker black.
Someone had added it later.
That should have comforted me.
Instead, it made everything worse.
Someone had found my mother's private warning.
Someone had altered it.
And somehow it had ended up hidden inside Caspian's watch case.
At the Devo residence overlooking Central Park, a physician examined me.
My blood pressure was elevated.
There was mild tenderness, but no sign of an immediate emergency.
Because of how early my pregnancy was, the doctor recommended rest, monitoring, and follow-up care.
Only after I heard that did I finally cry.
Not graceful tears.
Not the kind that fall quietly down a woman's cheeks in movies.
I cried because I'd been frightened.
Because I'd almost fallen down those stairs.
Because the man who should have protected me had watched another woman humiliate me.
My father sat beside the bed.
He handed me a tissue.
“I should have come looking for you.”
I shook my head.
“I asked you not to.”
“That doesn't mean I should have stopped being your father.”
I looked away.
Three years earlier, when I'd announced I was marrying Julian, Dad had objected.
Not because Julian lacked money.
Because Dad believed he was ambitious in dangerous ways.
I'd accused him of controlling my life.
I'd said terrible things.
Then I left.
Now, sitting in my childhood bedroom, I understood something painful.
My father had been wrong to try to choose my future.
But I had been wrong to mistake every warning for an insult.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
He squeezed my hand.
“So am I.”
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Caspian entered.
He carried a narrow wooden box.
Mom's jewelry box.
“I think you should see something.”
He placed it on the bed.
Inside were old photographs, letters, and a small velvet pouch.
I opened the pouch.
Empty.
My grandmother's emerald necklace had once been kept there.
The same necklace Eleanor wore in Zurich.
Dad sat straighter.
“That necklace disappeared from the Foundation's vault after Helena died.”
“Was Eleanor accused?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you report it?”
His expression turned troubled.
“No.”
I stared at him.
“Why not?”
“Because there were other things missing. Documents. Financial records. And Eleanor claimed your mother had authorized the transfers.”
“Did she?”
“I didn't believe her.”
“But you didn't report her?”
Dad looked down.
“I was afraid the investigation would expose private financial arrangements your mother had made.”
Caspian crossed his arms.
“What arrangements?”
Dad hesitated.
“Helena established a protected fund for both of you. It was intended to remain independent of Devo Capital.”
That was news to me.
“How much money?”
“Enough that neither of you would ever need the family business.”
I felt cold.
“And Julian knew about it?”
“We don't know.”
Caspian opened a second compartment inside the jewelry box.
There was a photograph of my mother standing beside Eleanor.
Behind them stood a much younger man.
He was wearing a gray coat and holding a leather briefcase.
Julian.
He looked barely twenty-five.
The picture had been taken ten years earlier.
A year before my mother died.
I stared at it.
My mother was smiling.
Julian stood close enough to touch her shoulder.
The room seemed to shrink around me.
“He told me he'd never met anyone in my family.”
Dad took the photograph.
His face changed.
“I remember this event.”
“Then you remember Julian?”
“No. I remember the coat.”
He pointed toward the gray fabric.
“That belonged to Michael Vale.”
“Eleanor's husband?”
Dad nodded.
“He disappeared from the Foundation's payroll shortly after this photograph was taken.”
Caspian looked at me.
“Julian may have been introduced under another name.”
I felt sick.
My entire marriage suddenly seemed built on questions.
Had he loved me?
Had he recognized me before I recognized him?
Had our meeting at that little Manhattan bookstore been arranged?
I remembered how he'd approached me beside the history shelves.
How he'd asked whether the book in my hand was worth buying.
How he'd remembered my birthday.
My favorite flowers.
The name of my childhood dog.
Things I'd believed were signs of affection.
Now I wondered where he'd learned them.
My father carefully turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
And a handwritten caption.
HELENA'S PRIVATE BENEFICIARY MEETING.
Beneath it were two words.
JULIAN KNOWS.
Caspian stared.
Then my father whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“Your mother changed her will the morning after this photograph was taken.”
May you like
He looked at me.
“And Aara, she specifically named a future husband as someone who must never control your inheritance.”
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