Chapter 6 - THE LETTER I WAS NEVER ALLOWED TO READ
I recognized my father's handwriting immediately.
Those sharp capital letters.
That heavy downward stroke on every T.
I'd seen it on birthday cards, school permission slips, and the occasional check he gave me when he wanted something in return.
Now it was written across a letter from the woman who had spent thirty-seven years trying to find me.
"How did you get this?" I asked.
Miriam sat beside me.
"Rebecca mailed it to the Whitmore house. Thomas returned it through an intermediary who claimed Elizabeth had no interest in contact."
I stared at the envelope.
"Did Rebecca believe him?"
"At first."
Daniel examined the postal markings.
"The mailing date was four months ago. That could be relevant to establishing what Thomas knew."
I opened the letter.
The handwriting was careful, almost painfully neat.
Dear Elizabeth,
I have rewritten this letter more times than I can count.
I don't know what you've been told about me. I don't know whether you hate me, or whether you even know I exist.
But there is one thing I need you to understand.
I never stopped being your mother.
I couldn't read any further.
Miriam gently took my hand.
"There's no rush."
But there was.
I'd already lost thirty-seven years.
I forced myself to continue.
Rebecca described my first six weeks.
She wrote about how I hated having my feet covered.
How Clara would sit beside my crib and sing a made-up song about a little bird.
How I'd fallen asleep every evening with my tiny fist wrapped around one finger.
Then came the sentence that broke me.
I gave you to Thomas because he promised to bring you back when I was well. I have spent my whole life wishing I had understood what that promise was worth.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
"Where is she?"
Miriam looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
"She lives in Vermont."
"Then I want to see her."
"There is something you need to know first."
My stomach tightened.
"Please don't tell me she's dying."
"No, sweetheart. Rebecca is alive. But she's been ill, and she's frightened of what Thomas might do if she speaks."
Daniel asked, "Does Clara live with her?"
"Nearby. Clara works as a physical therapist. She helps care for Rebecca."
I stared at the photograph again.
A sister.
A mother.
People who had been alive while I'd been convinced I was the unwanted one.
"Why did Grandpa never bring us together?"
Miriam sighed.
"Henry was trying to establish what happened without exposing Rebecca to Thomas's threats. He believed the financial records could protect her if Thomas retaliated."
"Protect her from what?"
"Thomas used Rebecca's name in some of those transactions. If the evidence came out without context, she could be blamed."
Daniel nodded slowly.
"That explains why Henry was tracing the money."
Miriam opened her notebook to a page marked with a blue ribbon.
"Henry asked me to keep this."
It was a photocopy of an older transfer instruction.
The recipient was Whitmore Family Holdings.
The amount was $640,000.
The same transfer I'd seen in Daniel's office.
But this copy had something the other didn't.
An authorization line signed with Rebecca Bennett's name.
Miriam pointed to it.
"Rebecca never approved that transaction."
I looked at Daniel.
"Another forgery?"
"Possibly. The original needs examination."
Then Miriam showed us a second document.
A handwritten instruction from my father directing company staff to process the transfer using an existing signature specimen.
My chest went cold.
He hadn't merely taken money.
He had left a trail pointing toward the woman he'd already separated from her child.
"Why?" I whispered.
Miriam looked exhausted.
"Because Rebecca discovered he was moving family funds to cover losses. He needed her silent."
Daniel photographed the documents with Miriam's permission.
Then his expression changed.
"Elizabeth, this also raises a question about the Swiss account."
"What question?"
"The $6.78 million may not be a personal gift. It could contain recovered money, investment proceeds, or assets belonging to more than one beneficiary."
I looked at him.
"Then we find out."
He nodded.
"That's exactly what Henry wanted."
My phone vibrated on the table.
It was Madison.
For a moment, I considered ignoring her.
Then I answered.
"Elizabeth?"
She sounded different.
No sarcasm.
No practiced irritation.
Just fear.
"Madison, I'm busy."
"I know. But you need to hear this."
I closed my eyes.
"What happened?"
"The investigator showed me a copy of the commercial loan application."
"And?"
"My signature is on the guarantor section."
I sat upright.
"Did you sign it?"
"No."
The room went silent.
Madison started crying.
"Dad told me the company would handle everything. He told me I didn't have to worry."
I looked at Daniel.
He was already reaching for a notepad.
"Madison, are you somewhere safe?"
"I'm at Mom's sister's apartment."
"Good. Don't confront Dad. Preserve everything you have."
She took a shaky breath.
Then she said something I'd never expected to hear from her.
"Elizabeth, I think Dad used both of us."
My eyes filled.
May you like
Before I could answer, she added:
"And I found something in his briefcase. A payment receipt with Rebecca Bennett's name on it—dated three days ago."
