Chapter 4 - THE HIDDEN RECORD
Victor’s eyes fixed on the yellowed envelope before Raymond snapped the briefcase shut.
“Sign the papers, Victor. We don’t have all afternoon.”
“Leave them on the desk,” Victor replied quietly, keeping his voice steady despite the tempest inside him. “I’ll review the covenants tonight.”
Raymond studied Victor’s face with practiced suspicion. “Don’t let sentimentality cloud your judgment, son. Sentimentality ruined your father.” With a crisp nod, the older man gathered his coat and cane and walked out, his steps echoing until the front door shut with a heavy thud.
The moment the car engine faded down the driveway, Rose stepped into the library, shutting the heavy double doors behind her. Behind her came Kiara.
“He paid for her to stay there,” Victor said, the realization settling into his chest like lead. “St. Jude’s was funded by Raymond.”
“Not by Raymond, sir,” Kiara said softly. “By the estate. When I turned sixteen, I was assigned to the administrative office at the orphanage to organize filing cabinets. St. Jude’s received a private endowment every quarter from a foundation called the River Willow Trust.”
Victor turned pale. “River Willow was my mother’s private charity. Only two people had signing authority after she passed: my father and Raymond.”
Rose gripped the edge of a chair, her voice shaking with long-suppressed emotion. “Your father never touched that trust after Helena disappeared, Victor. He couldn't bear to look at anything with your mother’s name on it. It was Raymond who handled the payments.”
“Why would Raymond hide Helena in an orphanage instead of hurting her or demanding ransom?” Victor asked, running a hand through his hair.
“Because of the inheritance bylaws,” Rose said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Your grandfather’s will stipulated that if Helena was deceased, the estate passed entirely to you at age thirty. But if she was alive and absent, the estate remained under trust control until she turned thirty-five—allowing the executor to collect millions in management fees each year while controlling the voting shares.”
A cold fury ignited in Victor’s veins. Raymond hadn't just stolen his sister; he had kept her just alive enough to milk the family fortune while leaving Victor trapped in a life of perpetual grief.
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“Kiara,” Victor said, looking directly at the young maid. “Where was Clara sent when she left St. Jude’s?”
Kiara pulled a folded, tattered piece of paper from the pocket of her apron. “She wrote down an address in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, before they put her in the car. A farm owned by a woman named Martha Hayes. Clara made me promise never to lose it. She told me: ‘If someone ever comes looking for the girl with the swallow, tell them I’m near the red bridge.’”
