Chapter 2 - THE BABY WHO WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO EXIST
“The woman you called Mother was never the woman who gave birth to you.”
Arthur Bellamy spoke those words so quietly that Damian Voss almost believed he had misunderstood.
Then the old attorney turned over the second photograph.
And everything Damian thought he knew about his life began to fall apart.
The photograph showed a hospital room forty-three years earlier.
A young woman with dark hair lay against white pillows, holding a newborn baby. Her face was pale and exhausted, but she was smiling.
Beside her stood Clara Voss.
Damian's mother.
The woman who had supposedly abandoned him when he was seven.
Clara's hand rested protectively on the baby's blanket.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written three words.
Our little Damian.
Below them were two signatures.
Clara Voss.
Rose Vale.
Damian looked at Arthur.
“Who is Rose Vale?”
Arthur removed his glasses.
“Your biological mother.”
The grandfather clock struck ten.
Nobody moved.
Grace Miller stood near the fireplace, still wearing the silver satin gown Vivian had forced her into earlier that evening.
Her fingers trembled against the fabric.
Vivian looked as though she wanted to disappear.
Damian slowly straightened.
“You're telling me my father lied about who gave birth to me?”
“Yes.”
“And Clara knew?”
Arthur nodded.
“She knew from the beginning.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“Then why did she raise me?”
Arthur looked down at the photograph.
“Because Rose died six days after you were born. Your father was responsible for the child, but he wasn't married to Rose. Clara insisted that you would not grow up believing you were unwanted.”
Damian stared at him.
“My father had an affair?”
Arthur didn't answer immediately.
“He had many secrets.”
For years, Damian had believed his mother walked away because she couldn't bear living with his father's dangerous world.
That belief had shaped him.
It had made him suspicious of affection, impatient with promises, and terrified of loving anyone enough to lose them.
Now the truth was sitting on his desk.
Clara had chosen him.
He hadn't been a burden she'd eventually abandoned.
He had been a child she loved despite having every reason to resent his existence.
Damian turned away.
Grace noticed how hard he gripped the edge of his desk.
Vivian recovered first.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Arthur is an old man. Those photographs could mean anything.”
Damian didn't look at her.
“Why did you try to stop him?”
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From another painful family scandal.”
Damian finally faced her.
“You dressed my housekeeper in my mother's gown and humiliated her in front of sixty guests. Then you accused her of stealing the dress. You weren't protecting anyone.”
Vivian's eyes flashed.
“She was snooping through private property!”
“Because you were burning family photographs.”
“Old junk!”
Arthur suddenly spoke.
“Those photographs were part of a sealed family archive.”
Vivian turned toward him.
“Be careful, Arthur.”
Damian heard the warning.
So did Grace.
He pressed the intercom.
“Owen. Come to my study.”
Thirty seconds later, Owen Reed entered.
The security chief was thirty-nine, broad-shouldered, and rarely surprised by anything.
Tonight, his expression suggested otherwise.
“Sir?”
“Vivian is no longer permitted inside the private archives. Collect her keys, deactivate her access codes, and escort her to the east guest suite.”
Vivian laughed.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I'm completely serious.”
“We're getting married in six weeks!”
Damian looked at her engagement ring.
“That's another conversation we're going to have.”
Vivian went pale.
For a moment, Grace almost expected her to throw the ring.
Instead, Vivian leaned toward Damian.
“You have no idea what you're interfering with.”
Damian stepped closer.
“Then explain it.”
Vivian's lips parted.
Nothing came out.
Owen quietly opened the door.
“Mrs. Hart, please.”
“Miss Hart,” Damian corrected.
Vivian's expression hardened.
She walked out without another word.
But as she passed Grace, she whispered something only Grace could hear.
“You should have stayed invisible.”
The door closed.
Grace felt cold.
Damian turned back to Arthur.
“Now tell me everything.”
Arthur sat slowly.
“Your father made arrangements after Rose died. You were registered under her surname at birth, but the records were altered before you left the hospital. Clara signed the adoption papers. She loved you as her son.”
“Why would my father hide that?”
“Because Rose Vale knew things she wasn't supposed to know.”
“What things?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Financial arrangements. Property transfers. Payments connected to the waterfront.”
Damian frowned.
“My father's shipping business?”
“And the Harbor Light Foundation.”
Damian knew that name.
His mother had established the foundation to help struggling families, particularly children whose parents worked in Rhode Island's ports.
It had once owned several valuable waterfront properties.
His father had dissolved its public operations years earlier, claiming that the foundation had become insolvent.
Damian had never investigated.
Arthur continued.
“Rose worked in the foundation's accounting office. Shortly before your birth, she discovered payments that had been routed through charitable accounts.”
“Illegal payments?”
“Yes.”
Damian felt anger rising.
“My father used my mother's charity to launder money?”
Arthur looked exhausted.
“That was part of it.”
“Then what happened to the evidence?”
“Clara found it.”
Damian went still.
“Before she disappeared?”
“Just before.”
A terrible possibility formed in his mind.
“You're saying my mother didn't leave voluntarily.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“I should have told you thirty-six years ago.”
Grace watched Damian's expression change.
She had seen him angry before.
Men who worked for him feared that anger.
But this was something else.
This was a seven-year-old boy finally understanding that the worst day of his childhood might have been a crime.
“Was she murdered?” Damian asked.
Arthur's hand shook.
“I don't know.”
“You were the family attorney.”
“I know.”
“You signed the papers declaring her missing.”
“I know.”
Damian leaned across the desk.
“Then you had better start remembering.”
Before Arthur could answer, Grace spoke.
“Mr. Bellamy, my mother used to tell me something strange.”
Both men turned toward her.
“She said the Voss mansion had more locked doors than bedrooms.”
Arthur's expression changed.
“She said that?”
Grace nodded.
“She also told me never to mention her name to this family. But she wouldn't explain why.”
Arthur stared at Grace for several seconds.
Then he asked a question that seemed completely unrelated.
“Miss Miller, how old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“When is your birthday?”
“November seventeenth.”
Arthur's face drained of color.
Damian noticed.
“What does her birthday have to do with anything?”
Arthur didn't answer.
Grace felt her pulse quicken.
“Mr. Bellamy?”
The attorney looked at the silver gown.
“Where did Vivian find that dress?”
“In the west attic,” Grace said. “At least, that's what the stylist told me.”
Arthur whispered, “It should have been destroyed.”
Damian's voice sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because your mother wore it the last night anyone saw her at this house.”
A silence fell.
Grace looked down.
The silver satin suddenly felt unbearably heavy.
Arthur continued.
“There was a party here in March 1990. Clara confronted your father about the foundation. Witnesses heard them arguing in the library. The following morning, she was gone.”
“And this dress?” Damian asked.
“She left it behind.”
Grace thought about Vivian producing the garment bag so dramatically, as if she had planned the humiliation long before the party.
“Then Vivian must have known it mattered.”
Arthur nodded.
“Her father knew.”
“Her father?” Damian repeated.
“Vaughn Hart handled several of your father's financial transactions.”
Damian stared at him.
“Vivian's father worked with mine?”
“For decades.”
Damian had believed Vivian's family fortune came from legitimate real estate investments.
Now he wondered how much of it had originally belonged to his mother.
A knock interrupted them.
Owen entered without waiting for permission.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
Damian turned.
“What happened?”
Owen looked at Grace.
“Miss Miller, I need to know whether you've spoken with your mother's nursing home tonight.”
Grace shook her head.
“Why?”
“The night supervisor called our security desk. Someone removed Lillian Miller from the facility approximately forty minutes ago.”
Grace's stomach dropped.
“Removed her?”
“She was checked out under a family authorization.”
“That's impossible. I'm her only authorized family member.”
Owen's expression darkened.
“The paperwork has your signature.”
Grace shook her head harder.
“No. I didn't sign anything.”
“We know,” Owen said. “You were here.”
Damian grabbed his coat.
“Get the vehicles ready.”
Grace was already moving toward the door.
Then her phone rang.
The screen displayed her mother's number.
She answered immediately.
“Mom?”
For a moment, there was only breathing.
Then a weak, frightened voice whispered.
“Gracie?”
Grace stopped walking.
“Mom, where are you?”
“Listen carefully, sweetheart.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Don't tell them what I kept.”
Grace glanced at Damian.
“Kept what?”
Her mother began crying.
“The little girl. I promised Clara I'd keep her safe.”
Grace's throat tightened.
“Mom, what little girl?”
A man's voice sounded in the background.
“Give me the phone.”
Lillian gasped.
Then she spoke six words that made Arthur rise from his chair.
“Grace, Clara Voss is still alive.”
A loud impact followed.
The call disconnected.
Grace stood frozen.
Damian slowly lowered his own phone.
For thirty-six years, he'd believed his mother had abandoned him.
Then he'd feared she'd been murdered.
Now someone had taken the only living person who might know where she was.
Owen's radio crackled.
“Sir, we located the vehicle used to remove Mrs. Miller. The driver belongs to Hart Family Holdings.”
Damian looked toward the closed study door.
Vivian's father.
Again.
“Find Vivian,” he ordered.
Owen swallowed.
“Sir, she's gone.”
Damian stared at him.
“What?”
“Her bedroom window was open. A service vehicle left the property seven minutes ago.”
Arthur made a faint, broken sound.
Damian turned.
The attorney was staring at Grace.
“Mr. Bellamy?” she whispered.
Arthur reached for the first photograph.
His trembling finger touched Lillian's face.
“When your mother said she protected a little girl,” he whispered, “I know exactly who she meant.”
Grace felt the room tilt.
May you like
Arthur looked straight at her.
“And if I'm right, Miss Miller, Lillian has been protecting you from the Voss family since the day you were born.”
