PART 8 — THE SECRET BEHIND MY HUSBAND’S BIRTH CERTIFICATE
The moment Margaret Bennett mentioned my husband’s biological mother, I felt as though someone had pulled the floor out from beneath me.
For eleven years, I’d believed Brady Flores was Victor and Elaine’s only son.
I’d seen photographs of him as a toddler.
I’d listened to Elaine describe his difficult birth.
I’d watched Victor proudly introduce him as his boy.
But now, sitting in that quiet Wilmington care facility, I was beginning to understand that even the simplest facts about my husband’s life might have been carefully manufactured.
“Margaret,” I whispered, “are you telling me Elaine isn’t Brady’s real mother?”
The elderly woman’s hands trembled beneath her blue blanket.
She looked toward Rebecca Lawson, then Detective Carter, before finally meeting my eyes.
“Elaine raised him,” she answered.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Margaret lowered her head.
“No, Jenna. Elaine didn’t give birth to Brady.”
I stared at her.
The words seemed impossible.
“Does Victor know?”
Margaret hesitated.
“I believe he knows part of the story. But Elaine controlled the records, and he may not know everything.”
I took a step backward.
Victor.
The man lying in a hospital bed, fighting stage-four cancer.
The man who’d spent decades loving Brady.
Had Elaine deceived him too?
“Who gave birth to Brady?” I demanded.
Margaret began crying.
“Her name was Catherine.”
“Catherine what?”
“Catherine Monroe.”
I’d never heard that name.
“Where is she now?”
Margaret pressed her trembling hands together.
“I don’t know where she is today.”
I felt my anger growing.
“You keep telling me half the truth!”
Rebecca gently touched my arm.
“Jenna, let her explain.”
Margaret nodded.
“Catherine was twenty years old when she gave birth to a baby boy. She was unmarried, struggling financially, and living in a small apartment outside Raleigh.”
I swallowed.
“What happened?”
“She approached the same private adoption agency that handled Rose’s placement.”
My stomach tightened.
The same agency.
The same network.
The same names emerging from records that had been hidden for decades.
Margaret continued.
“Catherine believed she was signing paperwork for temporary assistance while she found stable employment.”
I stopped breathing.
“Just like Grandma?”
Margaret looked down.
“Yes.”
“And Elaine?”
“She was working with people connected to the agency.”
I stared at her.
“Did she arrange the adoption?”
“She helped arrange the placement. But I don’t know whether every document was legitimate.”
My hands tightened into fists.
“Why Brady?”
Margaret looked at me sadly.
“Because Elaine had recently married Victor, and she desperately wanted a child.”
I frowned.
“But Victor told me Brady was born after they married.”
“That’s the story Elaine told the family.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
Then I asked the question that frightened me most.
“Did Victor believe Brady was his biological son?”
Margaret looked away.
“I can’t answer that with certainty. You need to ask him.”
I closed my eyes.
Another secret.
Another life.
Another person who might have spent decades being deceived.
Then Margaret whispered, “There’s something else about Catherine.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“She tried to find her son.”
My heart tightened.
“When?”
“Years after the adoption.”
“And?”
“She was told the records were sealed. That the family had moved. That she had no right to contact him.”
I thought about Eleanor searching for Rose.
Two mothers.
Two missing children.
Both connected to the same adoption agency.
Both separated from their babies under circumstances that deserved investigation.
“Did Catherine ever meet Brady?”
Margaret slowly shook her head.
“Not that I know.”
“Does Brady know he’s adopted?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Elaine told me she’d eventually explain it to him.”
“But you don’t know whether she did.”
“No.”
I stared at the woman across from me.
She’d spent decades hiding truths that could have changed entire families.
And now those truths were emerging because my husband and his mother had left an elderly cancer patient freezing while they went on vacation.
The cruelty of it almost felt impossible.
Then Detective Carter spoke.
“Mrs. Bennett, do you have documents supporting this account?”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the safe-deposit box.”
“Original documents?”
“Some originals. Some copies.”
Carter made a note.
“We’ll need to establish their authenticity.”
Margaret looked at me.
“Jenna, there’s something in that box you need to see.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
My stomach tightened.
“Of whom?”
“Catherine holding Brady when he was a newborn.”
For a moment, I imagined my husband as an infant.
A tiny child wrapped in a blanket.
Held by a mother who might have spent her life searching for him.
And despite everything Brady had done, a painful thought entered my mind.
Had he been raised inside a lie without ever realizing it?
I looked at Margaret.
“Why did Elaine keep this secret?”
Margaret stared at the floor.
“Because Catherine never agreed to disappear quietly.”
The room fell silent.
Then she added, “And neither did Eleanor.”
My chest tightened.
“What are you saying?”
Margaret looked directly at me.
“Your grandmother discovered Catherine’s case while investigating the adoption agency.”
I froze.
“Grandma knew about Brady?”
“She discovered that Catherine Monroe’s missing son had been placed with Elaine.”
My heart hammered.
“When?”
“Shortly before her death.”
I stood completely still.
Grandma hadn’t simply been investigating stolen scholarship money.
She had discovered records connecting my husband to a disputed adoption.
A secret that Elaine had allegedly guarded for decades.
And then Grandma died.
I looked at Detective Carter.
He was already writing.
“Margaret,” I asked quietly, “did Grandma plan to tell Brady?”
Margaret nodded.
“She wanted the records reviewed first. She didn’t want to hurt him unnecessarily.”
That sounded exactly like Eleanor.
Even when she’d been wronged, she’d tried to protect innocent people.
But Brady was no longer innocent of everything.
He had lied about his first marriage.
He’d concealed financial transactions.
And there were serious questions about what he did the night Grandma died.
I took a slow breath.
“Margaret, what happened to Catherine?”
The elderly woman shook her head.
“I lost contact with her many years ago.”
“Was she ever told where her son went?”
“Not by me.”
I looked away.
Another mother denied the chance to know her child.
Another lifetime of unanswered questions.
Then Margaret reached for my hand.
“Jenna, please don’t let Elaine destroy the records.”
I looked back at her.
“She won’t.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“Promise me.”
I squeezed her frail fingers.
“I promise we’ll make sure they’re protected.”
And for the first time since meeting her, Margaret looked relieved.
That evening, I returned to Fayetteville with Rebecca.
The drive was nearly silent.
My mind replayed every conversation.
Every photograph.
Every financial record.
Every lie.
When we arrived at the hospital, Victor was awake.
He smiled when I entered.
“There’s my girl.”
But the smile faded when he saw my face.
“Jenna, what’s happened?”
I pulled my chair close.
“Victor, I need to ask you something difficult.”
He nodded.
“Go ahead.”
I took his hand.
“Is Brady adopted?”
Victor went completely still.
For several seconds, he didn’t answer.
Then he closed his eyes.
“Oh, Elaine.”
My stomach tightened.
“So it’s true?”
He slowly nodded.
“Yes.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Victor, why didn’t you tell me?”
He looked at me sadly.
“Because Brady’s history was his to share. I believed Elaine had told him years ago.”
I swallowed.
“Does he know?”
Victor opened his eyes.
“I thought he did.”
My chest tightened.
“You thought?”
He nodded.
“When Brady was seventeen, Elaine said she planned to tell him about the adoption. She claimed she’d spoken with a counselor about how to explain everything.”
“Did she?”
Victor looked devastated.
“I never followed up. I trusted her.”
I stared at him.
“Did you know Catherine Monroe?”
Victor’s expression changed.
“Catherine?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“Elaine told me Brady’s birth mother had chosen adoption and wanted no future contact.”
My stomach turned.
“Margaret says Catherine tried to find him.”
Victor looked horrified.
“No.”
“Apparently, she asked for information years later.”
He covered his face.
“Oh, God.”
I leaned forward.
“Victor, you couldn’t have known if Elaine concealed it.”
He lowered his hands.
“Jenna, I’ve spent my entire life believing I gave that boy a home when his birth mother couldn’t care for him.”
His voice broke.
“What if she wanted him back?”
I squeezed his hand.
“We don’t know exactly what happened yet.”
He stared at the ceiling.
“I loved him from the first moment I held him.”
Tears slipped down his cheeks.
“Whether he carried my blood never mattered.”
I felt my own eyes burning.
“I know.”
Victor turned toward me.
“He was six weeks old when Elaine brought him home. I remember holding him against my chest. He stopped crying the moment I started singing.”
His lips trembled.
“I told him I’d always be his daddy.”
The room became silent.
Then he whispered, “And I kept that promise.”
I placed my hand over his.
“You did.”
Victor looked toward the window.
“But somewhere along the way, he stopped treating me like his father.”
The sadness in his voice nearly destroyed me.
For a moment, we sat together without speaking.
Then he looked at me.
“Jenna, there’s something I need to do.”
“What?”
“I want to give the investigators every adoption document Elaine kept in our family records.”
I nodded.
“Rebecca can help arrange that.”
“And I want Brady to know the truth.”
My stomach tightened.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
His voice became firm.
“Whatever he’s done, he deserves to know where he came from.”
I squeezed his hand.
“Then we’ll do it carefully.”
At 9:12 that evening, Olivia Grant called.
“Jenna, we have another significant development.”
I stepped into the hallway.
“What happened?”
“The financial records from Whitmore Consulting Group are beginning to make sense.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Tell me.”
“Several transactions appear connected to property purchases and expenses involving people associated with the old adoption agency.”
I frowned.
“Property?”
“Yes. The same Wilmington building we discussed earlier appears repeatedly.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re investigating whether it was used for legitimate services, improper financial transfers, or both.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Is there anything linking Elaine?”
Olivia paused.
“Records we’ve reviewed show she had a business relationship with people connected to the building.”
My chest tightened.
“For how long?”
“Decades.”
I closed my eyes.
This hadn’t begun with Brady.
It hadn’t begun with my inheritance.
It hadn’t even begun with Victor’s cancer.
It had been growing quietly for years, hidden beneath marriages, family photographs, and seemingly ordinary business arrangements.
“Olivia, what about my grandmother’s money?”
“We’re still tracing it, but we’ve identified additional transactions that may help explain where some funds went.”
“Can we recover anything?”
“Possibly. I can’t promise an outcome.”
I nodded.
Then Olivia’s voice changed.
“But that’s not why I called tonight.”
I felt cold.
“Then why?”
“Denise Harper gave investigators another document.”
My heart raced.
“What kind?”
“A letter she received from Brady shortly after your grandmother’s death.”
I stopped breathing.
“What does it say?”
Olivia hesitated.
“It’s a request for her to maintain the account that he gave police about where he was that night.”
My stomach tightened.
“His alibi?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Denise had already admitted she’d lied.
Now there was apparently documentary evidence that Brady had asked her to maintain the story.
“Does the letter explain why?”
“Only vaguely. It says the family could lose everything if the incident is examined again.”
I gripped the phone.
“Can you send it to Rebecca?”
“She already has a copy.”
I took a slow breath.
“Thank you.”
Before ending the call, Olivia spoke again.
“Jenna, there’s another person investigators are trying to locate.”
My heart tightened.
“Who?”
“Catherine Monroe.”
I froze.
“Brady’s biological mother?”
“Yes.”
“Did they find her?”
“Not yet. But there may be a lead.”
I swallowed.
“Where?”
“Virginia.”
I stared at the wall.
“Is she alive?”
Olivia hesitated.
“We have an indication she may be, but it hasn’t been confirmed.”
My heart raced.
Somewhere in Virginia, a woman might still be searching for the baby she’d lost.
A baby who grew up to become my husband.
A man who had hurt so many people.
And I couldn’t stop wondering whether learning the truth about his birth might change him.
Or whether he’d simply use it as another excuse.
The next morning, Detective Carter asked me to come to the station.
When I arrived, Rebecca was already waiting.
Carter greeted us and led us into a conference room.
On the table sat several sealed evidence envelopes.
“We’ve reviewed documents obtained from Margaret’s safe-deposit box with her consent,” he explained.
My heart pounded.
“Did you find the recording?”
“Yes.”
I gripped the edge of my chair.
“What does it say?”
Carter looked serious.
“We’ve preserved the original recording and made a working copy. We still need to confirm all of its contents and authenticity.”
I nodded.
“Can I hear it?”
He exchanged a glance with Rebecca.
Then he pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then my grandmother’s voice emerged.
Calm.
Steady.
Familiar.
“My name is Eleanor Bennett. I am making this recording because I have discovered serious irregularities involving my family’s estate and the scholarship foundation.”
Tears filled my eyes.
Grandma.
Carter lowered the volume slightly.
Her voice continued.
“I have documents showing that funds were moved without my authorization. I have also discovered records suggesting that women were misled about the nature of certain adoption agreements.”
I covered my mouth.
“Some of these matters involve individuals I once trusted.”
A pause.
Then Grandma said something that made my heart nearly stop.
“One of those individuals is Elaine Flores.”
I gripped Rebecca’s hand.
Grandma continued.
“Elaine has told me repeatedly that I should stop asking questions. She claims reopening the adoption records will damage innocent families.”
Another pause.
“But I can no longer remain silent.”
My tears fell freely.
“I lost my daughter Rose because I trusted people who told me they were helping me. I will not stand by while another mother suffers the same pain.”
I bowed my head.
She had been fighting for other women.
Not just herself.
Not just Rose.
She’d wanted the truth for Catherine too.
Then her voice changed.
“I have also discovered that Brady Flores, Elaine’s son, has been involved in financial transactions connected to my foundation.”
I could barely breathe.
“He has promised to repay the missing money. But the documentation I have received does not support his explanations.”
A long silence.
Then Grandma said:
“I believe Brady became close to my granddaughter Jenna because he knew about her future inheritance.”
I closed my eyes.
Hearing those words in Grandma’s own voice hurt more than anything Denise had told me.
Grandma had suspected the truth.
She’d tried to warn me.
And I hadn’t listened because I never got the chance.
Her voice continued.
“Jenna deserves to know the man she plans to marry. If I cannot speak with her before the wedding, I want these records preserved.”
Then there was a faint sound.
Like paper moving.
And Grandma whispered something that made Rebecca straighten.
“There is one document I have not included with the financial records.”
My heart raced.
“It concerns the identity of a person connected to the adoption agency.”
I leaned forward.
Grandma continued.
“If this becomes public, Elaine may lose more than money.”
The recording crackled.
Then Grandma said something that made the entire room fall silent.
“She may lose the family she built on a lie.”
My stomach tightened.
Carter paused the recording.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Rebecca asked, “Does the recording identify Catherine Monroe?”
Carter nodded.
“Later in the file.”
My heart pounded.
“What does Grandma say about her?”
He resumed playback.
Grandma’s voice filled the room again.
“I have found evidence that Catherine Monroe attempted to revoke her consent shortly after the adoption arrangements began. I do not know whether that request was properly considered.”
A pause.
“I also have reason to believe Elaine kept correspondence from Catherine hidden.”
I shook my head.
“Those letters could have changed everything.”
Rebecca nodded.
“If authentic, they may be significant to reconstructing the adoption history.”
Grandma continued.
“If Catherine is still alive, I hope someone will help her learn what happened to her son.”
My eyes filled again.
Even after losing Rose, Grandma had spent her life trying to prevent other mothers from experiencing the same grief.
Then the recording reached its final minute.
Grandma’s voice softened.
“And if my precious Jenna ever hears this…”
My breath caught.
Carter glanced at me.
I nodded for him to continue.
Grandma spoke directly into the recorder.
“Sweetheart, please remember something.”
Tears poured down my face.
“Love should never require you to ignore the truth.”
I covered my mouth.
“If someone makes you feel that loyalty means silence, they do not understand love.”
My shoulders trembled.
“I hope I am sitting beside you when you listen to this. I hope we’re laughing about how stubborn your old grandmother can be.”
A small, broken laugh escaped my lips.
“But if I’m not, promise me you’ll never surrender your dignity to keep someone else comfortable.”
I could barely see.
“Be brave, my beautiful girl.”
A pause.
“I love you more than all the stars in the sky.”
The recording ended.
I sat motionless.
My grandmother had been dead for eleven years.
But for those final moments, she’d been in the room with me.
Loving me.
Guiding me.
Protecting me.
I lowered my head and cried.
Rebecca waited silently.
Detective Carter looked away, giving me privacy.
After several minutes, I wiped my face.
“Detective, there was something Grandma said about a document.”
He nodded.
“We’re examining that lead.”
“Do you think it’s in Margaret’s records?”
“Possibly.”
I took a breath.
“And Brady?”
“What about him?”
“Does he know investigators have this recording?”
“Not from us.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
Then Carter leaned forward.
“Jenna, there’s another reason I asked you here.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“We’ve located additional records concerning your husband’s adoption.”
My heart raced.
“Did they confirm Catherine was his biological mother?”
“They strongly support that account, pending verification of the relevant records.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.”
Carter hesitated.
“But there’s a discrepancy.”
I felt cold.
“What discrepancy?”
He placed two documents on the table.
One was a birth record.
The other appeared to be an adoption-related document.
I studied them.
Both listed Brady Flores.
Both showed the same birthday.
But something was different.
I leaned closer.
“The dates don’t match.”
Carter nodded.
“The adoption documentation appears to have been finalized after the birth date reflected on the later certificate.”
I frowned.
“Isn’t that normal?”
“It can be. The issue is that another record lists a different birthplace and an earlier name.”
My heart hammered.
“What name?”
Carter slid the second document closer.
At the top was written:
BABY BOY MONROE.
I stared at it.
Brady’s original surname.
Monroe.
His mother’s name.
Then I saw a handwritten annotation near the bottom.
It listed a secondary contact for the placement.
ELAINE WHITMORE.
I froze.
“Whitmore?”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Elaine’s maiden name?”
Carter nodded.
“Apparently.”
My chest tightened.
“Then she’s related to Marcus through her own family.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the page.
Elaine Whitmore.
Marcus Whitmore.
A business network connected to adoption records.
My grandmother’s scholarship fund.
Victor’s trust.
And my inheritance.
The same names.
Again and again.
Then Carter pointed to another line.
“Jenna, look at the person listed as having witnessed the placement paperwork.”
I leaned closer.
My breath caught.
DANIEL BENNETT.
Margaret’s husband.
My grandfather’s brother.
A man connected to decades-old financial fraud allegations.
He’d apparently been involved in the paperwork surrounding Brady’s adoption too.
I looked at Carter.
“This isn’t a coincidence.”
He answered carefully.
“The recurring connections are significant enough to investigate.”
I nodded.
Then he showed me another page.
“This is where things become more complicated.”
It was an old letter from Catherine Monroe.
The paper was yellowed.
Her handwriting was neat and delicate.
I read aloud.
“Dear Mrs. Whitmore,
I have tried calling your office repeatedly. I do not understand why I am being told I cannot see my son.
I was promised time to reconsider.
I never intended to abandon my baby.
Please tell me where he is.
I will do whatever it takes to bring him home.
Sincerely,
Catherine Monroe.”
My hands shook.
The date was less than two months after Brady’s birth.
I looked at Rebecca.
“She wanted him back.”
Rebecca nodded sadly.
“The letter certainly indicates that.”
I lowered my eyes.
Somewhere, a young mother had begged for her baby.
And someone had kept that letter hidden.
Then Carter spoke.
“There’s a final page.”
I looked up.
“What?”
He handed me a photocopy of a handwritten note.
It had apparently been attached to Catherine’s correspondence.
The note contained only three lines.
“Catherine has become persistent. Elaine must handle this before Victor starts asking questions. Daniel says the arrangements cannot be reversed without exposing the accounts.”
I felt a chill travel through my entire body.
Victor.
They’d been worried about Victor asking questions.
About exposing financial accounts.
About Catherine refusing to disappear.
I stared at the handwriting.
“Who wrote this?”
Carter shook his head.
“We haven’t established that.”
I swallowed.
“Could it be Marcus’s father?”
“That’s one possibility.”
I looked toward Rebecca.
“So Brady’s adoption and the money were connected?”
“We have evidence suggesting a relationship among some of the people and transactions,” she answered. “The exact nature still needs to be established.”
I nodded.
I wasn’t going to make accusations without proof.
Grandma wouldn’t have wanted that.
But I knew one thing.
Elaine had hidden too much.
And every new document made her story harder to believe.
At 3:46 that afternoon, my phone rang.
A number I didn’t recognize.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
There was silence.
Then a woman’s voice.
“Is this Jenna Flores?”
“Yes.”
The woman hesitated.
“My name is Catherine Monroe.”
My entire body went cold.
I gripped the phone.
“Catherine?”
“Yes.”
“Brady’s mother?”
She began crying.
“Please tell me he’s alive.”
My heart broke.
For nearly forty years, she’d apparently lived without knowing whether her son was safe.
I closed my eyes.
“Yes,” I whispered. “He’s alive.”
Catherine sobbed.
“Oh, thank God.”
I waited.
Then she asked a question that made tears spill down my cheeks.
“Is he happy?”
I couldn’t answer.
How could I explain?
How could I tell her that the little boy she’d searched for had grown into a man accused of betraying his wife and neglecting the father who raised him?
How could I tell her about Grandma?
About the money?
About the secrets?
Finally, I whispered, “His life is complicated right now.”
Catherine sniffled.
“I understand.”
Then she spoke again.
“Jenna, I didn’t call only because of Brady.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then why?”
“Because an attorney contacted me about Eleanor Bennett’s records.”
I stood.
“What do you know about Eleanor?”
Catherine hesitated.
“She tried to help me find my son.”
My eyes filled.
“Grandma helped you?”
“Yes.”
Her voice trembled.
“She wrote to me shortly before she died. She said she’d found documents proving people had hidden my letters.”
My heart raced.
“Did you meet her?”
“No. We spoke by telephone.”
I closed my eyes.
Grandma had been so close.
To finding Rose.
To helping Catherine.
To exposing what happened at that adoption agency.
And then she’d died.
Catherine continued.
“Jenna, there’s something Eleanor asked me to keep.”
My pulse quickened.
“What?”
“A copy of a document.”
“What document?”
Catherine took a breath.
“A list of people involved in the adoption arrangements and financial transfers.”
I gripped the phone.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“Can you give it to investigators?”
“I already told the attorney I would.”
Relief rushed through me.
Then Catherine’s voice changed.
“But Jenna, there’s something else.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Eleanor told me she’d discovered someone had been paying to keep certain records hidden.”
I frowned.
“Who was paying?”
Catherine hesitated.
“I don’t know the whole story.”
“Please tell me what you know.”
She swallowed.
“The payment instructions included a name.”
My heart raced.
“Whose?”
Catherine answered quietly.
“Victor Flores.”
I froze.
Victor.
The man who had rescued me from despair.
The man whose three-million-dollar trust started this investigation.
The man who had promised to help expose the truth.
I stared at the wall.
“Are you sure?”
Catherine’s voice trembled.
“That’s the name printed on the document.”
My breathing quickened.
“Did Grandma believe Victor was involved?”
“I don’t know. She told me she needed to speak with him before deciding what the documents meant.”
I closed my eyes.
I remembered Victor telling me Eleanor had contacted him about Brady.
That he’d helped her investigate.
That he’d been trying to protect me.
But what if there was something he’d never told me?
Something about the adoption?
Something about the payments?
I forced myself to stay calm.
“Catherine, please send the document to Rebecca and Detective Carter.”
“I will.”
We ended the call.
I stood motionless for a long time.
Then I returned to Victor’s hospital.
He was sitting in bed, looking through an old Marine Corps photo album.
When he saw me, he smiled.
“Jenna.”
I didn’t smile back.
His expression changed immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
I pulled a chair beside him.
“Victor, I spoke with Catherine Monroe.”
His face softened.
“Brady’s birth mother?”
“Yes.”
“Is she all right?”
“She is now. But she has spent decades wondering what happened to her son.”
Victor looked devastated.
“I wish I’d known.”
I swallowed.
“Victor, she has documents.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
“Documents showing payments connected to the adoption agency.”
His smile disappeared.
“And?”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Your name appears on one of them.”
Victor went completely still.
The photo album slipped slightly from his hands.
For several seconds, he didn’t speak.
Then he whispered, “What kind of payment?”
I shook my head.
“I haven’t seen the original yet.”
He stared at me.
“Jenna, I never paid anyone to take Catherine’s child.”
My heart tightened.
“Then why would your name be there?”
Victor looked toward the window.
His face grew pale.
Then he slowly closed his eyes.
“Oh, God.”
I leaned forward.
“Victor?”
He swallowed.
“Years ago, Elaine asked me to sign paperwork for a family account.”
My stomach dropped.
“What paperwork?”
“She told me it involved adoption-related expenses and legal fees.”
I stared at him.
“Did you ask for copies?”
He shook his head.
“I trusted her.”
My chest tightened.
“Victor, did you ever meet Catherine?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was trying to get Brady back?”
“No, Jenna. I swear I didn’t.”
Tears filled his eyes.
Then he looked at me with an expression of pure horror.
“But if Elaine used my name to move money without telling me what it was really for…”
His voice broke.
“I may have helped her without knowing.”
I took his hand.
“We need the records before deciding anything.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
Then he whispered, “And if I’ve done something wrong, even unknowingly, I want the truth known.”
I squeezed his fingers.
“I know.”
Victor reached toward the bedside table.
He picked up his phone.
“I need to call Thomas Grant.”
I frowned.
“Your trustee?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Victor looked at me.
“Because there are old financial records he may still have.”
My heart raced.
“Records from when Brady was adopted?”
“Possibly.”
He began dialing.
Then stopped.
His expression changed.
“Jenna.”
“What?”
“There’s something I just remembered.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“After Eleanor died, Elaine asked me to destroy a box of old business files.”
I froze.
“Did you?”
He shook his head.
“No. I gave them to Thomas for safekeeping because I didn’t want to dispose of documents I hadn’t reviewed.”
My heart pounded.
“Does Thomas still have them?”
“I don’t know.”
He pressed the call button.
Colonel Thomas Grant answered after several rings.
“Victor? How are you holding up, old friend?”
Victor’s voice trembled.
“Thomas, I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“Do you remember the box of records I gave you eleven years ago?”
There was a long silence.
Then Thomas answered.
“The one Elaine wanted destroyed?”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“I remember.”
My heart raced.
“Do you still have it?” Victor asked.
Thomas took a breath.
“Yes.”
Victor’s hand trembled.
“Where?”
“In my secure storage.”
I covered my mouth.
Then Thomas said something that made both of us freeze.
“Victor, I’ve been waiting for you to ask about that box.”
Victor frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I examined the inventory years ago.”
My pulse accelerated.
“And?”
Thomas lowered his voice.
“There’s something in there that never made sense.”
I leaned closer.
“What?” Victor asked.
Thomas hesitated.
“It’s a set of financial ledgers and correspondence relating to Elaine’s old company.”
My stomach tightened.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Thomas paused.
“A sealed envelope addressed to Eleanor Bennett.”
My heart stopped.
Grandma.
Again.
Victor looked toward me.
I gripped his hand.
“Thomas, who wrote the envelope?”
Thomas took a slow breath.
“That’s the strange part.”
“What do you mean?”
“The return address belongs to a woman named Catherine Monroe.”
I covered my mouth.
Victor closed his eyes.
Then Thomas continued.
“But the letter was never delivered.”
I felt a sickening chill.
“Why not?” Victor asked.
Thomas hesitated.
“According to the notes attached to it, Elaine intercepted the correspondence.”
Victor’s face crumpled.
“Oh, God.”
I leaned toward the phone.
“Colonel Grant, this is Jenna.”
“Hello, Sergeant.”
“Please don’t open or alter anything. Investigators need to examine those records.”
“I understand.”
Then Thomas spoke again.
“And Jenna?”
“Yes?”
“There’s one more thing in the box.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A photograph.”
I stopped breathing.
“Of whom?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Elaine holding a newborn baby.”
I frowned.
“Brady?”
“I always assumed so.”
My heart raced.
“But?”
Thomas took a breath.
“There’s a handwritten date on the back.”
I swallowed.
“What date?”
He read it aloud.
The date was nearly two years before Brady’s recorded birth.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Thomas said something that made my blood run cold.
“Victor, I don’t think the baby in this picture is Brady.”
Victor stared at the phone.
“Then who is it?”
Thomas’s voice dropped.
“I think Elaine had another child before she adopted your son.”
I froze.
Another child.
Another secret.
Another person missing from the family history.
But then Thomas delivered the detail that made everything far more disturbing.
“And there’s a name written beneath the photograph.”
Victor swallowed.
“What name?”
Thomas hesitated.
Then he spoke two words.
“Rose Caldwell.”
My heart nearly stopped.
Rose.
My grandmother’s stolen daughter.
A child Elaine had apparently been photographed holding years before Brady’s birth.
I looked at Victor.
His face was completely white.
Because suddenly, we were confronting a possibility none of us had considered.
Elaine hadn’t simply helped conceal Rose’s adoption.
She had been personally connected to the child.
And somewhere inside that sealed box were records that might finally explain why my grandmother spent decades searching for her daughter.
I stared at the phone.
Then whispered, “Colonel Grant, there’s one thing I need to know.”
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“Does the photograph show anything that could help us identify where Rose was taken?”
Thomas was silent for several seconds.
Then he answered:
“Yes. And that’s the part that frightens me.”
My heart raced.
“What is it?”
He swallowed.
“The photograph was taken in front of a house. And the address written on the back is the same address where Elaine and Victor were living before Brady was adopted.”
The hospital room fell silent.
Victor stared at the wall.
His hands shook.
Then he whispered:
“Jenna, I never saw that baby.”
I looked at him.
He was crying.
“I never knew Elaine brought Rose into our home.”
And in that moment, I understood that the missing child, the hidden adoption records, and the financial conspiracy might all lead to the same person.
Elaine Flores.
The woman who had built a family while helping keep other families apart.
But the biggest question was still unanswered.
If Rose had once been inside Victor’s house…
Where had Elaine taken her afterward?
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