Lucas considered this. “That sounds confusing.”
“It is.”
He climbed onto the chair beside me and leaned against my arm.
Noah climbed onto the other side.
I tied the bracelet around my wrist.
It was crooked.
It was perfect.
On Friday evening, Margaret arrived with another discovery.
She looked troubled as she stepped into the study, where Claire and I sat reviewing school options.
“I found Victor’s old off-site storage account,” she said. “Most of it is ordinary corporate material. But there’s a file labeled C.B.”
Claire’s face tightened.
Margaret placed a folder on the desk.
Inside were copies of Claire’s letters, hospital visitor logs, photographs of her leaving the maternity clinic, and handwritten notes in Victor’s precise block lettering.
One note read:
If AJS learns before board vote, consolidation fails.
Another:
Bennett must remain isolated. No direct contact.
Claire sat down slowly.
I picked up the last page.
It was a memo dated seven years earlier, one week before the boys were born.
Subject: Contingency Trust.
Below it was a list of names.
Mine.
Claire’s.
Lucas and Noah, listed only as “Twin A” and “Twin B.”
And one more name I did not expect.
Margaret Wells.
I looked up sharply.
Margaret’s face had gone white.
“I’ve never seen that,” she whispered.
Claire stared at her. “Why would your name be there?”
Margaret shook her head. “I don’t know.”
But her hand had moved to her throat, to a silver locket she always wore.
I had seen that locket for ten years and never asked about it.
Now, with trembling fingers, Margaret opened it.
Inside was a faded photograph of a baby.
On the back, in tiny handwriting, were two initials.
V.H.
Victor Hale.
And beneath them, one word:
Daughter.
