Chapter 9 - NINE YEARS WAS NEVER AN ACCIDENT
I read the email until the words lost meaning.
Just meet her naturally.
Once she trusts you, the rest will be easy.
Simon had not met me by accident.
Our story had been arranged.
Maybe not every laugh.
Maybe not every kiss.
Maybe not every night we stayed awake until two talking about our future.
But the beginning?
Manufactured.
“What did they want from me?”
Agent Bell answered carefully.
“We don’t know yet.”
I almost screamed.
“How can you investigate for eleven months and not know?”
“Because Simon’s operation overlaps with several older financial networks.”
“My mother is involved.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She knew Patricia.”
“That is not evidence of criminal activity.”
“She lied to me for twenty-seven years.”
“That is evidence of a family secret.”
He paused.
“Not necessarily a crime.”
Daniel touched my arm.
“You need facts.”
Facts.
I hated facts.
Facts had destroyed my relationship in forty-eight hours.
I wanted one uncomplicated lie back.
Just one.
Something comforting.
Instead, Agent Bell showed me records.
Simon had searched my name repeatedly before college.
Old social media profiles.
Public records.
My scholarship announcement.
My high school graduation page.
A local newspaper article featuring my mother.
“He researched me.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“At least six months before your first documented interaction.”
My skin crawled.
“What was his goal?”
“We believe it involved access.”
“To what?”
“That remains unclear.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I didn’t have anything.”
“You had excellent credit later.”
“Not at eighteen.”
“No.”
“I had twelve hundred dollars and a used Honda.”
Agent Bell nodded.
“So financial exploitation may have been a later development.”
“Then what was first?”
He didn’t know.
That afternoon, I drove to my parents’ house with Daniel.
I did not tell my mother we were coming.
My father opened the door.
He looked older than he had the previous week.
Maybe I was simply seeing everyone differently.
“Rachel.”
He hugged me.
I didn’t hug him back.
He released me slowly.
“Your mother told me.”
“Everything?”
His face answered before his mouth did.
“No.”
“Then I’ll decide what everything means.”
My mother was sitting at the kitchen table.
The same table where I had done homework.
The same room where Simon had eaten Thanksgiving dinner with us six times.
The same room where my mother once told me how lucky I was to find a man who looked at me the way Simon did.
I put the old photograph on the table.
She started crying immediately.
“I’m tired of crying.”
I remained standing.
“I want answers.”
My father sat beside her.
I looked at him.
“Did you know?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
He swallowed.
“I knew your mother worked for Evelyn Marlowe.”
“And Patricia?”
“I knew they had been friends.”
“Did you know Patricia cared for me?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you know Simon was Patricia’s son?”
Silence.
My father looked down.
I stepped backward.
“You knew.”
“Not at first.”
“When?”
“When you brought him home sophomore year.”
I laughed.
“You recognized Patricia?”
“Later.”
“How much later?”
“Your mother saw a photograph.”
“And you said nothing?”
My mother finally spoke.
“Patricia called us.”
“When?”
“That week.”
I stared at her.
“She called you after meeting me?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
My mother’s hands shook.
“She said Simon had no idea about our history.”
The lie was almost impressive.
“What else?”
“She asked us not to make things awkward.”
“So you agreed?”
“We wanted you happy.”
“You watched me spend nine years with him.”
My voice rose.
“Nine years.”
My father stood.
“Rachel.”
“Sit down.”
He did.
I had never spoken to my father that way.
I didn’t care.
“Why did Patricia care for me?”
My mother wiped her face.
“When Marlowe Asset collapsed, my father was blamed.”
“Was he guilty?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“I truly don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“Your grandfather handled internal accounts.”
She stared at the photograph.
“Evelyn said money was missing.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
“Did Grandpa steal it?”
“He said no.”
“Then who did?”
“He believed Evelyn did.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Patricia worked there?”
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“Executive assistant at first.”
“Then?”
“Accounts management.”
That mattered.
Even I knew it.
My mother continued.
“When federal investigators started asking questions, everything fell apart.”
“My grandfather?”
“He died before the case was resolved.”
I remembered the funeral only as fragments.
Black shoes.
Rain.
My mother holding me too tightly.
“Suicide?”
My mother flinched.
“No.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
I believed her.
Mostly.
“What does this have to do with Patricia raising me?”
My mother looked at my father.
Then at me.
“After Grandpa died, I had a breakdown.”
I said nothing.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She swallowed.
“I barely ate.”
“Mom.”
“I was afraid people connected to the company would come after us.”
“So Patricia took me?”
“For eight weeks.”
My mouth went dry.
“Where?”
“Pittsburgh.”
“With Simon?”
“He was there.”
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
Simon and I had met before college.
I just didn’t remember.
“How old was he?”
“Seven.”
“And me?”
“Six.”
“Did we know each other?”
“You played together.”
My knees weakened.
“Why didn’t I remember?”
“You were six.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“We never spoke about that period afterward.”
“So everyone erased it?”
My mother began crying again.
I didn’t feel sympathy.
Not yet.
“Why did Patricia want Simon to find me nine years ago?”
My mother looked genuinely confused.
“I don’t know.”
“Why did she ask where I was going to college?”
“She said she wanted to send you a graduation gift.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
I laughed.
Of course not.
Daniel finally spoke.
“Mrs. Carter, did Thomas Mercer leave anything after his death?”
My mother looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Financial records.”
“No.”
“Property?”
“No.”
“Investments?”
Her eyes moved.
Tiny.
Quick.
I saw it.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“Rachel, please.”
“What did Grandpa leave?”
My father closed his eyes.
My mother whispered.
“A trust.”
Daniel became very still.
“What kind of trust?”
“I don’t know all the details.”
“How much?”
“It wasn’t accessible.”
“How much?”
She stared at me.
“The last valuation I saw was approximately eleven million dollars.”
I sat down.
Nobody spoke.
Finally I whispered.
“Whose trust?”
May you like
My mother’s answer barely made a sound.
“Yours.”
