I did not answer Jessica's message.
Maya watched me put the phone face down on her desk.
“She knows I'm here,” I said.
“Apparently.”
“She knew about the DNA test.”
“Yes.”
“She knew enough to ask whether Arthur found what he wanted.”
Maya nodded.
I looked at the photograph of Victoria Morales again.
“Tell me everything.”
Maya closed the folder.
“I can tell you what Arthur established. I cannot tell you what Jessica intended.”
“Then start with what you know.”
“Jessica Bennett is not the name she was born with.”
“I know.”
“She was born Victoria Elena Morales.”
“And she married me under a different name.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Her father's criminal exposure became public when she was nineteen. The family lost most of its social standing. She petitioned for a legal name change.”
“Was that unusual?”
“Not by itself.”
“But you think she had another reason.”
“I think Arthur did.”
I leaned back.
“Did he believe she married me because of the trust?”
Maya did not answer immediately.
“That isn't a small question.”
“I know.”
“He believed she learned about you before you met.”
My mouth went dry.
“How?”
“Your name appeared in documents connected to the Morales trust.”
“But my name wasn't public.”
“Not publicly.”
“Then someone gave it to her.”
“Probably.”
I stood.
“Who?”
“That's what Arthur was trying to establish.”
My phone vibrated again.
Jessica.
This time it was a photograph.
It showed Dad's hospital room.
Taken from outside the door.
I stared at it.
Maya stood.
“Where did she get that?”
“I don't know.”
A second message arrived.
Please come home alone.
I felt something inside me harden.
“I'm not going home.”
“Good.”
“I'm going to the hospital.”
Maya shook her head.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because if Jessica is watching the hospital, we need to know what she expects you to do.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“She wants the documents.”
“Probably.”
“What documents?”
“The original trust papers.”
“Why would she need them?”
“Because Arthur found a discrepancy.”
I waited.
Maya opened a new file.
“Six years ago, after Victor died, someone submitted a claim against the trust.”
“Jessica?”
“No. A shell company.”
“Owned by whom?”
“We couldn't identify the beneficial owner.”
“Then how did Arthur connect it to Jessica?”
“The company paid a private investigator who later approached Arthur.”
I stared at her.
“What did the investigator find?”
“He found that Victoria Morales had been searching for Elena.”
My heart beat harder.
“Why?”
“To determine whether your mother was still alive.”
“Wouldn't she want that?”
“Not necessarily.”
Maya slid a document across the desk.
The investigator's notes contained a list of names.
Arthur Hayes.
Elena Morales.
Ethan Hayes.
Victoria Morales.
Then one name I didn't recognize.
Samuel Bennett.
I looked at Maya.
“Who is Samuel?”
“Jessica's father.”
I felt the room tilt.
“Bennett?”
“He worked for Victor.”
“As what?”
“Accountant.”
The word landed heavily.
“Was he involved in the fire?”
“We don't know.”
“Is he alive?”
“No.”
“How did he die?”
“Car accident.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
The year Jessica and I met.
I stared at the document.
Eight years.
Too many coincidences were beginning to feel like design.
I left Maya's office after promising to call before taking any action.
Instead of going to the hospital, I drove to a coffee shop two blocks from my house.
Jessica was already there.
She sat alone near the window.
When she saw me, she stood.
“You came.”
“I want the truth.”
“So do I.”
“No.”
I sat opposite her.
“You already knew.”
She lowered herself into the chair.
“I knew some things.”
“Your real name is Victoria Morales.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“Your father was Victor Morales.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother?”
“Dead.”
“Your father worked with my mother's family.”
She nodded.
“Your other name is Jessica Bennett.”
“My mother remarried after my father died.”
I studied her.
“You knew who I was before we met.”
“Yes.”
The answer was so direct that it hurt more than a denial would have.
“How?”
“My father had records.”
“About me?”
“About the trust.”
“And you found me.”
She looked toward the window.
“I was trying to find my inheritance.”
“Your inheritance?”
“The trust wasn't supposed to disappear when my father died.”
“You wanted the money.”
“I wanted what my family believed was ours.”
“But the trust named me.”
“I didn't know that at first.”
“That's not what Maya said.”
“She knows what Arthur wanted her to believe.”
I leaned forward.
“Did you marry me for the trust?”
Jessica's eyes filled.
“No.”
I didn't believe her.
She saw that.
“I met you because I was looking for Ethan Hayes.”
My stomach tightened.
“And then?”
“Then I met you.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my mother.”
“No.”
“Then why did you stay?”
She swallowed.
“Because I fell in love with you.”
I looked away.
She reached across the table.
I pulled my hand back.
“Don't.”
She stopped.
“My father spent years telling me that your family destroyed ours.”
“What did my family do?”
“Arthur took Elena away.”
“No. Elena asked him to take me.”
“You believe that because that's what he told you.”
“I saw her recording.”
Jessica's face changed.
“You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know my father wasn't the only one lying.”
“Was your father involved in the fire?”
She closed her eyes.
“I don't know.”
“You must have suspected.”
“I was eighteen when I found the first file.”
“What file?”
“Financial records.”
“About the trust?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I found references to your mother.”
“Did you know she survived?”
“No.”
“Did you search for her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Jessica looked at me.
“Because I wanted to know whether my father had killed someone.”
The anger drained out of me.
For the first time, I saw something beneath her secrecy that wasn't greed.
Fear.
“What happened when you found me?”
“I didn't know you were the boy from the photographs until after we met.”
“That's impossible.”
“It isn't.”
“You knew my name.”
“I knew Ethan Hayes.”
“You expected me to believe you just happened to meet me?”
“I didn't arrange it.”
“Then how?”
She hesitated.
“My father kept a list.”
“Of what?”
“People connected to the Morales trust.”
“My name was on it.”
“Yes.”
“And you recognized me later.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know who was safe.”
“Was I safe?”
“Yes.”
“Was Dad?”
“I don't know.”
“Was Maya?”
“I don't know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone knows something except me.”
Jessica's voice softened.
“That's not fair.”
“Nothing about this is fair.”
She reached into her purse.
“I brought something.”
She placed a small envelope on the table.
I didn't touch it.
“What is it?”
“A letter from my father.”
I looked at the handwriting.
It matched the signature on the old documents.
“What does it say?”
“That he didn't start the fire.”
I stared at her.
“Who did?”
Jessica shook her head.
“He didn't say.”
“Then why bring this to me?”
“Because the letter contains a name.”
“What name?”
She pushed the envelope toward me.
“Elena's.”
My heart stopped.
“You found her?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Jessica whispered, “He said she wasn't the only person who survived that night.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of a handwritten note.
One sentence had been underlined.
There were two children in the house that night.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
“That's impossible.”
Jessica's face had gone pale.
“My father believed your mother was protecting someone.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
I stared at the note.
My mother had saved me.
But according to Samuel Bennett, there had been another child.
I thought of the journal.
The photographs.
The fire.
The missing records.
Then something clicked.
“Victoria.”
She looked at me.
“Your middle name.”
“Elena.”
“My mother's name.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My grandmother's name was Elena.”
I shook my head.
“No. That's not what I mean.”
Jessica waited.
“You said your father kept a list.”
“Yes.”
“Does he mention another child?”
She looked away.
“Jessica.”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
She closed her eyes.
“My father believed your mother had another child.”
The words struck harder than I expected.
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
“When?”
“Before you.”
I stood.
“My mother had another child before me?”
Jessica nodded.
Maya's warning returned.
There is something Arthur discovered recently.
The DNA test.
Not just mine.
I understood.
Dad hadn't been trying to prove that Elena was my mother.
He already knew.
He had been testing whether someone else was related to her.
I grabbed my phone.
There was one new message from Dad.
The hospital.
Come now.
I called.
No answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
Jessica stood.
“What's wrong?”
“My father wants me at the hospital.”
“I'll come.”
“No.”
She flinched.
“I need to go alone.”
I walked toward the door.
“Ethan.”
I stopped.
“Whatever Arthur tells you,” she said, “ask him who the second child was.”
I turned.
She was crying.
Then she said something that changed the meaning of everything.
“My father spent twenty years trying to find that child.”
Click Here to continue read next: PART6: The DNA Result Was Not About My Mother at All, and the Person My Father Had Been Protecting Was Closer Than Either of Us Realized
The Thousand-Dollar Request That Should Have Been Ordinary Became the First Sign That Someone Was Hiding the Truth From Me
Part 5 of 8
