Chapter 8 - The File Edmund Reed Buried
Charles Wentworth lived in a white colonial house behind iron gates in Greenwich, Connecticut.
Alexander arrived with Daniel, Detective Hayes, and two unmarked police vehicles.
Wentworth opened the door himself.
Eighty-two.
Thin.
Silver-haired.
Still wearing a suit despite it being nearly midnight.
He looked at Alexander for several seconds.
“You have Edmund’s eyes.”
Alexander had heard that all his life.
Tonight he hated it.
“You knew about Lily.”
Wentworth nodded.
“Yes.”
“Everyone knew about my daughter except me.”
Wentworth’s expression tightened.
“Not everyone.”
“Enough.”
The old man stepped aside.
“Come in.”
They entered a study lined with law books.
A small fire burned in the fireplace.
Wentworth crossed to an antique cabinet.
He removed a metal lockbox.
“Your father gave this to me eight days before his second stroke.”
Alexander stared at it.
“He instructed me not to open it.”
“Why?”
“He said the contents belonged to you.”
“Yet you waited five years.”
“He gave conditions.”
Alexander’s temper rose.
“What conditions?”
“Either Rachel Morgan contacted you directly…”
Wentworth paused.
“Or Lily appeared.”
Alexander stared.
“Rachel tried.”
“I know that now.”
“Why didn’t you make sure she could reach me?”
“Because I failed.”
At least Wentworth didn’t hide behind excuses.
He handed Alexander the box.
“Key?”
“No key.”
Wentworth pressed his thumb to a biometric reader.
The box clicked.
Alexander frowned.
“My father loved drama.”
Wentworth almost smiled.
“He was a Reed.”
Inside were three envelopes.
One marked ALEXANDER.
One marked RACHEL.
And one marked CAMILLE.
Alexander reached for his.
“May we document this first?”
Hayes asked.
He nodded.
Photographs were taken.
Then Alexander broke the seal.
The letter began in his father’s handwriting.
Son,
If you are reading this, then I failed to repair something I helped break.
Alexander swallowed.
Edmund continued.
I spent most of my life believing control was another word for protection.
It is not.
Control is fear wearing an expensive suit.
Alexander looked away.
His father could be brutal.
But he had never been sentimental.
The words felt like confession.
During my illness, Camille Laurent controlled access to you more completely than I understood.
I encouraged that arrangement because Reed Holdings was in crisis.
That was my first mistake.
My second was believing your personal life could wait until the company survived.
That belief made what Camille did possible.
Alexander continued.
Rachel Morgan contacted me fourteen months after Lily’s birth.
She believed you had rejected her pregnancy.
I knew immediately something was wrong.
You are many things, Alexander.
Coward has never been one of them.
A sad smile crossed his face.
Edmund had rarely complimented him.
The investigation found evidence that messages were redirected and documents forged.
I confronted no one because I wanted complete proof.
That delay was my third mistake.
I believe Camille acted initially out of obsession with your future.
Whether that obsession was romantic, financial, or both no longer matters.
What matters is that she crossed a line, then spent years crossing new ones to conceal the first.
Alexander paused.
That was exactly what had happened.
One lie demanded another.
One act of manipulation demanded another.
Until Rachel died.
Edmund’s letter continued.
Marcus Vale entered Rachel’s life through someone connected to Camille.
I cannot prove Camille intended harm.
I can prove she paid him.
My investigator, Thomas Keene, traced the first payment.
Alexander looked at Hayes.
“Keene.”
She nodded.
The investigator now working with Marcus.
Alexander continued.
I no longer trust Keene.
If anything happens to me, do not give him this file.
Too late.
Somebody had tried to take it.
Edmund wrote:
I established a trust for Lily because she is my granddaughter.
Do not mistake money for restitution.
Nothing compensates a child for an absent father.
If she ever comes to you, your job is not to make up six years in six days.
Your job is to be there on day seven.
Then day eight.
Then every day after.
Alexander stopped reading.
His eyes burned.
Daniel looked away.
Edmund had somehow written the exact words Alexander needed.
There was one final paragraph.
There is something else.
The fertility clinic informed me an embryo connected to you and Rachel remained in storage despite paperwork requesting destruction.
I attempted to resolve the issue.
Before I could, my health failed.
If that embryo ever becomes relevant, you must obtain DNA evidence immediately.
Do not trust clinic records.
Alexander lowered the page.
His father knew.
Not about Hope.
But about the embryo.
Hayes leaned forward.
“Read the Camille envelope.”
Alexander opened it.
Only one page.
Camille,
If Alexander has this letter, then either I am dead or you ignored my warning.
You mistook proximity for ownership.
Alexander was never yours to manage.
Rachel was never yours to remove.
A child was never yours to erase.
Whatever you told yourself, stop.
Tell him everything.
If you do not, the truth will eventually arrive without your permission.
It always does.
Edmund Reed.
Alexander sat very still.
“The truth arrived in a wrinkled dress.”
Daniel whispered.
Alexander looked at him.
“And carrying a baby.”
Hayes opened the envelope marked Rachel with gloves.
Inside was a shorter letter.
Rachel,
I owe you an apology as a father before I owe you one as a businessman.
I should have trusted my son’s character sooner.
If you allow it, I will help you tell him the truth safely.
Do not confront Marcus alone.
Do not confront Camille alone.
Contact Charles Wentworth.
He knows how to reach me.
Edmund.
Rachel had received a copy.
But apparently she never reached Edmund again before his health deteriorated.
Wentworth sat opposite them.
“Edmund never forgave himself.”
Alexander looked at him.
“He got ten months to feel guilty.”
His voice was flat.
“Rachel got seven years.”
Nobody argued.
Hayes turned to Wentworth.
“Tell us about Thomas Keene.”
“Former federal investigator.”
“Why did Edmund hire him?”
“He had an excellent reputation.”
“What changed?”
Wentworth sighed.
“Money.”
Keene had gambling debts.
Marcus discovered them.
Then compromised him.
After Edmund’s stroke, Keene quietly stopped reporting.
Wentworth had suspected corruption but lacked evidence.
“Why break in now?”
Daniel asked.
Wentworth looked at the envelopes.
“Because someone fears what Edmund knew.”
Alexander’s phone buzzed.
DNA laboratory.
He stared at the caller ID.
Hope.
The test.
He answered.
“This is Alexander Reed.”
The technician verified his identity.
Alexander listened.
His face changed.
Daniel stepped closer.
“What?”
Alexander couldn’t speak.
The technician continued explaining statistical probability.
Finally Alexander whispered.
“Send the written report.”
He ended the call.
Daniel stared.
“Well?”
Alexander looked at his brother.
His eyes were wet.
“Hope is mine.”
Daniel exhaled.
“Oh my God.”
Alexander sat.
Both.
Both children.
Lily and Hope.
His daughters.
Rachel had carried his second daughter through an embryo they created seven years ago.
Some bizarre combination of negligence, manipulation, and Marcus’s attempt to control Rachel had resulted in Alexander having another child he never knew existed.
Hayes’s phone rang.
She walked aside.
Alexander barely noticed.
He opened his phone.
A photograph of Hope filled the screen.
Rebecca had sent it earlier.
The baby had mashed banana across her face.
Caption:
Your daughter hates bananas.
Your daughter.
Alexander laughed once.
Then cried.
Again.
Daniel gripped his shoulder.
“I guess you’re buying two car seats.”
Alexander nodded.
“And a lot of bananas.”
“Apparently not bananas.”
For ten seconds they were brothers again.
Then Hayes returned.
The look on her face erased it.
“We found Camille.”
Alexander stood.
“Where?”
“Airport.”
“Trying to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Arrest her.”
“We can hold her for questioning.”
Alexander nodded.
“Marcus?”
“No.”
Hayes looked at Wentworth.
“But we found something else.”
“What?”
“Thomas Keene’s car.”
“Where?”
“Near the airport.”
Alexander’s pulse quickened.
“And Keene?”
“Dead.”
Silence.
“How?”
“Gunshot.”
Alexander’s eyes hardened.
Marcus was cleaning up.
Hayes continued.
“There was something in the car.”
“What?”
“A copy of Rachel’s accident report.”
Alexander stared.
“And a photograph.”
“Of who?”
Hayes looked directly at him.
“Lily.”
Daniel swore.
Hayes wasn’t finished.
“Taken years ago.”
Alexander’s breathing slowed.
“How old?”
“Maybe two.”
A two-year-old Lily.
Someone had been watching his daughter for four years.
“Was there anything written on it?”
Hayes nodded.
“What?”
“Three words.”
Alexander waited.
Hayes answered.
May you like
“Insurance against Reed.”
---
