Chapter 11 - The Blue Bedroom
"Don't bring Julian."
Isabel's warning stayed in my head long after the call ended.
The federal agents wanted to trace the number.
I wanted to know why my aunt was afraid of the man who had spent his entire life believing she was dead.
Special Agent Price listened to my account without interrupting.
Then he asked, "Did she tell you where Eleanor died?"
"She said the place where Eleanor died."
"Do you know where that is?"
I shook my head.
"But my mother used to have nightmares about a blue bedroom."
Price looked at his partner.
"Call Monroe."
"Find out whether the original death investigation identifies a room."
Twenty minutes later, Detective Monroe called back.
Eleanor Ashford had been found in a second-floor bedroom of the estate.
A room decorated in blue.
I stared through the window of the federal vehicle.
Of course.
My mother had been dreaming about that room for twenty-four years.
She hadn't been imagining anything.
She had been remembering.
"Did she work at the estate?" I asked.
Monroe hesitated.
"According to the original staff records, Teresa Morales was employed as a private nurse for Eleanor Ashford."
I closed my eyes.
My mother had never told me that.
"How long?"
"Seven months."
"When did she leave?"
"Two days after Eleanor died."
I looked at Price.
"She saw something."
"Maybe," he said.
"Or somebody wants us to think she did."
I thought about Isabel.
Why would she insist I come without Julian?
Was she protecting him?
Protecting me?
Or protecting a secret that would destroy us both?
At 5:12 p.m., we returned to the Ashford estate.
Julian was waiting in the library.
He stood when I entered.
"Did you find the locker?"
"Yes."
"Was there anything useful?"
I looked at him.
"My father left a letter."
Julian took a step toward me.
"What did it say?"
"That my aunt Isabel is your biological mother."
His face went completely still.
Then he sat.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Finally, he whispered, "Is she alive?"
"Yes."
Julian covered his mouth.
I watched him struggle with the news.
The billionaire who owned half the skyline seemed suddenly like a little boy who had been told the world was not what he thought.
"Did she ask about me?"
I hesitated.
"Yes."
He looked up.
"What did she say?"
I could have lied.
For a second, I almost did.
But too many people had already destroyed our lives with lies.
"She told me not to bring you."
His face fell.
"Why?"
"She says you were standing beside Eleanor's body when she died."
Julian stared at me.
Then his eyes slowly filled with fear.
"I was."
The room became very quiet.
I sat across from him.
"Tell me what happened."
He looked toward the window.
"I was fourteen."
"My mother had been sick for weeks."
"She wasn't eating."
"She spent most of her days in the blue bedroom."
"One night, I heard shouting."
"Who was shouting?"
"Eleanor and Richard."
I leaned forward.
"What were they arguing about?"
"I couldn't hear everything."
"Richard kept saying something belonged to him."
"Eleanor told him he was going to ruin the family."
Julian swallowed.
"Then I heard glass break."
"What happened next?"
"I ran upstairs."
"The bedroom door was open."
"Richard wasn't there."
"Eleanor was lying on the floor."
He stopped.
I waited.
"Was she alive?"
Julian's voice broke.
"She was breathing."
"What did you do?"
"I tried to help her."
"I called for Teresa."
I felt a chill.
"My mother?"
"Yes."
"She came running."
"She told me to get out."
"Then the doctor arrived."
Julian looked at me.
"By morning, Eleanor was dead."
"And everyone told me her heart had stopped."
I studied his face.
"Did you ever tell the police about Richard?"
"My father knew they'd argued."
"But Richard said Eleanor was upset because of the trust."
"Edward believed him."
I shook my head.
"And you?"
"I wanted to believe him."
He looked away.
"That's been my problem for most of my life."
I thought about the photograph of Julian standing beside Victoria and Richard in Zurich.
I thought about the money.
The excuses.
The silence.
"Maybe," I said.
Julian nodded.
He didn't argue.
At 6:03 p.m., Detective Monroe arrived with the warrant needed to examine the blue bedroom.
The room had been locked since Eleanor's death.
Julian carried the key.
The door opened with a soft click.
A faint smell of old wood and lavender drifted into the hallway.
The wallpaper was pale blue.
The bed was covered with a white quilt.
A small writing desk stood beside the window.
On the dresser sat a silver hairbrush.
For a moment, nothing seemed unusual.
Then I noticed the wallpaper behind the bed.
A narrow strip had been replaced.
The blue pattern was slightly different.
I pointed.
"That section."
A forensic technician examined it.
Behind the wallpaper was a small rectangular opening.
Inside was a metal box.
Julian stared.
"My mother hid something in the wall."
The technician removed it.
The lock had rusted.
After photographing and documenting the box, the investigators opened it.
Inside was an old cassette tape.
A photograph of Eleanor holding Julian as a baby.
And a handwritten note.
For the day my son finally learns the truth.
Julian reached toward the photograph.
Then stopped.
His eyes filled with tears.
The note continued.
I made a terrible mistake when I took Julian from Isabel.
I believed I could give him a better life.
But Isabel deserved to know her child was alive.
Edward has forgiven me.
Julian may never forgive me.
I hope he understands that I loved him from the moment I held him.
Julian lowered his head.
I looked away, giving him the small privacy he deserved.
Then Monroe examined the cassette.
On the label, Eleanor had written a date.
September 18, 2002.
The night before her death.
The investigators located equipment capable of playing the recording without damaging it.
Several hours later, we listened in a secure room.
At first, there was only static.
Then Eleanor's voice came through.
"Richard, put that down."
A young man's voice answered.
"You promised I'd get my share."
"You've already taken money that doesn't belong to you."
"You can't prove that."
"I have the records."
Then another voice entered.
A man's voice.
Older.
Controlled.
"That's enough, Richard."
Julian stood.
He recognized it.
"Samuel Mercer."
On the tape, Eleanor sounded frightened.
"Samuel, what are you doing here?"
Mercer replied, "We need to discuss the trust."
Eleanor raised her voice.
"No."
"Not with Richard in the room."
Then came a sharp sound.
Something striking a table.
Eleanor cried out.
And a woman spoke.
A woman whose voice I knew better than my own.
"Please."
"Nobody else has to get hurt."
My mother.
Teresa Morales.
I looked at the recording equipment.
Julian stared at me.
The tape continued.
Richard shouted, "Give me the file!"
A crash followed.
Then a woman's scream.
And a final sentence.
Not from Eleanor.
Not from my mother.
From a young woman standing somewhere inside the bedroom.
"Richard, you've done enough."
Victoria.
Julian stepped backward.
His voice was almost inaudible.
"Victoria was there?"
Then the recording ended with an even more terrible sound.
A child crying.
A little girl.
I covered my mouth.
May you like
Because I recognized that voice too.
It was mine.
