Chapter 8 - The Truth Beneath the Family Name
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Julian was the first to speak.
"What did she say?"
I couldn't answer.
He stepped closer.
"Elena."
I lowered the phone.
"She said Edward wasn't your biological father."
He stared at me.
Then he shook his head.
"No."
The word came out almost like a laugh.
"That's ridiculous."
Detective Monroe watched him carefully.
"Mr. Ashford, we have no independent verification of that statement."
Julian ignored her.
"My father raised me."
"He taught me to ride a bicycle."
"He took me to my first baseball game."
"He was there when I graduated from college."
I nodded.
"I know."
"Then what is this?"
His voice rose.
"Another trick from Richard?"
"Another way to make me question everything?"
"I don't know."
Julian turned away.
He walked to the fireplace and stared at the photograph of Edward Ashford.
For thirty-eight years, he had believed he understood his place in the world.
He was the older son.
The responsible son.
The son who stayed.
Richard was reckless.
Richard was jealous.
Richard disappeared.
Julian inherited the company because there was no one else.
Now every piece of that history seemed unstable.
Monroe's phone rang.
She answered, listened, and then looked at me.
"We found Teresa's vehicle."
"Where?"
"At a parking structure in Manhattan."
"Was she inside?"
"No."
"Was there blood?"
"Elena," Monroe said gently, "we haven't completed the examination."
I hated her careful language.
I knew she was trying not to frighten me.
But the truth was already frightening.
A man who had been declared dead was holding my mother.
A woman who had tried to poison her husband was sitting with a lawyer.
A trusted security chief had disappeared.
And somewhere in the middle of it all was a document that people were willing to kill to possess.
At noon, a federal investigator arrived at the estate.
His name was Special Agent Owen Price.
He carried a thin black folder and introduced himself without smiling.
"I understand you're investigating the deaths of Edward Ashford and Daniel Morales."
Monroe folded her arms.
"Daniel Morales's death was ruled accidental."
Price looked at her.
"That ruling is being reviewed."
I stepped forward.
"Why now?"
He turned toward me.
"Because your father wasn't stealing money from Ashford Holdings."
My throat tightened.
"Then what was he doing?"
"He was helping us investigate financial fraud."
Julian stared.
"What kind of fraud?"
Price opened the folder.
"Money laundering through shell companies."
"Fraudulent property valuations."
"Illegal transfers from a private family trust."
He paused.
"And possible corruption involving several public officials."
Julian sat slowly.
"My company?"
"Parts of your company."
"Your father was cooperating before his death."
I stepped closer.
"And my father?"
Price looked at me.
"Daniel was our original source."
I felt tears sting my eyes.
For seven years, my father had been remembered as a thief.
His photograph had disappeared from the company's website.
Former colleagues refused to speak to us.
Neighbors whispered when my mother walked past.
Now a federal agent was standing in the Ashford library telling me that my father had been helping expose the real criminals.
"Why didn't anybody tell us?" I asked.
Price's expression changed.
"Because the investigation was compromised."
"By whom?"
"We have reason to believe confidential information was leaked."
"Your father's final meeting was known to someone outside the investigative team."
I thought about Richard.
Victoria.
Marcus.
Mercer.
All of them seemed to be connected.
Price turned toward Julian.
"There's something else."
"The original Ashford trust didn't simply divide money between sons."
"It placed the controlling shares in a protected holding arrangement."
"Who controlled it?" Julian asked.
Price looked at me.
"Daniel Morales was one of the three trustees."
I stared at him.
"My father?"
"Yes."
"Along with Edward Ashford and Eleanor Ashford."
Julian rubbed his forehead.
"But all three are dead."
Price hesitated.
"Two are confirmed dead."
The room went quiet.
Julian looked up.
"My mother?"
The agent closed the folder.
"We have been unable to verify the circumstances of Eleanor Ashford's death."
Julian stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
"My mother died twenty-four years ago."
"I attended her funeral."
Price held his gaze.
"I understand."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that the woman buried under Eleanor Ashford's name may not be your mother."
Julian looked as though he might collapse.
And then I remembered something my father used to tell me when I was little.
Some people disappear because they want to.
Others disappear because staying alive means someone else has to believe they're dead.
At 12:43 p.m., Special Agent Price received a call.
He listened without speaking.
Then he closed his eyes.
"Where?"
The voice on the other end answered.
Price looked at Julian.
"We found Samuel Mercer."
Julian took a step forward.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"At St. Catherine's Medical Center."
Price paused.
"He's been asking for you."
Julian reached for his coat.
The agent stopped him.
"There's one more thing."
"What?"
"Mercer says he knows the identity of your biological mother."
Julian stared.
"But Eleanor is my mother."
Price shook his head.
"No."
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"According to Mercer, Eleanor Ashford never gave birth to you."
And the first thing Mercer wanted to know was whether Elena Morales was still alive.
