Chapter 10 - The Boy Richard Raised
"Where is he?"
My voice sounded strange.
Almost calm.
Margaret was crying on the other end of the phone.
"Evelyn, please—"
"Where is my brother?"
She didn't answer.
I closed my eyes.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
My knees nearly gave way.
"Where?"
Margaret swallowed.
"Richard brought him into the family."
I stared at my reflection in the dark hotel window.
A terrible possibility began forming.
"No."
"Evelyn—"
"No."
My thoughts raced backward.
Daniel was thirty-eight.
Six years older than me.
My newly discovered brother would be thirty-three.
So not Daniel.
But Richard had two sons.
Daniel.
And Michael.
Michael Whitmore was thirty-three.
He had been born, according to the family, in June 1993.
I'd met him only a handful of times.
He lived in London.
He rarely attended family gatherings.
Daniel always called him the disappointment.
The son who preferred teaching economics to working in finance.
The son who refused to return home.
I pressed the phone harder against my ear.
"Michael?"
Margaret began sobbing.
That was enough.
I sank onto the bed.
"Michael is my brother."
"Yes."
I covered my mouth.
For eight years, he'd been my brother-in-law.
All those awkward holiday dinners.
Those brief conversations.
The Christmas card he'd once sent with a handwritten note thanking me for being kind to him.
He'd been my brother.
My mother's son.
And he had no idea.
"Does Michael know?"
"No."
My chest tightened.
"Does Daniel?"
Margaret hesitated.
"I don't know how much Richard told him."
I shut my eyes.
"How could you do this?"
Her sobs grew louder.
"Richard told me Catherine had agreed."
"You knew she hadn't."
"I wanted to believe him."
"You stole her child."
"I know."
"No."
My voice broke.
"You stole my brother."
I ended the call.
Then I sat motionless.
Michael.
The quiet Whitmore son.
The man who'd once told me that family money ruined everything it touched.
He'd been right.
More right than either of us understood.
Samuel found me sitting on the floor twenty minutes later.
I told him everything.
His expression moved from disbelief to horror.
"Michael Whitmore?"
I nodded.
He sat beside me.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said, "We need independent records and genetic testing before treating this as established."
I looked at him.
"Margaret admitted it."
"That's significant."
"But not enough?"
"We've already seen how extensively identities were manipulated."
I knew he was right.
Yet something deep inside me already believed it.
Michael's dark eyes.
His narrow smile.
The way he listened more than he spoke.
He'd never resembled Richard.
Daniel used to joke that Michael must have inherited every recessive gene in the family.
Now I wondered whether Richard had spent thirty-three years fearing that someone would notice.
"Can we contact him?"
Samuel nodded.
"But carefully."
I took out my phone.
I still had Michael's number.
We hadn't spoken in almost two years.
The last time had been after his engagement ended.
He'd called Daniel.
Daniel hadn't answered.
So he'd spoken to me instead.
For nearly an hour, he'd told me he was tired of disappointing a family that cared more about appearances than people.
I'd told him he didn't owe anyone his life.
He'd thanked me.
Then we'd lost touch.
I opened our old messages.
At the bottom of the conversation was something he'd written.
You're the only person in that house who ever makes me feel like I belong.
My eyes filled with tears.
I typed a message.
Michael, I need to speak with you. It's about your mother.
I stared at the screen.
Then deleted the last sentence.
I wasn't ready to destroy his understanding of his life in a text message.
I tried again.
Michael, something serious has happened involving the family. I need to talk to you privately. Please call me.
I sent it.
Then I waited.
Michael called twelve minutes later.
"Evelyn?"
His familiar voice nearly broke me.
"Hi, Michael."
"Are you okay?"
I closed my eyes.
"I don't know."
"I heard about the anniversary party."
I swallowed.
"From Daniel?"
"From half of Manhattan, apparently."
He sounded disgusted.
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
A pause.
"Daniel's an idiot."
I almost smiled.
"That's one word for him."
"There's a video circulating."
My stomach tightened.
"What video?"
"Someone filmed him taking off your wedding ring."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
A hundred and twenty guests.
A public humiliation.
There had been cameras everywhere.
Michael continued.
"I watched about ten seconds before I turned it off."
"Why?"
"Because nobody should have to watch their own family behave that way."
I swallowed.
"Michael, I need to ask you something."
"Anything."
"Have you ever questioned your birth records?"
Silence.
Then he gave a short laugh.
"That's a strange question."
"I know."
"Why?"
I looked at Samuel.
He nodded slowly.
"Michael, there's something wrong with the records surrounding your birth."
He went quiet.
"What kind of wrong?"
"I don't want to explain it over the phone."
"Evelyn."
His voice sharpened.
"What's happened?"
I pressed my hand against my forehead.
"Can you come to Boston?"
A long pause.
"I'm in New York."
I froze.
"You're what?"
"I flew in yesterday."
"Why?"
"Margaret called me."
My heart began pounding.
"What did she say?"
"She said Dad had been shot."
I looked at Samuel.
"He wasn't shot."
Michael went silent.
"What?"
"Richard was injured during the shooting, but not by a bullet, according to what we've been told."
A long silence followed.
Then Michael whispered, "She lied."
I swallowed.
"Michael, where are you?"
"At the Greenwich house."
My blood turned cold.
"Leave."
"What?"
"Leave now."
"Evelyn, what's going on?"
I stood.
"Don't tell anyone where you're going."
He sounded frightened.
"Why?"
"Please."
He hesitated.
Then I heard a door close in the background.
A man's voice.
Richard.
"Michael?"
My stomach dropped.
Michael covered the phone.
"Dad, I'm on a call."
Richard spoke again.
"With who?"
Michael didn't answer.
The line went quiet.
Then Richard's voice came through clearly.
"Evelyn."
I stopped breathing.
"Hello, Richard."
His tone was strangely gentle.
"I wondered when you'd figure it out."
My knees weakened.
"Where's Michael?"
"He's right here."
"Don't hurt him."
Richard sighed.
"You really think I'd hurt my own son?"
I gripped the phone.
"He's not your son."
Silence.
For several seconds, I heard only faint breathing.
Then Richard laughed.
Softly.
Almost sadly.
"Biology has always been such an inconvenient detail."
My stomach twisted.
"Let him go."
"He's free to leave."
"Then put him back on."
A pause.
Then Michael's voice returned.
"Evelyn?"
He sounded shaken.
"What the hell is happening?"
I swallowed.
"Michael, I need you to walk out of that house."
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he whispered, "Dad just told me something."
My chest tightened.
"What?"
"He said there's a reason you and I shouldn't be alone together."
I shut my eyes.
"Michael—"
"He said you've been having some kind of breakdown."
I felt anger surge through me.
"He's lying."
Michael's breathing changed.
"Then why did he just ask me whether I'd ever wondered why I don't look like him?"
My heart broke.
I could barely speak.
"Michael, listen to me."
Another silence.
Then I said it.
"Your birth mother may be Catherine Hayes."
I heard him inhale sharply.
"The woman you told me died?"
"Yes."
A long silence followed.
Then he whispered, "What does that make us?"
Tears streamed down my face.
"Brother and sister."
The line went quiet.
For several seconds, I thought he'd hung up.
Then he spoke.
His voice was barely audible.
"Evelyn, Dad is standing in front of me with a gun."
May you like
Before I could answer, I heard Richard say one sentence.
"Tell your sister goodbye."
