Chapter 10 - The Third Baby
Lucy Bell wasn't hiding because she was afraid of Richard Harrington.
She was hiding because she had helped him.
We learned that forty-eight hours later.
Her attorney contacted Agent Shaw from a public library outside Philadelphia.
Lucy was willing to cooperate.
But she had conditions.
She wanted immunity for unauthorized access to Northbridge's records.
She wanted protection for Margaret Bell.
And she wanted to speak to both of us.
Owen and me.
Shaw refused the last condition.
At first.
"You don't get to dictate witness interviews," she told Lucy's attorney.
The attorney replied, "My client isn't offering an interview. She's offering the location of missing children."
That changed the conversation.
The meeting took place in a federal building in Harrisburg.
Lucy arrived wearing jeans, a black sweatshirt, and a baseball cap pulled low over her face.
She was small.
Dark-haired.
Nervous.
She looked at Owen first.
Then at me.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I know you."
Owen folded his arms.
"Apparently."
Lucy gave a shaky smile.
"Margaret used to send me pictures of you."
He stared.
"You knew Aunt Mara?"
Lucy's smile disappeared.
"She was my mother."
Owen stepped forward.
"Where is she?"
Lucy looked down.
"She's dead."
The words landed heavily.
Owen gripped the back of his chair.
"When?"
"Eight months ago."
Margaret had spent years wondering whether her sister was alive.
Now her daughter was telling us she'd been alive until recently.
"How?" Owen asked.
Lucy swallowed.
"Heart failure. She'd been sick for a long time."
"Where was she?"
"Living under another name in Pennsylvania."
"Why didn't she contact Margaret?"
"Because Richard had people watching her."
Owen laughed bitterly.
"Everybody has that excuse."
Lucy looked at him.
"I know."
He stepped back.
I sat across from her.
"How much did you know about us?"
Lucy looked at me.
"More than I should've."
"How long?"
"Since I was seventeen."
I stared.
"Seven years?"
She nodded.
"And you never told us?"
"I didn't know how."
"That makes three people who've said that this week."
Lucy looked ashamed.
I leaned forward.
"Tell me what happened."
She took a breath.
"When I was seventeen, my mother told me she was dying. She gave me a box of records and said that if anything happened to her, I should give them to Eleanor Whitcomb."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I was scared."
I waited.
"Then I started reading them."
Her hands trembled.
"I found out my mother had helped falsify birth records. She wasn't proud of it. She'd spent the rest of her life trying to make copies of everything Richard could destroy."
"How did you get into Northbridge?" Nora asked.
Lucy looked at her.
"I studied medical information systems. I wanted access to the old databases."
"And you got it."
"Yes."
"Legally?"
"I was hired legally."
"What about the records you copied?"
Lucy looked toward Shaw.
"My attorney has advised me not to answer that without an agreement."
Shaw nodded.
"Then we'll address it in the proper process."
I leaned forward.
"Why did you help Richard?"
Lucy stared at me.
"I didn't think I was helping him."
"What did you do?"
She swallowed.
"Six months ago, I discovered Thomas Whitcomb was alive. I contacted him."
I felt cold.
"Why?"
"Because his signature appeared on several foundation transactions. I thought he might be willing to testify."
"And?"
"He told me he wanted to make things right."
I laughed.
"That sounds familiar."
Lucy looked down.
"He was convincing."
"What did he ask you to do?"
"He wanted copies of the files."
"Did you give them to him?"
"Not all of them."
"Which ones?"
She hesitated.
"The beneficiary records."
I stared.
"The trust?"
She nodded.
"He said the only way to stop Richard was to prove which young man was Victoria's biological son."
Owen sat forward.
"And you believed him?"
"Yes."
"Then what?"
Lucy looked at me.
"Thomas used the information to locate you."
I felt sick.
"He already knew where I lived."
"He knew who you were. He didn't know where the original hospital identification records had been hidden."
I stared at her.
"What did you give him?"
"A copy of the intake ledger. The one showing Samuel Vale being moved out of the nursery."
Owen looked at Shaw.
"And what did Thomas do with it?"
Lucy whispered, "He gave it to Richard."
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because Thomas was never trying to expose him."
I leaned closer.
"What was he doing?"
"Blackmailing him."
Nora stopped writing.
Lucy looked at me.
"He wanted twenty percent of the Northbridge acquisition proceeds and a controlling vote over the Whitcomb trust assets."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"He'd already helped steal the trust. Now he wanted to steal it again."
Lucy nodded.
"Richard refused."
"Then?"
"Thomas threatened to release the archive."
"And Richard?"
Lucy looked away.
"He ordered someone to find Thomas."
Owen leaned forward.
"Did they?"
Lucy nodded.
"Three weeks ago."
"What happened?"
She covered her mouth.
"Thomas disappeared."
I sat back.
"Again."
Lucy looked miserable.
"I don't know if he's alive."
Shaw opened a folder.
"We have evidence Thomas entered the United States under a false identity six months ago. We also know he rented a property near Lake George."
Lucy looked up sharply.
"Lake George?"
"Yes."
Her face drained of color.
"What?" I asked.
She stared at Shaw.
"My mother said that was where they kept the original records."
Nora leaned forward.
"At the lake house?"
Lucy shook her head.
"Under it."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"My mother said there was a private storage facility built into the old boathouse."
Shaw made a note.
"Do you know the address?"
Lucy nodded.
"I can show you."
We weren't allowed to go to Lake George.
At least not with the federal team.
Agent Shaw made that very clear.
For once, I didn't argue.
I'd learned that running into danger without knowing what waited inside usually made things worse.
But I still wanted answers.
Especially about one thing Lucy had said.
After the formal interview, I asked her to stay.
Shaw allowed us to speak in a monitored room.
Owen sat beside me.
Lucy looked nervous.
"What do you want to know?"
I stared at her.
"Did your mother know Leah Vale?"
Lucy nodded.
"Yes."
"Were they friends?"
"Eventually."
I swallowed.
"Did Leah ever talk about me?"
Lucy looked down.
"All the time."
I felt my throat tighten.
"What did she say?"
Lucy gave a small smile.
"She said you were stubborn."
Owen laughed.
I glanced at him.
"Helpful."
Lucy continued.
"She said you had a ridiculous laugh when you were little. That you'd run down the driveway with your shoelaces untied. That you once cried because a squirrel fell out of a tree."
I remembered that.
I had been six.
Grandma had found the injured squirrel and taken it to a wildlife center.
Richard had called me weak.
Leah had apparently been watching.
"Did she ever try to talk to me?"
Lucy nodded.
"Once."
My heart stopped.
"When?"
"Your twelfth birthday."
I stared at her.
"What happened?"
"She went to the Harrington estate with a birthday present."
I remembered that day.
A rainy Saturday.
Richard had been furious because a woman had appeared at the gate claiming to know me.
He'd told security to remove her.
I'd watched from an upstairs window.
I could still see the woman standing in the rain.
Holding a wrapped package.
I had asked Richard who she was.
He'd said she was a mentally unstable stranger.
I looked at Lucy.
"That was Leah?"
She nodded.
My chest tightened.
"What was the present?"
Lucy hesitated.
"A baseball glove."
I closed my eyes.
I had desperately wanted a new glove that year.
Richard had refused to buy one because I'd failed a math exam.
Somehow Leah had known.
I looked down at my hands.
"Did she keep it?"
Lucy nodded.
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"With her other things."
"Can I have it?"
Lucy's eyes filled.
"Of course."
I turned away before she could see me cry.
That evening, the federal team searched the Lake George property.
They found the boathouse.
They found the underground storage room.
And they found thirty-six sealed boxes containing documents from the Harrington Family Futures Foundation.
But they didn't find Thomas Whitcomb.
They found something else.
A room.
Small.
Windowless.
With a bed, a chair, and an old television.
On the wall were photographs of Owen and me.
School pictures.
College photographs.
Images taken outside our homes.
Some were recent.
Very recent.
One photograph showed us standing together outside Margaret Bell's garage.
Another showed me leaving Daniel's hospital room.
The room had clearly been used to monitor us.
Shaw called me that night.
"Samuel, I need you to listen carefully."
I sat up.
"What happened?"
"We found evidence someone has been living at the property."
"Thomas?"
"Possibly."
"Is he there?"
"No."
"Then where is he?"
"We're working on that."
I heard papers moving.
"There's another reason I'm calling."
"What?"
"One of the boxes contains documents concerning your grandmother."
I frowned.
"What documents?"
"Financial records. Correspondence. Medical authorization forms."
"So?"
Shaw hesitated.
"Some indicate Eleanor may have been receiving money from accounts associated with the foundation."
I felt my stomach sink.
"How much?"
"We haven't established the total."
"Agent Shaw."
A pause.
"At least fourteen million dollars over twenty years."
I stared at the wall.
Fourteen million.
Grandma had lived modestly compared with Richard.
She wore the same jewelry for years.
Drove an old Mercedes.
Complained about wasting food.
Fourteen million dollars.
"Are you saying she was paid to stay quiet?"
"I'm saying the records require investigation."
I closed my eyes.
Then Shaw added, "And there is something else."
I didn't answer.
"The storage room contained a recent audio recording."
"Of who?"
"A man speaking to Richard."
"Thomas?"
"We're analyzing the voice."
"What did he say?"
Shaw hesitated.
Then she read the transcript.
"You can keep the empire. I only want the boy Eleanor stole from me."
I sat upright.
"What boy?"
"We don't know."
But I thought I did.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the man trying to find me was not Richard Harrington at all.
Maybe the person who wanted me most was Thomas Whitcomb.
The man who had helped steal me before I was born.
May you like
The man who had apparently been watching me ever since.
And who now seemed determined to claim me as something that belonged to him.
