Chapter 3 - THE FILE MY GRANDFATHER HID
The next morning, I drove to the law office of my grandfather's old attorney.
His name was Thomas Whitaker.
He had been handling my family's legal affairs for more than thirty years.
When I entered his office, he didn't look surprised.
He looked tired.
"You finally opened it."
I stopped.
"Opened what?"
He looked at the folder on his desk.
"The file your grandfather left for you."
My heart sank.
"You knew."
"Yes."
"About the trust?"
"Yes."
"About Leah?"
He stared at me.
"Yes."
I sat down.
"Then tell me everything."
He didn't answer.
"Mr. Whitaker."
He sighed.
"Your grandfather knew your mother was capable of cruelty."
"That's not enough."
"He also knew she had been involved in something much more serious."
"What?"
He opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Documents.
Bank transfers.
Names.
And one photograph that made my blood freeze.
A young woman.
Holding a little girl.
Leah.
I recognized her immediately.
But the woman holding her was a stranger.
At first.
Then I noticed the date.
Three years before I adopted Leah.
And the location.
St. Mary's Hospital.
I looked at Whitaker.
"Who is she?"
"Emily Carter."
I stared at the photograph.
"Leah's biological mother?"
He nodded.
My hands went cold.
"She's alive?"
He didn't answer.
"Is she?"
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the truth."
I looked at the documents.
Emily had contacted my grandfather shortly before Leah was born.
She claimed someone was trying to force her to give up her child.
"Who?"
Whitaker looked at me.
"Your mother."
I stared.
"Why?"
"That's what your grandfather was trying to discover."
I read further.
Emily had worked for a company connected to my mother's business.
She had discovered irregular adoption payments.
Children were being redirected toward wealthy families.
Records were altered.
Birth histories were changed.
Fees were hidden.
And Emily had found proof.
"Did my mother steal children?"
Whitaker shook his head.
"Don't use that word unless you can prove it."
"What can you prove?"
"She pressured families."
"How many?"
"We don't know."
"Emily?"
"She refused."
"So what happened?"
"She disappeared."
"When?"
"Shortly before Leah came into your care."
I remembered the hospital.
I remembered meeting Leah.
But I remembered something else.
My mother had called me that night.
She had told me:
"Stay away from that child."
I'd asked why.
She'd said:
"Because some people bring trouble wherever they go."
I'd ignored her.
I always thought she'd simply disliked adoption.
Now I wondered if she had known exactly who Leah was.
I looked at Whitaker.
"Where is Emily?"
"We don't know."
"Dead?"
"We have no confirmed death certificate."
My heart pounded.
"Then she's alive."
"Not necessarily."
I looked at the photograph again.
Leah was three.
She was smiling.
Emily was looking at her.
There was something strange in her expression.
Fear.
Not sadness.
Fear.
I turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting.
If anything happens to me, Graham Reed must know the truth.
My name.
I stared at it.
"Why did she write my name?"
Whitaker folded his hands.
"Because she trusted your grandfather."
"And my grandfather trusted me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he watched you with Leah."
I looked up.
"What?"
"He saw you become her father."
I remembered.
The first time my grandfather visited our house after the adoption.
Leah had run into his arms.
He'd laughed.
Then he'd looked at me.
He'd said:
"She picked you."
I'd thought he was joking.
Now I understood.
He'd known.
Maybe from the beginning.
Whitaker handed me another document.
It was a letter.
From my grandfather.
I opened it.
Graham,
If you're reading this, your mother has crossed a line.
I need you to understand something. Leah was never the problem.
The people around her were.
There is a woman named Emily Carter. Find her.
She can tell you why I created the trust.
I stopped reading.
The next line was underlined.
Do not trust your mother.
I stared at the words.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered:
"Are you Graham Reed?"
"Yes."
"I knew your grandfather."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Emily."
I couldn't breathe.
"Emily Carter?"
"Yes."
"You're alive."
A pause.
"Yes."
"Where are you?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why?"
"Because your mother is still looking for me."
I stood.
"What does she want?"
"The evidence."
"What evidence?"
"The evidence that proves what she did."
I looked at Whitaker.
He was watching me.
"What did she do?"
Emily was silent.
Then:
"She tried to take Leah."
My heart stopped.
"Why?"
"Because Leah was worth more to her than you know."
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Whitaker slowly stood.
"What did she say?"
I looked at him.
"She said my mother tried to take Leah."
He closed his eyes.
"Then it's begun."
May you like
"What has?"
"The truth."
