PART 3 — THE WOMAN MY MOTHER TRIED TO WARN ME ABOUT
“Search her room first.”
Jared’s voice came through the door.
“And if Shelby heard that recording, she doesn’t leave this hospital alive.”
For one second, Vivian and I simply stared at each other.
Then every instinct inside me screamed the same thing.
Move.
Vivian grabbed the laptop.
I snatched the pendant and shoved it beneath the bandage wrap around my abdomen.
The door handle turned.
Locked.
I had locked it after Vivian entered.
Jared twisted it again.
“Shelby?”
His voice changed instantly.
Soft.
Concerned.
The perfect husband had returned.
“Sweetheart, why is the door locked?”
Vivian whispered, “Bathroom.”
I pointed toward it.
“No exit.”
“Window?”
“Eighth floor.”
Another knock.
Harder this time.
“Shelby.”
Dr. Mercer said something too low for us to understand.
Vivian scanned the room.
Then she noticed the service panel beside the medical cabinet.
“What’s behind there?”
“I don’t know.”
She pulled it open.
A narrow maintenance door was hidden behind the cabinet.
My heart nearly stopped.
The hospital floor had been designed for private patients, wealthy politicians, celebrities, and executives who wanted staff to enter without walking through the main hallway.
Vivian pulled the door.
Locked.
Jared pounded again.
“I’m calling security.”
My hands shook as I searched the bedside drawers.
Nothing.
Then I remembered Maria.
She had entered earlier carrying no visible keycard.
But she had touched the side of the cabinet before leaving.
I ran my fingers along the frame.
A card slid from beneath the lower shelf.
Maria’s spare access badge.
“She knew,” I whispered.
“Knew what?”
“She knew I might need to escape.”
Vivian swiped it.
The maintenance door clicked open.
At exactly the same moment, something heavy slammed against the main hospital door.
“Go,” Vivian said.
I swung my legs over the bed.
Pain tore through my abdomen.
I nearly collapsed.
Vivian caught me before I hit the floor.
“You just had surgery.”
“I know.”
“You can’t run.”
“Then help me walk.”
Another impact shook the door.
The lock cracked.
We stepped into a narrow service corridor.
Vivian pulled the door closed behind us.
The hallway smelled of disinfectant and warm laundry.
A hospital worker pushing a cart looked at me in shock.
Barefoot.
Hospital gown.
IV tape still stuck to my arm.
Vivian grabbed a folded sheet from his cart and wrapped it around my shoulders.
“Medical emergency,” she said.
The man stepped aside.
Behind us, the room door burst open.
Jared shouted my name.
I didn’t look back.
Every step felt like something inside my abdomen was tearing.
Vivian supported most of my weight as we reached the service elevator.
She pressed the button.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Footsteps echoed behind us.
“They’re coming,” I whispered.
Vivian looked toward the stairwell.
“Can you do stairs?”
“No.”
“Can you try?”
“Yes.”
That was when the service elevator opened.
Maria stood inside.
She saw us and immediately understood.
“Get in.”
Vivian pulled me forward.
Maria hit the basement button.
As the doors began closing, Jared appeared at the end of the corridor.
“Shelby!”
His expression wasn’t worried anymore.
It was furious.
He ran toward us.
The elevator doors narrowed.
Ten feet.
Five.
Three.
Jared reached forward.
The doors closed inches from his hand.
For the first time since waking after surgery, I breathed.
Maria pressed the emergency hold button between floors.
The elevator stopped.
Vivian turned on her.
“How did you know?”
“I heard Mr. Harlan call security.”
Maria looked at me.
“He told them his wife was delirious, dangerous, and attempting to flee after emergency psychiatric medication.”
I almost laughed.
Of course he did.
He was already rewriting reality.
“Can he legally stop me from leaving?”
Vivian answered immediately.
“Not unless there’s a valid medical hold.”
Maria’s face darkened.
“Dr. Mercer is preparing one.”
Vivian cursed under her breath.
“What reason?”
“Psychotic episode following fetal loss.”
My stomach twisted.
Jared wasn’t simply trying to keep me in the hospital.
He was building a record that could make everything I said sound insane.
Fake cancer.
Fake consent.
And now a fake psychiatric crisis.
“Where does this elevator go?” Vivian asked.
“Basement loading area.”
“Cameras?”
“Everywhere.”
“That’s good.”
Maria shook her head.
“Not if Harlan Media’s security team reaches the control room first.”
Vivian looked at her sharply.
“Harlan controls hospital security?”
Maria didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
I stared at the floor.
“How long has Jared been connected to this hospital?”
Maria hesitated.
“A long time.”
“How long?”
“His family donated the surgical wing.”
The answer hit me like ice water.
Vivian slowly turned toward me.
“This was never just one corrupt doctor.”
No.
It wasn’t.
The elevator started moving again.
Maria had released the emergency stop.
Before the doors opened, she removed her nurse’s jacket.
“Put this on.”
I slipped my arms through it.
It barely covered the hospital gown, but from a distance, I might pass as staff.
Maria handed Vivian her ID badge.
“Loading dock door. Turn right. Ambulance bay. Don’t use the main entrance.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“They’ll fire me.”
“Maria—”
“I can find another job.”
Her voice cracked.
“You cannot get another uterus.”
The elevator doors opened.
We hurried into the basement.
Behind us, Maria stayed inside.
Just before the doors closed, she looked at me.
“Mrs. Harlan.”
“Yes?”
“Your mother came here once.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
“Years ago. I recognized her voice on the recording when I heard the first few seconds.”
I stepped toward the elevator.
“When?”
“About four years before she died.”
“Why?”
“She was asking questions about another patient.”
“Who?”
Maria stared directly at me.
“A woman named Evelyn Harlan.”
The doors closed.
I stood motionless.
Evelyn Harlan.
Jared’s mother.
The woman who had supposedly died before Jared and I ever met.
Vivian grabbed my arm.
“We need to go.”
“But his mother died twenty years ago.”
“Then someone is lying.”
We moved through the basement.
The pain had become almost unbearable, but fear pushed me forward.
We reached the loading dock.
A black SUV was already waiting.
Vivian’s assistant sat behind the wheel.
The moment we climbed inside, he accelerated.
Only when the hospital disappeared behind us did Vivian open the laptop again.
“Everything copied?”
“Everything.”
“Make another copy.”
“I already did.”
She held up two flash drives.
“One stays with me. One goes somewhere Jared will never find.”
I leaned my head against the seat.
“My mother knew about his family before I married him.”
“Yes.”
“She knew about some trust.”
“Yes.”
“And Richard said I was the rightful beneficiary.”
Vivian looked at me.
“We need to find out what that trust owns.”
“My mother never had money.”
“Maybe the trust didn’t come from your mother.”
That thought stayed with me all the way to the private medical clinic Vivian arranged.
No public registration.
No Harlan connections.
No Dr. Mercer.
A physician named Dr. Rebecca Sloan examined me immediately.
She reviewed the surgical report.
Then she ordered imaging and blood work.
Two hours later, she entered the room carrying my records.
Her expression frightened me.
“Mrs. Harlan, I need to ask whether you want your attorney present.”
Vivian stood beside me.
“She already is.”
Dr. Sloan closed the door.
“I reviewed the pathology report from St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
“And?”
“There is no cancer.”
I already knew.
Still, hearing an independent doctor say it made my throat close.
“None?”
“Not based on what I’m seeing.”
She placed several pages on the table.
“The pathology images attached to your file don’t appear to belong to you.”
Vivian leaned forward.
“How can you tell?”
“The specimen ID doesn’t match the ID listed in your operative record.”
My skin prickled.
“Whose specimen is it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Vivian photographed the page.
Dr. Sloan continued.
“There’s something else.”
I almost didn’t want to ask.
“What?”
“The surgery performed on you was more extensive than the paperwork states.”
My hand moved instinctively toward my abdomen.
“How extensive?”
She hesitated.
“Your uterus was removed. Your fallopian tubes were removed. And based on the imaging, one ovary appears to have been surgically damaged.”
Vivian’s face hardened.
“Accidentally?”
Dr. Sloan looked at her.
“I cannot determine intent.”
But none of us believed in accidents anymore.
I closed my eyes.
Jared hadn’t only wanted to prevent pregnancy.
He had wanted to make absolutely certain.
“He wanted me sterile.”
Vivian squeezed my shoulder.
Dr. Sloan remained quiet.
Then I remembered Jared’s words on the recording.
Once Shelby is declared medically incapable of producing an heir, the Harlan succession clause changes.
“This wasn’t about Courtney.”
Vivian looked at me.
“What?”
“It wasn’t just about replacing me.”
I sat upright despite the pain.
“He needed me medically incapable of having a child.”
Vivian immediately understood.
“The trust.”
“Yes.”
She opened her laptop.
“Then we find the trust.”
For the next three hours, Vivian made calls.
Private investigators.
Estate attorneys.
Corporate registry specialists.
People who owed her favors.
People Jared didn’t know existed.
At 6:43 that evening, one answer arrived.
Vivian read the message twice.
Then a third time.
“What?” I asked.
She looked stunned.
“There is a Harlan Family Continuity Trust.”
“How much?”
“It doesn’t list a dollar value.”
“What does it control?”
“Harlan Media voting shares, several real estate holdings, investment funds, and mineral rights.”
My stomach tightened.
“Worth?”
Vivian stared at me.
“Potentially over two billion dollars.”
I couldn’t speak.
Two billion.
My ruined body.
My dead baby.
Courtney’s unborn child.
Suddenly every horrifying piece clicked into place.
“Why would I be entitled to it?”
Vivian kept reading.
“You’re not.”
My heart sank.
“Then what did my mother mean?”
“You aren’t the beneficiary under the current documents.”
“Who is?”
“Jared.”
Of course.
“Then none of this makes sense.”
Vivian raised one finger.
“Except the trust was amended six weeks before your wedding.”
I went still.
“Amended how?”
“The amendment created something called the maternal succession provision.”
She read carefully.
“If Jared Harlan’s legal spouse gives birth to a biological heir, controlling shares transfer into a protected generational trust administered jointly by both parents until the child turns thirty.”
I stared at her.
“So if I had Jared’s child…”
“You would gain joint control of the Harlan voting shares.”
“Jared would lose sole control.”
“Yes.”
“Then why marry me?”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s exactly what I want to know.”
Another message arrived.
She opened it.
Her expression changed.
“What now?”
“The amendment wasn’t requested by Richard Harlan.”
“Who requested it?”
Vivian turned the screen toward me.
AUTHORIZED REQUESTOR: EVELYN MARIE HARLAN.
Jared’s supposedly dead mother.
My mouth went dry.
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
I remembered Maria.
Your mother came here once.
She was asking questions about another patient.
A woman named Evelyn Harlan.
“Evelyn was alive four years ago.”
Vivian stood.
“And if she amended the trust six weeks before your wedding, she may have been alive when you married Jared.”
“Why pretend she was dead?”
“Maybe Jared didn’t know.”
I almost laughed.
“Jared knows everything.”
Vivian didn’t answer.
She began searching the audio archive again.
“Your mother mentioned the trust. If she knew Evelyn, there may be another recording.”
We filtered hundreds of files by date.
Some were ordinary.
My mother humming while cooking.
Conversations between us.
Doctors’ appointments.
My wedding planning.
Then we found a recording dated three weeks before my wedding.
My mother’s voice filled the room.
“You cannot let Shelby marry him.”
A woman answered.
Older.
Controlled.
“It’s already too late.”
I stopped breathing.
“Evelyn,” I whispered.
Vivian nodded.
My mother said, “Then tell her the truth.”
Evelyn replied, “If Jared learns she knows, Shelby will be in danger.”
“She already is.”
“You don’t understand my son.”
“I understand exactly what he is.”
There was a long silence.
Then Evelyn said something neither Vivian nor I expected.
“Jared cannot inherit the company if Shelby has a child.”
My mother answered, “That was your doing.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Jared murdered his brother.”
I gripped the edge of the bed.
Vivian paused the recording.
“Jared had a brother?”
“Not that I know of.”
She resumed it.
My mother sounded horrified.
“You told me the death was an accident.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard covered it up. Jared was seventeen. He pushed Nathan from the boathouse after an argument. Richard paid everyone who saw them together.”
Nathan.
The name meant nothing to me.
Until Evelyn’s next sentence.
“Nathan was supposed to inherit Harlan Media.”
My heart pounded.
“After he died, Jared became the only surviving male heir.”
My mother whispered, “So the trust amendment was punishment.”
“No.”
Evelyn sounded tired.
“It was insurance.”
“Against what?”
“Against Jared controlling everything.”
The recording crackled.
Then Evelyn said, “If Jared has a biological child with Shelby, she becomes the co-controller. Jared can never remove her without risking the shares.”
My mother asked, “Why Shelby?”
A long silence followed.
Then Evelyn spoke.
“Because Shelby is Nathan’s daughter.”
The room disappeared around me.
Vivian stopped the recording.
Neither of us moved.
“What did she say?” I whispered.
Vivian looked at me.
“You heard it.”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“Play it again.”
She did.
Because Shelby is Nathan’s daughter.
Again.
Because Shelby is Nathan’s daughter.
My entire life shattered in six words.
“My father was Daniel Brooks.”
“That’s who your mother told you.”
“He raised me.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he was your biological father.”
I stood too quickly.
Pain ripped across my abdomen.
Vivian caught me.
“No.”
I pushed her away.
“No. My mother would have told me.”
“Maybe she was trying to protect you.”
“She let me marry my uncle?”
Vivian’s face went pale.
“If Nathan was Jared’s brother…”
I felt sick.
Jared was my biological uncle.
The husband who had slept beside me for six years.
The man whose child I had carried.
The man whose child I had just lost.
I stumbled toward the bathroom and vomited.
Vivian held my hair while my body shook.
For the first time since the hospital, I cried.
Not softly.
Not gracefully.
I cried until my throat burned.
My mother had known.
Evelyn had known.
Richard had known.
Someone had allowed me to walk into that marriage without knowing who I really was.
When the tears finally stopped, something inside me changed.
Grief remained.
But underneath it, something harder formed.
“Finish the recording.”
Vivian hesitated.
“Shelby—”
“Finish it.”
We returned to the laptop.
Evelyn’s voice continued.
“Jared doesn’t know Shelby is Nathan’s daughter.”
That sentence stopped me again.
“He doesn’t know?”
My mother answered, “Richard does.”
“Yes.”
“And if Jared finds out?”
“He will understand that Shelby has a stronger blood claim to the company than he does.”
Vivian paused.
“There.”
She pointed at me.
“That’s your answer.”
“What?”
“The trust may recognize direct descendants of Nathan.”
“So this wasn’t only about preventing me from having Jared’s child.”
“No.”
Vivian’s expression hardened.
“It may have been about preventing you from ever producing an heir of your own.”
I remembered Dr. Sloan.
My uterus removed.
Both tubes removed.
One ovary damaged.
Jared hadn’t known I was his niece.
But Richard had.
Maybe someone else had told Jared enough to make him afraid without explaining why.
The recording continued.
My mother said, “I’m going to tell Shelby after the wedding.”
Evelyn panicked.
“No.”
“I won’t let her live a lie.”
“Marianne, listen to me. Richard watches everything. If you tell Shelby before I can move the remaining shares into her name, Richard will stop us.”
“I’m dying, Evelyn.”
“I know.”
“I don’t have time.”
“I need six months.”
My mother laughed bitterly.
“I don’t have six months.”
The audio ended.
Vivian leaned back.
“That was recorded three weeks before your wedding.”
“My mother died five months after my wedding.”
“And Evelyn?”
“Supposedly dead decades earlier.”
We searched for later files.
One month after my wedding.
Two.
Three.
Then we found a recording dated nine days before my mother died.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Evelyn never came back.”
Another voice answered.
A man.
Richard Harlan.
“You should have stopped asking questions.”
My mother said, “What did you do to her?”
Richard laughed.
“The same thing I do to anyone who threatens my family.”
My blood went cold.
Vivian whispered, “Oh my God.”
The recording continued.
“If you hurt Shelby—”
“I don’t need to hurt Shelby.”
Richard sounded almost amused.
“She married Jared willingly.”
“She doesn’t know who he is.”
“And she never will.”
My mother coughed violently.
Then Richard lowered his voice.
“You should worry less about Shelby and more about what’s in your IV.”
Vivian slammed pause.
We stared at each other.
My mother had died in hospice.
Everyone said pancreatic cancer had finally taken her.
But now I remembered her final week.
How suddenly she deteriorated.
How confused she became after Richard visited.
How she kept saying the nurses had changed her medication.
I hadn’t believed her.
I thought she was hallucinating.
“He killed my mother.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“You heard him.”
“We heard something extremely serious. But we need toxicology records, hospice logs, pharmacy records—”
“He killed her.”
My voice no longer shook.
“And Jared destroyed my body.”
Vivian looked at me for a long time.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking they’ve spent years depending on women being frightened into silence.”
I touched the scar beneath my gown.
“I’m not going to be silent.”
Vivian’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She declined it.
It rang again.
Same number.
“Don’t answer,” I said.
It rang a third time.
Vivian put it on speaker.
“Who is this?”
A woman spoke.
Old.
Breathless.
“Is Shelby with you?”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Vivian looked at me.
“Who is this?”
The woman ignored her.
“Tell Shelby she cannot go home.”
I stepped closer.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
Then the woman started crying.
My heart began pounding.
“Who are you?”
She whispered, “Your grandmother.”
I stopped breathing.
“My grandparents are dead.”
“One set is.”
Vivian’s eyes widened.
I already knew the answer before the woman said her name.
“This is Evelyn Harlan.”
My knees almost gave out.
Jared’s mother.
Nathan’s mother.
My biological grandmother.
The woman who had supposedly been dead for more than twenty years.
“You’re alive.”
“Barely.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because Jared knows you escaped the hospital.”
Of course he did.
“He thinks I’m mentally unstable.”
“No.”
Evelyn’s voice trembled.
“He knows exactly what happened.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Does he know I’m Nathan’s daughter?”
“No.”
“Then why did he sterilize me?”
The silence on the other end lasted too long.
“Evelyn?”
When she finally answered, her words changed the entire story.
“Because Courtney’s baby isn’t Jared’s.”
I stared at Vivian.
“What?”
“Courtney is not carrying your husband’s child.”
“Then whose baby is it?”
Evelyn inhaled sharply.
“Richard’s.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Richard is dead.”
“That is what Jared told you.”
My blood froze.
Vivian mouthed, No.
Evelyn continued.
“Richard Harlan is alive.”
The room became perfectly still.
“And Jared didn’t order your surgery because he wanted Courtney’s baby to inherit.”
“Then why?”
“Because Richard ordered him to.”
“Why would Richard care whether I can have children?”
Evelyn began crying again.
“Because you are not merely Nathan’s daughter.”
I pressed the phone harder against my ear.
“What does that mean?”
“Your mother never told you the final secret.”
“What secret?”
Evelyn whispered the answer.
“Nathan was not Richard Harlan’s biological son.”
My heart thundered.
“So?”
“So Jared has no legitimate claim to the Harlan fortune through Nathan’s line.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
“Tell me now.”
A noise came through the phone.
A door opening.
Evelyn gasped.
Then whispered quickly, “Shelby, listen carefully. There’s a safe-deposit box under your mother’s maiden name. First National Bank. Box 417. The key is sewn inside the hem of your wedding dress.”
“My wedding dress?”
“Your mother hid everything there.”
“Everything about what?”
“The blood test.”
“What blood test?”
Footsteps sounded behind Evelyn.
She started breathing faster.
“Evelyn?”
“If Richard reaches you before you open that box, run.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m sorry, Shelby.”
A man’s voice suddenly appeared in the background.
“Who are you talking to?”
Evelyn screamed.
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Vivian immediately tried calling back.
Disconnected.
Again.
Disconnected.
My hands became ice cold.
Vivian grabbed her coat.
“We go to the police.”
“No.”
She stared at me.
“What do you mean, no?”
“If Richard has enough power to fake deaths, falsify hospital records, and hide Evelyn for decades, I don’t know who he owns.”
“Shelby—”
“We get the box first.”
“Your wedding dress is at your house.”
“Yes.”
“The house Jared controls.”
“Yes.”
Vivian shook her head.
“You cannot go back there.”
“I’m not going.”
She frowned.
“Then how do we get the dress?”
I picked up my phone.
There was one person Jared had never taken seriously.
One person he considered invisible.
Our housekeeper.
Mrs. Alvarez had worked in that house longer than I had lived there.
She knew every room.
Every lock.
Every security camera.
I called her.
She answered immediately.
“Mrs. Harlan?”
Her voice sounded frightened.
“Mrs. Alvarez, I need you to do something for me.”
“Where are you? Mr. Harlan has everyone searching—”
“Listen carefully. My wedding dress is in the cedar wardrobe in the upstairs storage room.”
“I know.”
“I need you to cut open the bottom hem.”
Silence.
Then she said something I didn’t expect.
“You finally found out.”
My heart stopped.
“Found out what?”
“About the key.”
Vivian and I stared at each other.
“You knew?”
“Your mother gave me instructions before she died.”
My throat tightened.
“What instructions?”
“She told me if you ever asked for the wedding dress, I should give you the key and the letter.”
“What letter?”
Mrs. Alvarez whispered, “The one she wrote the night she discovered who Jared really was.”
I could barely breathe.
“Bring them to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Mr. Harlan came home twenty minutes ago.”
My pulse jumped.
“Jared?”
“Yes.”
“He’s tearing the house apart.”
“Looking for what?”
“The dress.”
I stood.
“Mrs. Alvarez, get out of there.”
“I’m trying.”
Suddenly something crashed on her end.
She gasped.
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“He found the wardrobe.”
Then I heard Jared.
“Who are you talking to?”
The phone went dead.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Vivian grabbed her keys.
“We need police.”
Before I could respond, a message arrived from Mrs. Alvarez’s number.
One photograph.
My wedding dress lying across the floor.
The hem had been ripped open.
Beside it sat a small brass key.
And an envelope.
Written across the front in my mother’s handwriting were five words:
FOR SHELBY — TRUST NO HARLAN.
Another message arrived.
This one wasn’t from Mrs. Alvarez.
It was from Jared.
A photograph of him holding the envelope.
Then:
COME HOME, SHELBY.
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR REAL FATHER.
My hands began shaking.
A final message appeared.
And this time there was a photograph attached.
Mrs. Alvarez was tied to a chair behind him.
Jared stood beside her holding the brass key.
His text contained only one sentence:
BRING THE RECORDING, OR SHE DIES WITH YOUR MOTHER’S SECRET.
I looked at Vivian.
She already knew what I was about to say.
“No.”
“You cannot go.”
“He has Mrs. Alvarez.”
“It’s a trap.”
“I know.”
“He wants the recorder.”
“I know.”
“He may kill you.”
I looked down at the scar Jared had ordered into my body.
Then at my mother’s pendant.
For six years, Jared had believed he knew exactly who his wife was.
Quiet.
Loyal.
Trusting.
Easy to control.
He had never met the woman standing in that room.
“Then we make him believe I’m coming alone.”
Vivian stared at me.
“What are you planning?”
I picked up Jared’s message.
“Something my mother should have done years ago.”
“What?”
I typed my reply.
I’LL BRING THE RECORDING.
BUT FIRST YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME WHO MY FATHER WAS.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Then Jared replied:
NATHAN HARLAN WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING.
ASK YOUR LAWYER WHY YOUR BIRTH CERTIFICATE WAS SEALED.
I slowly turned toward Vivian.
Her face had lost all color.
“What does he mean?”
She didn’t answer.
“Vivian.”
Still nothing.
And suddenly I understood.
“You know.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Shelby…”
“You knew something about my birth certificate.”
“I found it years ago.”
“Years ago?”
“Your mother asked me to.”
The betrayal struck almost as hard as Jared’s.
“What did you find?”
Vivian swallowed.
“The name listed under father wasn’t Nathan Harlan.”
“Then who was it?”
She looked at me.
And when she finally said the name, I understood why my mother had spent the last years of her life terrified.
“Richard Harlan.”
I stopped breathing.
Because if that birth certificate was real, Nathan wasn’t my father.
Richard was.
And Jared wasn’t my uncle.
He was my half-brother……………
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4…
