Who she could have been.
“But,” she continued. “When I got pregnant, he sent me away, and no one knew. They all thought I was at rehab, that I’d been drinking too heavily and admitted to Patrick that I needed help and he’d sent me away. And when I came back, I was better than ever, and everyone congratulated me and suddenly I was being asked to speak and to run events and I found purpose again. And the baby.” She stopped, correcting herself. “You. You were the wake-up call I needed. I know it doesn’t make sense but… I came back to me and Patrick being stronger than ever before.”
She shook her head, as if none of that mattered — and in this moment, it didn’t.
“But, he was adamant that this all remain just between us. So, when I returned, I told him that I gave you to a family in Idaho.” She rolled her lips together, her voice soft again “But… I couldn’t part from you. I couldn’t bear the thought of never being able to see my son grow up. So, I went to my old best friend, and I asked her for the biggest favor of a lifetime.”
I could feel Noah and Logan watching me, but all I could do was stare back at this woman — this stranger — who suddenly, I realized, had features that were reflected in me. I saw the freckles on her nose, and the curve of her eyes, and the wrinkle between her furrowed brows.
They were all things I saw in myself, too.
My throat was tight the more she spoke, and Sydney squeezed my hand, reminding me she was there.
“Laurelei and John were having trouble getting pregnant at the time,” Mary explained. “And I knew she wanted to be a mother so badly, and I knew she would help anyone — no matter what — because that’s the kind of woman she has always been.” Mary sniffed. “So, she did. She helped me. And she helped you.”
My head was swimming, and Mallory and I exchanged a glance that held just as many questions as we’d walked into this room with at the beginning of the night.
We were brother and sister.
That was my mother standing on the other side of her.
But who was my father?
I didn’t have time to ask, not before Mary brought our attention back to the matter at hand. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, and I know you must have many questions. But right now,” she said, turning back to her husband. “I don’t care what your reasoning was for what you did, you need to make this right.”
“Fine,” he seethed, looking at all of us then. “What do you want? You want money? Name your price.”
“We don’t want your fucking money,” Logan said. “We want you to rot in prison for killing our father.”
“You and everyone who helped you,” Noah chimed in. “We want names.”
“And we want the shares of the company that we are rightfully owed,” I added, though my chest was tight, because now I wasn’t sure which we I fit into.
I’d wondered for so long who my biological mother was. I never would have imagined that once I found out, I’d feel an invisible tear from the family I’d known my entire life.
Patrick laughed, shaking his head at us. “You’re delusional if you think I would ever give you any part of my company. You’re lucky I even let you pieces of shit work for me. And I promise you this,” he added, thumbing his chest. “I will never go to prison — especially not for your worthless father and the end of his worthless life. Like I said before, you don’t have any proof — none that would matter. None that would stand up against what I have built. Did you forget what I said earlier?” He sneered. “You. Will. Not. Win.”
“Wow, that’s a good one,” a female voice said from outside the office window, and Patrick jumped, shock falling over him.
Noah and Logan exchanged a smirk, though I couldn’t quite find it in me to join them.
“Who is that?” Patrick asked quickly, running over to the window. Just as he did, the light of a giant camera blasted in at him, and he shielded his eyes.
“Can I quote you on that? It would really add a menacing, evil bad guy tone to the piece.”
The light disappeared, and Patrick was searching in the yard, wild-eyed and confused. He looked back at us, panicking. “Who was that? What’s going on?”
Then, the door behind Mary opened wider, and Mikey stepped through it.
Along with Miranda Hollis.
Miranda was a writer for our local newspaper — The Stratford Gazette — and thanks to Mallory helping us make a plan, we knew if we got her involved, we’d be able to slam the door on this case once and for all. She was famous for writing scathing articles about Patrick Scooter and she had for years — though, admittedly, none of them held much weight.