Chapter 5 - THE ADOPTION PAPERS IN THE COAT
The word daughter hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
I stared at Thomas Hayes. My mind scrambled to process the onslaught of lies. First Margaret said Arthur was my father. Now this man, Thomas, was claiming he was my father, and that Richard Collins—the man I had mourned since childhood—was a murderer.
"You're insane," I said, my voice trembling.
Thomas didn't flinch. He handed me the folded piece of paper.
I opened it. It was a birth certificate.
Mother: Evelyn Hayes.
Father: Thomas Hayes.
Child: Rebecca Hayes. Date of Birth: October 14, 1980.
My exact birth date.
"Your mother, Evelyn, died when you were two," Thomas said quietly. "I was struggling. Richard Collins was my business partner, and my brother Arthur was our accountant. Richard offered to take you in temporarily while I got on my feet."
He looked at Margaret, his eyes hardening with a cold, terrifying fury.
"But Richard didn't want to give you back. He and Margaret couldn't conceive. So Richard framed my brother Arthur for embezzlement. When Arthur found out and threatened to go to the police, Richard killed him and made it look like a suicide."
"Stop!" Margaret shrieked, covering her ears. "It's a lie! It's all a lie!"
"Is it?" Thomas took a step toward her. "Then why did you wire two hundred thousand dollars to my lawyer yesterday, Margaret? Hush money?"
Leah was backed against the staircase, sobbing hysterically. "Mom, what is he talking about? Dad wasn't a killer!"
"Your father was a monster," Thomas said to Leah, not even looking at her. Then he turned back to me. "Richard blackmailed me. He told me if I ever tried to take you back, he would ensure I went to prison for Arthur's 'embezzlement.' So I ran. I stayed away to protect you. But Richard is dead now. And I finally found the proof I needed."
"What proof?" I asked, my hands shaking so badly I dropped the birth certificate.
Thomas pointed at the velvet box in Margaret’s hands.
"The watch," Thomas said. "Arthur's pocket watch. The one Richard took from his body after he killed him. Margaret has kept it hidden for thirty-four years as a trophy."
I looked at Margaret. She was clutching the box to her chest, her knuckles white.
"Give me the watch, Margaret," I said.
"No," Margaret whispered. "It's mine."
"Give it to me!" I shouted, stepping toward her.
She flinched and dropped the box. It hit the hardwood floor, popping open. The gold watch rolled out, coming to a stop at my feet.
I picked it up. It was heavy, cold metal.
I turned it over. The back was engraved: To Arthur, with love.
But there was something else. The back casing of the watch was slightly loose. A small latch was visible near the hinge.
I pried it open with my thumbnail.
Inside the back cover of the watch wasn't a gear or a spring. It was a tiny, tightly folded piece of microfilm.
A reversal struck me.
Margaret hadn't kept the watch as a trophy. She had kept it because it contained evidence.
"You knew," I whispered to Margaret. "You knew Richard murdered him, and you hid the evidence inside the watch to protect your husband."
Margaret collapsed into the dining chair, burying her face in her hands.
"I had to," she sobbed. "If Richard went to prison, Leah and I would have had nothing. We would have been ruined."
I stared at her, feeling absolutely nothing but a cold, empty void where my love for my mother used to be.
"You let a man run for his life, you let another man die, and you tortured me for thirty-four years... for a house?" I asked.
Before Margaret could answer, Thomas placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"It's over, Rebecca," Thomas said softly. "You don't have to carry them anymore. I'm wealthy now. Very wealthy. I want to make up for the years we lost. Come with me. You and Emma."
I looked at Thomas. My real father. The man who looked just like me. He was offering me an escape from this nightmare.
I turned to Emma. "Get your things, honey. We're leaving."
Emma didn't move. She was staring at Thomas's tailored coat.
"Mom," Emma said, her voice shaking with terror. "Don't go with him."
I frowned. "Emma, what's wrong?"
Emma pointed a trembling finger at the sleeve of Thomas's expensive charcoal suit.
There, barely visible near the cuff, was a dark, reddish-brown stain.
Blood.
"Emma, it's just a stain," Thomas said smoothly, though his eyes suddenly went perfectly dead.
"No," Emma whispered. "When you walked in... you said Margaret wired the money to your lawyer yesterday."
"That's right," Thomas said.
Emma backed away, pulling her phone from her pocket.
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"I know," Emma said, her voice cracking. "Because my friend's mom works at that law firm. She posted on Facebook an hour ago. The lawyer who received that wire transfer... was found murdered in his office tonight."
TITLE: THE BLOOD ON THE CHARCOAL SUIT
