Chapter 3 - The Secret Her Mother Took to the Grave
By morning, Norah woke in a luxurious guest room on the third floor of Ethan’s private residence.
She panicked.
The room looked like something out of a magazine.
Tall windows.
Cream-colored curtains.
A king-size bed.
A fireplace.
Fresh flowers.
For one confused moment, she thought she had died.
Then she heard Sam crying.
Norah threw open the door.
A woman stood in the hallway holding him.
She was in her fifties, dressed simply but elegantly.
“Easy,” she said.
“He’s been fed.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Mrs. Bell. I run this house.”
Norah took Sam immediately.
“Where is Ethan?”
“Downstairs.”
“I need to leave.”
Mrs. Bell gave her a sympathetic look.
“You can.”
Norah blinked.
“I can?”
“Yes.”
“Then why am I still here?”
“Because your car was found with a broken rear window.”
Norah froze.
“What?”
“Mateo discovered it this morning.”
Her grip tightened around Sam.
“What happened?”
“We don’t know.”
Norah hurried downstairs.
Ethan was in the dining room, standing over a folder.
He looked untouched by sleep.
Dark shirt.
Rolled sleeves.
Cold expression.
Norah stopped several feet away.
“My car.”
“I had it brought into the garage.”
“Was the baby seat damaged?”
“No.”
“Nothing was taken?”
“Not that we can see.”
“Then why?”
Ethan looked at her.
“Because someone broke the window after you left.”
He slid a clear plastic evidence bag across the table.
Inside was a small metal object.
A bullet casing.
Norah stared.
“They shot at my car?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“They fired into the air.”
“Why?”
“To make sure you knew they could reach you.”
Norah’s face went pale.
“I need to leave the city.”
Ethan shook his head.
“Too late.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your apartment was searched last night.”
Her mouth opened.
“No.”
“Nothing valuable was taken.”
“Then what were they looking for?”
Ethan placed another object on the table.
A photograph.
Norah recognized the old house.
Her mother’s house.
On the back of the photograph was a handwritten address.
“You went there recently.”
She nodded.
“I told you.”
“What did you find?”
“A wooden box.”
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
Ethan’s eyes sharpened.
“Who took it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was inside?”
“Letters.”
“From your mother?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Dozens.”
“What did they say?”
Norah hesitated.
“My mother said she was hiding.”
“From my father?”
Norah looked at him.
“Yes.”
Ethan leaned back.
“Why?”
“She never explained.”
“Did she mention my name?”
“Once.”
His jaw tightened.
“What did she say?”
“That Victor Hayes had a son.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said if you ever came looking for her, I should never trust you.”
The words landed harder than Ethan expected.
“And yet you came to my restaurant.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know my father’s name?”
“Not until last night.”
Ethan studied her.
There was no performance in her face.
Only fear and confusion.
Then Sam began chewing on his sleeve.
Norah immediately took it away and replaced it with a teething ring.
Ethan watched.
She did everything automatically.
Protective.
Gentle.
Exhausted.
“Where is your father?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Sam’s father.”
Norah went silent.
“His father is not in the picture.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Dead?”
“I hope not.”
Ethan’s expression hardened.
“That answer matters.”
Norah stared at him.
“You have no right to interrogate me about my child.”
Ethan stood.
“I have every right to protect a person standing inside a house that belongs to me.”
“I’m not yours.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
He stepped closer.
“I am trying to keep you alive.”
“And I am trying to keep my son alive.”
The room fell quiet.
Neither moved.
Then Ethan said:
“Good.”
Norah frowned.
“What?”
“Now we understand each other.”
He opened the folder.
“I found this.”
Inside was a newspaper clipping.
October 1999.
A young Eleanor Davis was mentioned in a financial scandal involving the Hayes shipping company.
Norah read quickly.
“There’s no way.”
“What?”
“My mother wasn’t a criminal.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
The article alleged that Eleanor had stolen documents from Victor Hayes.
Norah shook her head.
“She worked for him.”
“As a legal assistant?”
“She was more than that.”
Ethan looked sharply at her.
“How do you know?”
“Her letters.”
“What else did she say?”
“She said your father wasn't the man everyone thought he was.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed.
“What did she mean?”
“She said he was being controlled.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Norah closed her eyes.
“She wrote that one day the people around him would kill him if he tried to leave.”
Ethan went still.
His father had been found dead in a supposed car accident.
Eight years ago.
Brakes failed.
No witnesses.
Case closed.
He had always believed it was an assassination.
He had never proven it.
Now the possibility of a larger conspiracy was opening.
Norah looked at him.
“My mother also said something else.”
“What?”
“She said there was a child.”
Ethan waited.
“A child who would inherit everything.”
His voice lowered.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Norah looked at Sam.
Then at Ethan.
And a strange expression crossed her face.
“One line kept repeating.”
“What line?”
“She wrote, ‘If they learn what happened to the first child, they will come for the second.’”
Ethan’s blood ran cold.
“The first child?”
Norah nodded.
“Then who is the second?”
She looked at him.
Neither spoke.
A phone rang.
Ethan answered.
Finn’s voice came through.
“We found something in the old Hayes archive.”
“What?”
“A birth certificate.”
“For whom?”
A pause.
Then:
“For Victor Hayes.”
Ethan frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“There’s a second name listed as his dependent.”
“Whose?”
Finn inhaled.
“Norah Davis.”
Norah looked at Ethan.
May you like
Ethan looked back at her.
The room seemed suddenly too small.
