Chapter 7 - The Brother Everyone Believed Was DeadFor years, I had believed I was an only child.
Then came Emily.
Then came the possibility of another sibling.
The records suggested the boy had been born eleven years ago.
My father’s son.
My brother.
His name was listed as Daniel Morgan.
We searched every database.
Nothing.
School records.
Nothing.
Medical records.
Nothing.
Birth certificate.
Sealed.
The private investigator found a lead in Kentucky.
A foster agency.
Closed seven years earlier.
Its director was dead.
But an old employee agreed to speak.
Her name was Ruth Bell.
She lived in a small farmhouse outside Lexington.
When she heard my name, she started crying.
“I wondered when someone would come.”
I sat across from her.
“Did you know Daniel Morgan?”
She nodded.
“He was called Daniel Brooks.”
“Why?”
“He was placed under a temporary identity.”
“Where is he?”
“He was adopted.”
My heart clenched.
“By whom?”
Ruth looked at the floor.
“A family in Colorado.”
“Names?”
She gave them to us.
We drove twenty hours over two days.
We found them.
The family had changed their address.
But Marcus tracked their attorney.
The truth finally surfaced.
Daniel was alive.
Twenty-four years old.
He had been told his biological parents died.
He had never known about the Morgan family.
When I met him, he stared at me for thirty seconds.
“You look like me.”
I couldn't speak.
He laughed nervously.
“That's probably why you came.”
I nodded.
He looked at Emily.
Then Claire.
Then me.
“What is happening?”
I told him everything.
He listened.
Then asked the one question I feared.
“Why did nobody come looking?”
I looked at him.
“My father did.”
Daniel's eyes changed.
“He tried.”
“Then why didn’t he find me?”
I handed him the letter.
He read it.
His hands began shaking.
My father had written about a missing son.
He had discovered that the boy was alive.
He had almost found him.
Then he died.
Daniel looked up.
“Your mother?”
“She was lied to.”
He stared at me.
“Do you hate her?”
I thought about the apartment.
The cold windows.
The empty refrigerator.
Wendy bleeding on the floor.
I answered honestly.
“I don't know.”
Daniel nodded.
“I don't either.”
We went back to Chicago.
The family had finally come together.
But the danger had not ended.
Robert Hale was still free.
My mother was still hiding.
And now we had evidence involving forty-seven families.
We needed law enforcement.
Daniel contacted federal investigators.
Agents arrived quietly.
They reviewed the records.
The evidence was strong.
But one thing bothered them.
There were no living witnesses willing to testify.
Then a woman from Texas called.
She had seen our names on the news.
She was one of the forty-seven mothers.
Her name was Sarah Whitman.
She had been told her daughter died six years earlier.
She never believed it.
“I have photographs,” she said.
“Of what?”
“Of my daughter.”
“Where?”
“An adoption agency.”
She sent the images.
One showed Sarah pregnant.
Another showed the baby.
Another showed the same child at age five.
Alive.
Happy.
Living in California.
The adoption had been illegal.
The child had been purchased.
Federal investigators moved immediately.
Within forty-eight hours, they identified eleven surviving children.
Then nineteen.
Then thirty-two.
My mother's foundation became the center of the investigation.
The board resigned.
The organization collapsed.
But Jessi disappeared.
She took Stephanie with her.
We didn't know where they went.
Then the phone rang.
Stephanie.
“Luca.”
I answered.
“Where are you?”
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“I believed her.”
“Where's Mom?”
“She wants to meet you.”
“No.”
“She said she'll trade information.”
“For what?”
“She wants protection.”
I laughed.
“She doesn't get protection.”
“She says she knows where Noah's medical records came from.”
I went quiet.
“Tell me.”
“She says it's about your father.”
“Put her on.”
Silence.
Then my mother's voice.
“I knew you would come.”
“You almost killed my wife.”
“I never meant for Wendy to die.”
“You starved her.”
“I was trying to scare her.”
“You turned off the heat.”
“To make her understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That Noah wasn't safe.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who is the threat?”
“Robert.”
“Why?”
“He planned to use Noah's DNA.”
“For what?”
“He wanted to identify Daniel's biological mother.”
I froze.
“What?”
My mother continued.
“Your father had a daughter with someone else.”
“Who?”
“She wasn't Claire.”
“What?”
“The girl was born from an affair.”
“Who was she?”
My mother whispered:
“Your father's first love.”
I felt sick.
“Name.”
“Isabella Hart.”
The name meant nothing.
Until Emily spoke.
“That’s my grandmother.”
Everyone looked at her.
Claire turned white.
“No.”
Emily nodded.
“She told me.”
I looked at my mother.
“Where are you?”
She gave me an address.
An abandoned church outside Gary.
“Come alone.”
“No.”
“Then you'll never know the truth.”
The call ended.
We went anyway.
Not alone.
Federal agents surrounded the building.
My mother was inside.
So was Stephanie.
And sitting behind them was Robert Hale.
He held a gun.
For one moment, nobody moved.
Then Robert smiled.
“You look just like your father.”
I stared at him.
“Did you kill him?”
Robert lowered the gun slightly.
“Your father killed himself.”
My mother screamed.
“That's a lie!”
Robert looked at her.
“You know what happens when people discover the truth, Jessi.”
My mother shook.
“You promised.”
“I promised you would never have to know.”
“Know what?”
Robert looked at me.
“Your father wasn't investigating the network.”
“He created it.”
I stared.
“No.”
Robert smiled.
May you like
“And he wasn't your real father.”
My world went silent.
