Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Remembered My Birth
The woman on the telephone introduced herself as Dr. Helen Mercer.
She said she had been the attending physician when I was born.
She also said that if my father discovered she'd contacted me, he would do everything possible to discredit her.
I stood in my bedroom with Genevieve beside me, listening to a stranger describe the night my life began.
"Your mother went into labor early," Dr. Mercer whispered. "There was a storm. The roads were flooding, and she refused to go to the hospital because she believed someone was watching the property."
My stomach tightened.
"Was she in danger?"
"She thought so."
"From whom?"
A long silence.
"Victor Aldrich."
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to say she was lying.
I wanted to believe there had been some terrible misunderstanding.
But I remembered my father's face when William mentioned Eleanor.
I remembered the sealed room.
The hidden documents.
The men who'd arrived to destroy whatever remained.
"Why didn't you come forward?" I asked.
Dr. Mercer began crying again.
"Because I was a coward."
The admission stunned me.
She explained that twenty-three years earlier, she'd been a young physician working at a small private clinic.
Eleanor had contacted her through Catherine Ashford, who helped arrange confidential medical care.
The delivery took place in the blue room.
For the first several hours, everything was normal.
Eleanor held me.
Fed me.
Sang to me.
Then, shortly before dawn, Victor arrived.
"He was furious," Dr. Mercer said. "There had been some argument about documents. Your mother told him she wasn't signing anything."
"What happened?"
"He threatened to have her declared mentally unfit."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Why?"
"Because she had evidence that he and several business associates were stealing from charitable trusts."
I looked toward the leather pouch on my bed.
Bennett Heritage Holdings.
Aldrich Maritime.
The hidden ledger.
Everything was beginning to connect.
"Did he hurt her?"
"I didn't see him strike her. But I heard him threaten her."
Dr. Mercer paused.
"Two nights later, Eleanor disappeared."
I swallowed.
"Did anyone report it?"
"Yes. Catherine Ashford did. The police investigated, but Victor claimed Eleanor had left voluntarily. He produced letters supposedly written by her."
"Forged letters?"
"I believe so."
"Why didn't Catherine keep investigating?"
"She did. For years."
I thought of William.
His mother had apparently dedicated part of her life to searching for mine.
"Where is Catherine now?"
Dr. Mercer went quiet.
"She died six years ago."
A strange sadness settled over me.
Another woman who might have told me the truth was gone.
"Why contact me tonight?"
"Because I received a message that someone had opened the blue room."
I looked at Genevieve.
"From whom?"
Dr. Mercer's breathing changed.
"I don't know."
My pulse raced.
"Then how did you get my number?"
"Catherine left instructions with an attorney. If Eleanor's hidden materials resurfaced, I was supposed to contact you directly."
I stared at the phone.
"Who is the attorney?"
"Daniel Pierce."
I'd heard that name.
Daniel Pierce was a well-known Manhattan attorney who handled complicated inheritance disputes.
I remembered seeing him on television.
"Can I meet you?" I asked.
Dr. Mercer hesitated.
"Not at your father's house."
"Where?"
"Tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. St. Andrew's Church on West Seventy-Fourth Street."
Before I could answer, she added:
"Bring William Ashford if you trust him. Catherine trusted his judgment, but that doesn't mean you should surrender your own."
The line disconnected.
I stood perfectly still.
Genevieve watched me.
"Clare?"
I lowered the phone.
"She says Dad threatened my mother."
Genevieve's face tightened.
"I believe her."
I looked up.
"Why?"
My sister sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, she seemed to be struggling with something she'd kept buried for years.
"Because I remember the night Eleanor disappeared."
My heartbeat accelerated.
"I thought you said you were five."
"I was."
"What do you remember?"
Genevieve stared at the floor.
"Rain. A black car. Eleanor standing in the driveway."
I sat beside her.
"Was she alone?"
"No."
"Who was with her?"
"Dad."
She swallowed.
"He was holding her arm. She was crying."
I could barely breathe.
"What happened?"
"She looked up at my bedroom window."
Genevieve's voice broke.
"She saw me watching."
I waited.
"She shouted something."
"What?"
Genevieve covered her face.
"I never understood it until tonight."
My chest tightened.
"Tell me."
She looked at me through tears.
"She shouted, 'Don't let him take my baby.'"
Neither of us spoke.
Outside, the wind moved through the trees.
Somewhere downstairs, an old clock began chiming three.
I looked at the photograph of Eleanor holding me.
For years, I'd imagined my mother had died peacefully.
Now I had to consider something far worse.
She might have been taken away from me.
And my father might have been responsible.
At seven the next morning, I received another message.
This one came from William Ashford.
Are you safe?
I stared at the screen.
Then typed:
I found something. I need to talk to you.
His reply arrived immediately.
Where?
I hesitated.
Not at my father's house.
Agreed. I'll send a car, or you can arrange your own transportation. Your choice.
The wording surprised me.
Your choice.
Two simple words.
I'd spent my entire life being told where to go, what to wear, when to speak, and how to behave.
William Ashford, a man with a reputation for controlling half of New York's underworld, was asking what I wanted.
I wrote:
I'll meet you outside the public library on Fifth Avenue.
Ten minutes after nine?
Yes.
I'll be there.
Genevieve helped me leave through the greenhouse entrance.
Before I went, she pressed a small notebook into my hand.
"What is this?"
"My notes from the family foundation."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because I started noticing missing money about six months ago."
I opened the notebook.
Dates.
Transfers.
Account numbers.
Charitable donations that had never reached their intended recipients.
My sister's handwriting filled every page.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
She gave me a sad smile.
"Who was I supposed to tell? Dad?"
I looked at her.
For the first time, I understood that Genevieve hadn't been living as freely as I imagined.
My father's cruelty had shaped all of us.
Some of us had learned to disappear.
Others had learned to smile.
I embraced her.
She froze.
Then wrapped her arms around me.
"Be careful," she whispered.
I nodded.
And walked out of the house carrying the first pieces of evidence that my entire family had been built on a lie.
William was waiting beside a dark SUV when I arrived at the library.
He wore a charcoal overcoat over a black shirt.
Two security men stood nearby, keeping their distance.
He looked relieved when he saw me.
"Clare."
I stopped a few feet away.
"Did you know my mother might be alive?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"I suspected it was possible."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't have evidence."
I stared at him.
"That didn't stop you from telling me everything else."
He accepted the criticism without arguing.
"You're right."
The admission caught me off guard.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have been clearer."
I looked down.
My hands were shaking.
William noticed.
"Would you like somewhere quiet to sit?"
I nodded.
We entered a small café across the street.
The hostess recognized him immediately.
Her expression changed.
William requested a table near the back.
He didn't order for me.
He didn't interrupt when I struggled to explain what happened.
And when my stutter became particularly bad, he simply waited.
I told him about the blue room.
The documents.
The cassette tape.
The locket.
And Dr. Helen Mercer.
By the time I finished, his face was grim.
"Mercer contacted you herself?"
"Yes."
"Did she arrange a meeting?"
I told him about the church.
He checked his watch.
"We should go."
I hesitated.
"William?"
He looked at me.
"Why are you helping me?"
His expression became unreadable.
"Because my mother made me promise something."
"That isn't the whole reason."
He studied me for a moment.
"No."
I waited.
"Your father has been using companies connected to the Ashford organization to conceal transfers involving charitable funds. I discovered it while reviewing my father's old business records."
My stomach dropped.
"So this is about money."
"Partly."
"And revenge?"
"Possibly."
I looked away.
He continued quietly.
"But none of that changes your right to know what happened."
I swallowed.
"Am I just another way to hurt my father?"
"No."
His answer came immediately.
I looked at him.
"If I ever make you feel that way," he said, "walk away."
A strange warmth moved through my chest.
I'd never heard a powerful man tell me I was allowed to leave.
At 9:52 a.m., we arrived at St. Andrew's Church.
The building stood between two rows of brownstones.
Its doors were open.
Inside, the air smelled of candle wax and polished wood.
A few elderly parishioners sat quietly in the pews.
Near the front, an older woman in a navy coat waited with a handbag on her lap.
She stood when she saw me.
"Clare?"
I nodded.
Her eyes filled.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She stepped forward.
Then stopped herself.
"May I hug you?"
I nodded again.
She embraced me carefully.
I stood stiffly for one second.
Then held on.
"I remember the day you were born," she whispered. "You were so small. Your mother kept kissing your forehead."
My eyes filled.
"Did she love me?"
Dr. Mercer pulled back.
"More than anything."
For several minutes, she told me about Eleanor.
Not the financial investigator.
Not the woman accused of crimes.
My mother.
She loved lemon tea.
She sang badly but enthusiastically.
She collected old books.
She had a habit of pressing flowers between their pages.
She hated dishonesty.
And she had been excited to have a daughter.
I cried when Dr. Mercer told me Eleanor had chosen my name because she wanted something simple and beautiful.
Then the doctor's expression changed.
"There is something I need to give you."
She opened her handbag.
Inside was a small envelope wrapped in plastic.
"I kept this for twenty-three years."
She handed it to me.
Inside was a medical record.
A discharge summary.
But the patient's name wasn't Eleanor Bennett.
It was Elizabeth Bell.
And the date was three weeks after my mother's supposed death.
I stared at the paper.
"Who is Elizabeth Bell?"
Dr. Mercer looked at William.
Then back at me.
"That was the name Eleanor used after she escaped the first place Victor confined her."
My heart stopped.
"Confined her?"
Dr. Mercer nodded.
"Your father arranged for her to be admitted to a private psychiatric facility using statements that she was unstable and dangerous."
I felt the room tilt.
"Where?"
"An institution in Connecticut. It closed years ago."
"Did she escape?"
"Yes."
"What happened after that?"
Dr. Mercer looked toward the church doors.
Fear crossed her face.
"She contacted Catherine. They arranged to meet. But Eleanor never arrived."
I clutched the paper.
"Why didn't you tell the police?"
"We did. Catherine filed reports. But there wasn't enough evidence to establish where Eleanor went."
William suddenly stood.
His gaze had moved toward the entrance.
Two men in dark jackets had entered the church.
They weren't looking at the altar.
They were looking at us.
William spoke quietly.
"Clare, stay beside Dr. Mercer."
One of the men reached inside his coat.
William's security guard stepped forward.
The man immediately withdrew his empty hand.
A tense silence followed.
Then the second stranger smiled.
"Mr. Ashford."
William didn't smile back.
"You're a long way from Aldrich Maritime."
I looked sharply at him.
My father's company.
The man glanced at me.
"Mr. Aldrich would like his daughter home."
My blood turned cold.
William stepped between us.
"Tell Victor she makes her own decisions."
The stranger's smile disappeared.
"You're interfering in family business."
William's voice lowered.
"Then tell him to take it to court."
The men exchanged a glance.
They left.
But Dr. Mercer was trembling.
"They found us."
William looked toward his security team.
"Have someone accompany Dr. Mercer somewhere safe, if she agrees."
The older woman nodded.
Then she caught my hands.
"Clare, listen carefully."
I leaned closer.
"Your mother left something with Catherine shortly before she vanished."
"What?"
"A second recording."
My heart raced.
"Where is it?"
Dr. Mercer's eyes moved toward William.
"Your mother said the recording would explain why Victor was desperate to keep you hidden."
William frowned.
"My mother never mentioned a second recording."
"She wasn't supposed to."
Dr. Mercer looked back at me.
"She said only Eleanor's daughter would know where to look."
My fingers tightened around the medical record.
"Where?"
Dr. Mercer whispered:
"Inside the swan."
I froze.
The swan.
The music box in the blue room.
I looked at William.
He understood immediately.
But before either of us spoke, Dr. Mercer said one last thing.
"Clare, when you find it, don't listen alone."
"Why?"
Her face crumpled.
"Because the voice on that recording belongs to the man who ordered your mother to disappear."
And then she whispered a name that made William Ashford go completely still.
May you like
"Richard Ashford."
His father.
