Chapter 7 - THE SECOND LIE
Michael laughed.
It was the sound of a man reaching the edge of what he could process.
“First he is my father.”
“Then he isn't.”
“Which one is it?”
Dr. Ross remained calm.
“I believed Jonathan was your father when you were born.”
“So did Eleanor.”
“So did Samuel.”
Sarah's heart monitor slowly returned to normal.
Michael picked up his chair.
“What changed?”
“Rebecca contacted me in 2004.”
Michael frowned.
“Seven years later.”
“Yes.”
“She had secretly obtained DNA samples.”
“From whom?”
“Jonathan's preserved medical tissue.”
“And from Michael?”
Ross nodded.
“Rebecca had access to a hairbrush from the Vance house.”
Michael stared at Thomas.
Thomas looked equally shocked.
Ross continued.
“The DNA did not match.”
Sarah whispered.
“So who is Michael's father?”
Ross looked uncomfortable.
“That part I never knew.”
Michael's face hardened.
“My mother knows.”
“Most likely.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
Relief crashed into her so strongly she almost cried.
If Dr. Ross was telling the truth, Michael was not her biological brother.
But another question remained.
“Why would my mother test Michael?”
Ross answered quietly.
“Because she was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“Rebecca knew you and Michael had met as teenagers.”
Sarah blinked.
“We did?”
Michael frowned.
“I don't remember that.”
“You were both seven.”
Ross shook her head.
“I may have the year wrong.”
“But Rebecca learned Michael was being raised as Jonathan's son.”
“She feared the two of you could someday cross paths without knowing the truth.”
Michael stared at Sarah.
Ironically, they had met twenty years later at a fundraiser.
Neither had known their mothers once shared a secret.
Sarah asked.
“Where is that DNA report?”
“I don't know.”
“Rebecca kept it.”
“Then it might still exist.”
Sarah thought of her mother's belongings.
After Rebecca's death, most boxes had gone into a storage unit outside Baltimore.
Sarah had never sorted through all of them.
Michael immediately called Detective Ortiz.
Three hours later, Ortiz obtained Sarah's permission to search the unit.
They found sixteen boxes.
Tax records.
Family photographs.
Old clothing.
Letters.
And inside a locked metal case, an envelope marked SARAH ONLY.
Ortiz brought it to the hospital.
Sarah opened it with Michael beside her.
The first item was a DNA report.
Probability of biological relationship between Jonathan Vance and Michael Vance.
0.02%.
Michael exhaled.
Sarah began crying.
He took her hand.
For the first time since Dr. Ross's revelation, they allowed themselves to look at each other without fear.
There was more.
A second DNA report.
Jonathan Vance and Sarah Bennett.
99.97% probability of paternity.
Sarah stared at it.
“So Jonathan really was my father.”
Michael nodded.
“Which means Eleanor knew who you were.”
Sarah looked up.
“Maybe.”
“No.”
“She knew.”
“Why else would she panic about Grace?”
Sarah opened the letter beneath the reports.
Her mother's handwriting filled three pages.
Sarah, if you are reading this, I failed to tell you something while I still had the courage.
Jonathan Vance was your biological father.
He loved you before you were born.
He never got the chance to meet you.
Sarah stopped to wipe her eyes.
Michael sat closer.
She continued.
Jonathan made mistakes.
So did I.
But his death was not an accident.
Samuel confronted him at the lake after learning Jonathan planned to expose Eleanor's affair and change the inheritance.
There was a fight.
Samuel struck Jonathan.
Jonathan fell into the water.
Eleanor saw it happen.
Michael covered his mouth.
Sarah kept reading.
Samuel forced Eleanor to repeat the boating story.
Eleanor agreed because Samuel threatened to tell William that Michael was Jonathan's son.
She believed William would take her child away.
Sarah looked at Michael.
“So she protected you.”
Michael's expression remained hard.
“She also protected a killer.”
The letter continued.
Years later, I learned the final cruelty.
Michael was not Jonathan's son.
Eleanor had been wrong from the beginning.
Sarah reached the final paragraph.
I confronted Eleanor with the DNA result.
She begged me to destroy it.
I refused.
Two weeks later, someone broke into my apartment.
Nothing was taken except one folder.
I made copies.
One copy is here.
The other went to an attorney named Charles Mercer.
Sarah lowered the letter.
Michael said.
“Mercer.”
“What?”
“He was my grandfather's estate attorney.”
Sarah's eyes widened.
Michael immediately searched the name.
Charles Mercer had died five years earlier.
But his law firm still existed.
Mercer, Sloan & Pike.
Michael called.
An attorney answered after hours.
Michael identified himself.
There was a long silence.
Then the attorney said.
May you like
“Mr. Vance.”
“We have been expecting someone from your family to ask about that file for twenty-two years.”
