Chapter 6 - My Father's Safe
My father kept a safe behind a painting he hated.
That was the kind of man he was.
He called the painting “an overpriced blue headache,” then refused to sell it because my mother loved it.
At midnight, I stood in his old study staring at that blue headache.
My mother stood in the doorway.
“You have no right.”
“I live here.”
“You moved out ten years ago.”
“Dad's dead.”
Her face tightened.
I regretted it immediately.
Not enough to stop.
I pulled the painting aside.
The safe keypad glowed.
“What's the code?”
“I don't know.”
“You were married to him for thirty-eight years.”
“That doesn't make me his locksmith.”
I tried birthdays.
Anniversary.
Company founding date.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something Micah had said.
Quiet.
My father used to say silence had a number.
I had always assumed it was one of his weird sayings.
I typed 0000.
The safe opened.
My mother sat down.
Inside were three folders, a handgun, two passports, and a child's red mitten.
I picked up the mitten.
Mara had shown me pictures of the boys at age two.
Micah wore red mittens.
My father had kept one.
I opened the first folder.
Bank records.
The second contained photographs of Gerald meeting with men I didn't recognize.
The third had my name.
Inside was a DNA report.
Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
My legs stopped working.
I sat on the floor.
Four names.
Milo Reyes.
Mason Reyes.
Max Reyes.
Micah Reyes.
All mine.
My mother covered her mouth.
“You knew,” I whispered.
“No.”
“Stop.”
“I knew Mara was pregnant. I did not know there were four.”
I threw the report onto the desk.
“Dad knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because I begged him not to.”
There it was.
Not a conspiracy.
Not a villain's speech.
A mother admitting something unforgivable in a whisper.
“Why?”
“Because you were drinking. Because you were reckless. Because you nearly killed yourself in that car crash. Because Whitaker Holdings was under investigation. Because I thought Mara wanted money.”
“You decided I didn't deserve to know my children.”
“I decided those children deserved a father who wasn't you.”
That landed.
Because six years ago, maybe she was right.
I hated her for saying it anyway.
I opened the final envelope.
A letter from my father.
ADRIAN—
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, I FAILED TO FIX WHAT I HELPED BREAK.
Gerald knows where the original records are.
Do not trust the board.
Do not trust the family office.
And whatever Evelyn tells you, ask her about the fifth baby.
I read the sentence again.
The fifth baby.
My mother stood so quickly her chair fell backward.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“What fifth baby?”
She backed toward the door.
May you like
And for the first time that night, she ran from me.
