CHAPTER 8 — THE GOLDEN DAUGHTER
CHAPTER 8 — THE GOLDEN DAUGHTER
Olivia's voice remained in my ear.
“My father's name isn't Arthur.”
I couldn't move.
Across the room, Daniel stood completely still.
For a man who had spent twenty-three years living with secrets, he suddenly looked like someone who had just discovered his own life was built on a lie.
“Olivia,” I whispered, “read it again.”
“I already did.”
“Read the name.”
Silence.
Then:
“Daniel Mercer.”
I closed my eyes.
Daniel took one step toward me.
“Put her on speaker.”
I did.
Olivia's breathing was uneven.
Daniel spoke.
“Where did you find the certificate?”
“In Mom's locked desk.”
“Is it an original?”
“Yes.”
“Who signed it?”
“I don't know. There's a doctor's signature and a hospital stamp.”
“Read the date.”
Olivia did.
The date matched her birthday.
Daniel said nothing.
I looked at him.
“You said you were my father.”
“I am.”
“Then what is Olivia?”
He didn't answer.
I whispered:
“Your daughter too?”
Daniel's face tightened.
“I don't know.”
That answer terrified me more than anything else.
Because for twenty-three years, my family had built itself around a simple hierarchy.
Olivia was the golden daughter.
I was the difficult one.
Olivia was the legitimate heir.
I was the charity case.
Olivia deserved everything.
I needed to prove myself.
But if Daniel was her biological father too—
Then the entire hierarchy had been manufactured.
Not by fate.
By design.
Olivia arrived forty minutes later.
She walked into the apartment holding the birth certificate like it was a weapon.
Her face was pale.
She looked at Daniel.
Then at me.
Then back at Daniel.
“Are you my father?”
Daniel couldn't answer immediately.
Finally, he said:
“I don't know.”
Olivia laughed.
It wasn't a happy sound.
“You don't know?”
“No.”
“You've had twenty-three years to know.”
“I was told your father was Arthur.”
“By whom?”
Daniel looked at my mother.
“Your mother.”
Olivia turned toward the kitchen.
Mom stood there silently.
“Mom?”
No response.
“Mom!”
She flinched.
“Tell me.”
Mom began crying.
“I didn't know.”
Olivia stared at her.
“You didn't know who my father was?”
“I was told—”
“By whom?”
Mom looked at Daniel.
“By Arthur.”
Olivia's expression changed.
“Dad told you?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed him?”
“I had no reason not to.”
I almost laughed.
After everything we'd discovered, that sentence felt absurd.
“You had every reason.”
Mom looked at me.
“I was young.”
“So was I.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
Daniel took the certificate.
He examined it carefully.
“This signature…”
“What?”
“I know this doctor.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Samuel Avery.”
He looked up.
“He delivered both of you.”
I froze.
“Both?”
“Yes.”
“You said you didn't know Olivia was yours.”
“I didn't.”
“Then why did the same doctor deliver us?”
Daniel stared at the certificate.
“Because your mother gave birth to you both.”
Olivia shook her head.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if—”
He stopped.
“If what?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Your mother was pregnant with twins.”
Silence.
I felt dizzy.
“Twins?”
He nodded.
“You and Olivia were born eleven months apart.”
“That isn't possible.”
“Not naturally.”
My stomach turned.
“What are you saying?”
Daniel's expression hardened.
“Someone altered the records.”
Olivia sat down.
“This is insane.”
“No,” Daniel said.
“This is organized.”
He placed both birth certificates on the table.
“Look at the hospital numbers.”
I leaned closer.
The numbers were nearly identical.
One ended in 417.
The other in 418.
Daniel pointed to the dates.
“These were originally assigned to the same maternal file.”
I looked at him.
“So?”
“So the hospital treated your births as connected.”
“But we weren't twins.”
“You were.”
Olivia stared at me.
“We're eleven months apart.”
“According to the records.”
I felt cold.
“What really happened?”
Daniel didn't answer.
He turned toward my mother.
“Tell them.”
Mom covered her face.
“I can't.”
“You have to.”
“I promised.”
“Those promises are over.”
She looked at us.
Then whispered:
“You were born six weeks apart.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Mom was crying now.
“Maya was born first.”
Olivia stared at her.
“Then me?”
“Six weeks later.”
“That isn't possible.”
“It was.”
“How?”
Mom looked at Daniel.
“Because you were born prematurely.”
Olivia shook her head.
“No.”
“You survived.”
“Mom…”
“You were in the neonatal unit.”
Olivia looked horrified.
“And Maya?”
“I was told she died.”
The room went silent.
I couldn't breathe.
“You were told I died?”
Mom nodded.
“For six weeks, I believed my daughter was dead.”
I looked at her.
“Then who raised me?”
She whispered:
“Arthur.”
Everything shifted.
I sat down.
Arthur hadn't simply raised me.
He had taken me.
Or saved me.
I didn't know which.
“Why would he tell you I died?”
Mom shook her head.
“He said it was the only way to keep you alive.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel spoke quietly.
“You knew enough to sign the documents.”
Mom looked at him.
“I was afraid.”
“Of Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
I stood.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
“Why did you let me believe Olivia was always the golden daughter?”
Her face collapsed.
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
“I never wanted that.”
“You let Dad compare us.”
“Yes.”
“You let him tell me I was irresponsible.”
“I thought he was protecting you.”
“You let Olivia believe she was better.”
“I was trying to protect her too.”
I shook my head.
“From what?”
Mom whispered:
“From the truth.”
The golden daughter.
That was what everyone called Olivia.
The daughter with the perfect grades.
The perfect wardrobe.
The perfect fiancé.
The perfect wedding.
The daughter who was allowed to dream because Dad had already decided she was worthy.
I had spent years believing she was simply better than me.
Now I understood.
The golden crown had never been hers.
It had been placed on her head by someone who needed me to look beneath it.
Maybe Dad had made her the favorite because he needed everyone to believe she was the only legitimate heir.
Maybe he had made me the difficult daughter because it kept people from asking why I had no birth records.
Maybe the entire family dynamic had been theater.
And Olivia and I had been the actors.
She looked at me.
“I hated you.”
I swallowed.
“I know.”
“I thought you were jealous.”
“I was.”
“I thought you wanted what I had.”
“I did.”
She started crying.
“I thought Dad loved me more.”
I looked at her.
“Did he?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know anymore.”
Neither did I.
Then she asked:
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I finally understand.”
She wiped her face.
“What?”
“You weren't the golden daughter.”
She looked at me.
“You were the decoy.”
That sentence changed everything.
Daniel sat across from us.
“There are two possibilities.”
I looked at him.
“First, Arthur knew both of you were connected to him and deliberately separated you.”
“And the second?”
“Someone else created the separation.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
Olivia looked at the certificates.
“What about the hospital?”
Daniel nodded.
“That's where we start.”
I opened my laptop.
“St. Vincent's?”
“Yes.”
I searched the hospital records.
The institution had merged twice.
The original archive had supposedly been destroyed in a flood fifteen years ago.
Daniel frowned.
“Supposedly.”
“What?”
“Archives don't disappear that cleanly.”
I searched deeper.
Then found something.
A private storage company had digitized a portion of the old files.
The database required authorization.
I entered my name.
Denied.
Olivia tried hers.
Denied.
Daniel entered his.
Access granted.
We stared at the screen.
I looked at him.
“Why do you have access?”
Daniel's face hardened.
“I shouldn't.”
The system opened.
A list appeared.
Patient files.
Mother: Eleanor Hartwell.
Children:
Maya Hartwell.
Olivia Hartwell.
But there was another entry.
A third.
Infant C.
Status:
Transferred.
I stared.
“Transferred where?”
The location field was blank.
Daniel clicked it.
A password prompt appeared.
He tried three combinations.
None worked.
Then Olivia whispered:
“Try Ethan.”
Daniel froze.
He typed:
ETHAN1981.
Access granted.
A hidden file appeared.
Inside was a scanned document.
I opened it.
The title made my blood run cold.
NEONATAL TRANSFER AUTHORIZATION.
The patient was listed as:
INFANT C.
Date:
Six weeks after my birth.
Destination:
Mercer Children's Research Institute.
I looked at Daniel.
“What is that?”
His face had gone white.
“That institute didn't exist.”
“What?”
“It was a private medical facility.”
“Who owned it?”
He stared at the document.
“Arthur.”
Nobody spoke.
The pieces were beginning to form a shape I didn't want to see.
Arthur had a private medical facility.
A neonatal transfer.
An unnamed infant.
A mother who believed her child was dead.
And a second daughter who appeared eleven months later.
I whispered:
“Was Olivia transferred?”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who was?”
He stared at the file.
“We don't know.”
Olivia looked at me.
“Maybe it wasn't one of us.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe there was another baby.”
Daniel looked up.
“That would explain the third file.”
I stared at the screen.
“Then who was Infant C?”
My phone rang.
Arthur.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
His voice sounded exhausted.
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“You don't get to give me orders.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To warn you.”
“About what?”
A pause.
“Daniel.”
I looked at him.
“He's not telling you everything.”
I laughed.
“Neither are you.”
“I know.”
“Then start.”
Another silence.
Then Arthur said:
“Your mother was never the person who decided which daughter survived.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“The decision was made before either of you were born.”
“By whom?”
He whispered:
“Your grandmother.”
I closed my eyes.
“We already know about her.”
“No.”
His voice tightened.
“You don't know what she did.”
“What did she do?”
“She didn't order Ethan's death.”
I looked at Daniel.
Arthur continued.
“She ordered something much worse.”
“What?”
“She ordered a child to disappear.”
The call went silent.
I whispered:
“Which child?”
Arthur answered:
“The one you're looking at.”
I turned toward Olivia.
She was standing beside the window.
Watching me.
My blood ran cold.
“Dad…”
The line disconnected.
Olivia stared at me.
“What did he say?”
I couldn't speak.
Daniel stepped forward.
“What happened?”
I looked at both of them.
Then at the old hospital file.
The third infant.
The transfer.
The grandmother.
The hidden birth certificates.
And suddenly, a terrible possibility surfaced.
Maybe Olivia wasn't the golden daughter.
Maybe she wasn't even who we thought she was.
I whispered:
“Arthur says Grandma ordered a child to disappear.”
Olivia's face went white.
“What child?”
I looked at the certificate.
Then at her.
“I don't know.”
Daniel took the document.
“Wait.”
He zoomed in on the transfer authorization.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
Six words.
Do not let Maya know about Olivia.
My blood ran cold.
I looked at Daniel.
“Why would anyone write that?”
He stared at the handwriting.
Then whispered:
“Because they knew you would eventually come looking.”
“Looking for what?”
He turned the page over.
There was another name.
Not Maya.
Not Olivia.
Not Ethan.
A name none of us had heard before.
Clara Mercer.
Daniel dropped the document.
His face had gone completely white.
I looked at him.
“Who is Clara?”
He didn't answer.
Olivia stepped forward.
“Daniel?”
Still nothing.
I picked up the page.
“Who is Clara Mercer?”
Daniel finally looked at me.
And the fear in his eyes told me that whatever happened twenty-three years ago—
May you like
the secret wasn't about two daughters.
It was about three.
