Chapter 10 — The Man Behind Margaret
Chapter 10 — The Man Behind Margaret
The photograph wouldn't leave my mind.
Carla.
Margaret.
Marianne.
And beneath them, the forged documents carrying my name.
But Detective Harris had given me something else.
A sentence.
Margaret was never acting alone.
For twelve years, I had blamed my mother for everything.
The lies.
The manipulation.
The forged records.
The attacks against Irene.
The attempt to take my unborn child.
But now I understood something worse.
Margaret had never been powerful enough to build this operation alone.
Someone had been behind her.
Someone with money.
Someone with lawyers.
Someone who could erase records and manipulate hospitals.
Someone who had remained invisible while my family tore itself apart.
I looked at Detective Harris.
“Who is he?”
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she placed a file on the table.
“His name is Richard Vale.”
Eleanor went completely still.
I turned toward her.
“You know him.”
She nodded.
“My brother.”
The room became silent.
I stared at Eleanor.
“Marianne's brother.”
“Yes.”
“Your brother.”
“Yes.”
“Is he the one behind Margaret?”
Eleanor nodded.
“For more than twenty years.”
I felt a cold pressure in my chest.
“Why?”
“Because Richard believes the Wentworth fortune belongs to him.”
“He's a Vale.”
“He's also your mother's half-brother.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Your grandfather had a relationship with Richard's mother before he married your grandmother.”
I sat down.
Every time I thought we had reached the bottom of the family history, another secret appeared.
“So Richard is my grandfather's son?”
“Half-son.”
“And Margaret knows?”
“She always knew.”
“Marianne?”
“Yes.”
“Isabella?”
Eleanor looked away.
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“Then why did everyone pretend the family was dead?”
“Because Richard was never supposed to inherit anything.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather didn't trust him.”
“What did he do?”
Eleanor's face hardened.
“He killed someone.”
“Who?”
“Your grandfather's first attorney.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“He had discovered Richard was stealing from the family.”
I looked at the documents.
“How much?”
“Enough to bankrupt the entire organization.”
“And my grandfather covered it up?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because exposing Richard would have destroyed the family.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So he protected him.”
“Until he couldn't.”
Daniel arrived twenty minutes later.
He looked at the file.
Then at me.
“Where did you get this?”
“Detective Harris.”
Daniel sighed.
“Then it's real.”
“You knew about Richard.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was behind my mother?”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father told me never to mention his name unless Richard made a move against you.”
I stared.
“He already made a move.”
Daniel nodded.
“He has been making moves for years.”
“What kind?”
“Buying companies.”
“Which ones?”
“Companies your family depends on.”
I looked at the financial records.
Shipping.
Construction.
Healthcare.
Security.
Banking.
It was everywhere.
Richard had slowly built an empire around the Wentworths.
Not attacking them directly.
Surrounding them.
Waiting.
Daniel continued.
“Your mother became dependent on him.”
“How?”
“Debt.”
I frowned.
“My mother wasn't poor.”
“No.”
“She had millions.”
“She lost most of it.”
“When?”
“After your father changed the trust.”
I remembered the forged documents.
“So Richard gave her money.”
“Yes.”
“In exchange for what?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Your child.”
I felt sick.
“He financed the pregnancy attack?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he care about my child?”
“Because the child is the legal bridge between the Wentworth and Vale inheritances.”
I understood.
If Richard could control my daughter, he could potentially control both family fortunes.
But there was another question.
“Why doesn't he just kill me?”
Daniel shook his head.
“He needs your consent.”
“My consent?”
“Your father's trust requires the biological father's voluntary relinquishment of parental rights before a secondary beneficiary can claim control.”
I looked at the forged signature.
“They're trying to make it appear that I gave up my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And if the court accepts it?”
“Margaret gets temporary guardianship.”
“And Richard?”
“He gets the assets through her.”
I stared at Daniel.
“So my mother is the puppet.”
“Yes.”
“And Richard is the hand.”
That night, I confronted Margaret.
She was being held under temporary police protection after disappearing from her house.
When I entered the interview room, she looked exhausted.
Her hair was messy.
Her face was pale.
She didn't look like the woman who had once ruled my entire childhood.
She looked small.
Afraid.
I sat across from her.
“Richard.”
Her eyes immediately changed.
I had my answer.
“You know him.”
She looked away.
“Mom.”
Nothing.
“Richard Vale.”
She whispered:
“Don't say his name.”
“Why?”
“He'll know.”
“He already knows.”
She looked at me.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“He doesn't forgive betrayal.”
“You betrayed him?”
“I tried to leave.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
I stared.
“The year Irene lost the baby.”
Margaret nodded.
“Richard wanted the child.”
“Why?”
“He knew about the bloodline.”
“And the pregnancy?”
“He knew before I did.”
I felt sick.
“How?”
“Your father's private investigator.”
I clenched my fists.
“So someone inside my father's organization told him.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Richard has people everywhere.”
I leaned forward.
“What did he want from Irene?”
“The baby.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the child carried something.”
“The Vale marker.”
Margaret nodded.
“But that's not the whole reason.”
I stared.
“What else?”
She began crying.
“Your father knew Richard was dangerous.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He knew Richard had killed before.”
I waited.
“He knew Richard would kill again.”
“Who?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Your father.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“Richard tried to kill your father.”
“Why?”
“Because your father refused to give him the inheritance.”
I stared.
“How did my father die?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“I didn't kill him.”
“I didn't ask that.”
“He was poisoned.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“By Richard?”
She nodded.
“But Richard needed someone to take the blame.”
I stared at her.
“And you volunteered.”
She whispered:
“He threatened Carla.”
Everything changed.
Carla wasn't simply greedy.
She had been afraid.
Margaret had been afraid.
Even Marianne had been afraid.
Richard had built an entire network around fear.
I stood.
“Where is he?”
Margaret looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“Mom.”
“I swear.”
“You worked for him.”
“I survived him.”
“That's not the same thing.”
She lowered her head.
“He keeps a private office.”
“Where?”
“Below the old Wentworth warehouse.”
I froze.
“The warehouse on Mulberry?”
“Yes.”
I remembered the place.
My grandfather had owned it.
It had been abandoned for years.
“What is there?”
Margaret whispered:
“Everything.”
We arrived at the warehouse just before midnight.
Detective Harris had a tactical team.
Irene remained at a secure location.
Eleanor stayed with her.
I wanted my wife nowhere near the danger.
The warehouse looked abandoned.
Broken windows.
Rusting doors.
No lights.
But there were fresh tire tracks outside.
We entered through the side.
The first room was empty.
The second contained filing cabinets.
The third contained computers.
Then we found the photographs.
Hundreds of them.
My mother.
Carla.
Irene.
Me.
My father.
Even photographs of Irene during pregnancy.
I felt sick.
Someone had been watching us for months.
Detective Harris opened a cabinet.
Inside were medical records.
Irene's.
My father's.
My own.
And one folder labeled:
BABY — PRIORITY
I opened it.
Ultrasounds.
Blood tests.
Genetic reports.
Everything.
Someone had been monitoring my unborn child from the beginning.
Then I saw a handwritten note.
Marker confirmed.
Below it:
Birth must occur under controlled conditions.
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
Detective Harris looked over my shoulder.
“It means they planned to take the baby at birth.”
I felt rage rise through me.
“No.”
Another document.
A hospital name.
A scheduled date.
A physician.
A delivery room.
Everything had been arranged.
The terrifying part was that it wasn't our hospital.
It was a private facility owned by a company controlled by Richard Vale.
I whispered:
“They're planning to deliver my child without us.”
A sound came from upstairs.
Everyone froze.
Footsteps.
Detective Harris raised her weapon.
The tactical team moved.
Then a man appeared at the top of the stairs.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Dark suit.
Calm expression.
He looked directly at me.
“Austin.”
I knew immediately.
Richard.
He smiled.
“You finally came.”
I raised my weapon.
“You killed my father.”
Richard shook his head.
“Your father killed himself.”
“You poisoned him.”
“He chose to drink.”
“You manipulated him.”
“Yes.”
“You used my mother.”
“Yes.”
“You attacked my wife.”
“No.”
I froze.
“What?”
Richard smiled.
“I never needed to attack Irene.”
“Then who did?”
“Marianne.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because she believed she was protecting the bloodline.”
“And the hospital?”
“Margaret.”
“And the forged signature?”
“Marianne.”
I tightened my grip.
“Then what did you do?”
Richard's smile disappeared.
“I waited.”
“For what?”
“For you to become desperate enough to bring the child to me.”
I felt sick.
“You're not getting her.”
Richard laughed softly.
“You still don't understand.”
He pointed toward the folder.
“The child is already legally mine.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
“You signed the document.”
“No, I didn't.”
Richard smiled.
“Your signature says otherwise.”
I stared.
“The forgery.”
“Not a forgery.”
He pulled out another document.
“This one is real.”
I stepped closer.
It contained my signature.
But this time, the signature wasn't printed.
It looked exactly like mine.
I stared at it.
Then I remembered.
A document I'd signed months ago.
A routine business authorization.
Richard had used it.
He had transferred my signature electronically.
I looked at him.
“You stole my identity.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“You gave it to me.”
My phone suddenly rang.
Irene.
I answered.
“What's wrong?”
Her breathing was rapid.
“Austin…”
“What happened?”
“Someone is here.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Where are you?”
She whispered:
“The baby is moving.”
Then the call went dead.
I looked at Richard.
His expression told me everything.
This was never about the warehouse.
It was a diversion.
While I was chasing him, someone had gone after Irene.
I turned toward Detective Harris.
“We're leaving.”
Richard laughed.
“You can't save both.”
I looked back at him.
“Yes, I can.”
Then I saw something on the wall behind him.
A photograph.
My father.
Richard.
Margaret.
And another man.
I recognized him.
Dr. Samuel Grant.
The doctor who had treated Irene six years earlier.
But beneath the photograph was a date.
Three days before the miscarriage.
I suddenly understood.
The miscarriage hadn't been an isolated event.
It had been a test.
They had been studying the bloodline for years.
And my unborn child was the final result.
I looked at Richard.
“You planned this six years ago.”
His smile vanished.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father refused to cooperate.”
“And now?”
Richard looked at me.
“Now I don't need your father.”
He pointed toward the exit.
“I only need your daughter.”
We raced back to the safe house.
The lights were off.
The front door stood open.
My heart stopped.
“Irene!”
No answer.
I ran inside.
The living room was empty.
A chair was overturned.
A glass lay shattered on the floor.
Then I heard a sound upstairs.
I ran.
I found Irene standing beside the bedroom window.
She was holding something.
A small envelope.
Her hands were shaking.
“What happened?”
She looked at me.
“Someone left this.”
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
A newborn baby.
On the back, one sentence:
This is what your daughter will look like when we take her.
I looked at Irene.
She began crying.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Richard.
You have forty-eight hours.
Another message followed.
Bring me the original trust.
Then a final one.
Or your daughter will be born into a family that has already claimed her.
I stared at the screen.
For the first time, I wasn't afraid of losing money.
I wasn't afraid of losing the company.
I wasn't even afraid of losing my life.
I was afraid of one thing.
That my daughter would enter this world surrounded by people who saw her not as a child…
but as property.
I looked at Irene.
“We're ending this.”
She nodded through her tears.
“How?”
I picked up the photograph.
“By finding the original trust before Richard does.”
Eleanor stepped into the room.
She had been silent until then.
“I know where it is.”
I turned.
“Where?”
She looked at me.
“Your grandfather never kept it in a bank.”
“Then where?”
Eleanor took a breath.
“He hid it in the place where this entire war began.”
I stared.
“Where?”
“Your childhood home.”
My blood went cold.
“The house my father died in?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Yes.”
She looked toward the window.
“And if Richard hasn't found it yet…”
“Then why not?”
Eleanor's voice dropped.
“Because the trust isn't the only thing your grandfather hid there.”
I stared at her.
“What else?”
She looked at Irene.
“The evidence that can finally prove who killed your father.”
And suddenly, the house I had spent twelve years refusing to enter became the one place we had to return to.
May you like
Because somewhere inside those walls was the truth.
And Richard Vale would kill anyone standing between him and it.
