[CHAPTER 5]
We drove to Vermont two days later.
Noah still refused to ride in a black vehicle, so Daniel rented a silver minivan.
It looked ridiculous with Mom’s expensive luggage stacked in the back.
I liked it.
For once, we looked like an ordinary family.
Or at least an ordinary family running from a billionaire who might have stolen one of his own babies.
Noah sat beside me.
He barely spoke for five hours.
Celia Hart lived outside a small town in a blue house with white shutters.
When we pulled into the driveway, she was already standing on the porch.
She was in her forties now.
Her red hair had faded.
She looked at Noah and started crying before we even got out.
Mom stopped beside the van.
I felt her hand search for mine.
Noah stepped forward alone.
“Are you Celia?”
The woman nodded.
“You look exactly like him.”
Noah glanced at me.
“I am his twin.”
Celia covered her mouth.
“I know.”
Mom moved forward.
“You knew my son was alive.”
Celia’s eyes squeezed shut.
“Yes.”
The word shattered the quiet afternoon.
My mother made a broken sound.
Noah didn’t move.
“Did you take me?”
Celia nodded again.
“Why?”
She sat on the porch steps.
None of us followed until she said, “I’ll tell you everything.”
We gathered around her.
Celia stared at her hands.
“I was twenty-three. A new nurse. I had debts. My mother was sick.”
Her voice shook.
“Richard Bennett approached me through one of the hospital administrators.”
Mom stiffened.
“He approached you?”
“He said his wife had delivered twins and one needed to be privately placed.”
“Placed?” I said.
“He claimed you had agreed.”
Mom’s face became furious.
“I never agreed to anything.”
“I know that now.”
Celia looked at Noah.
“The smaller twin had breathing problems at first. Nothing permanent. But Richard said Claire couldn’t handle two infants after the complications.”
Noah’s jaw tightened.
“He told me a woman was coming to take you.”
“Rosa?”
“Yes.”
Noah looked stunned.
“Rosa knew him?”
“No. She thought she was helping a desperate family.”
Celia wiped her face.
“She had worked in housekeeping at the hospital. She couldn’t have children. Someone told her a mother wanted a private adoption.”
My mother looked sick.
“So you gave my baby to her.”
“Yes.”
“For money?”
Celia began sobbing.
“Yes.”
Noah turned away.
Mom stared at her with such rage that I stepped closer.
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
My mother laughed.
It was a terrible sound.
“My son was worth twenty thousand dollars to you?”
“No.”
“That’s what you took.”
Celia cried harder.
“I know.”
Noah suddenly spoke.
“Did Rosa get money?”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
I saw relief.
Not because what happened was less terrible.
Because the woman who raised him had not bought him.
Celia continued.
“Richard arranged fake discharge records. The administrator altered the infant death documentation.”
Daniel, who had come with us, immediately asked for names.
Celia gave one.
Dr. Leonard Voss.
Retired.
Still alive.
Then she looked at Mom.
“I thought you knew.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
Mom froze.
“What happened after three months?”
“Rosa contacted me.”
Noah turned.
Celia nodded.
“She had become suspicious. She said there was no real adoption agency. No court hearing. Nothing.”
“She tried to return me?”
“No.”
Celia smiled sadly.
“She loved you already.”
Noah’s eyes filled.
“She wanted to make everything legal.”
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
Noah stared.
“So Rosa knew when I was a baby?”
“She knew Richard had arranged it. She didn’t know whether you had agreed.”
“Why didn’t she find my mother?”
“She tried.”
Celia looked toward Mom.
“Richard’s people got there first.”
The name came out of Noah like a whisper.
“Graham Pike.”
Celia nodded.
Mom sat down hard.
“What did Graham do?”
“He threatened Rosa. Then he threatened me.”
“With what?”
“My mother.”
Celia looked ashamed.
“He knew where she lived. He knew about my debts. He said if I spoke, I would go to prison and my mother would lose everything.”
“So you disappeared.”
“Yes.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Do you have evidence?”
Celia hesitated.
Then stood.
“Come inside.”
She returned carrying a metal box.
Inside were photocopies.
Hospital records.
Bank transfers.
Handwritten notes.
And one envelope.
Celia gave it to my mother.
“Richard wrote this.”
Mom unfolded the letter.
Her face slowly drained of color.
I looked over her shoulder.
The letter was short.
Celia—
The second infant is not to return to St. Matthew’s under any circumstances. Mrs. Bennett believes the child did not survive and must continue believing so. All records should reflect the same.
R.B.
I stopped breathing.
There was no misunderstanding anymore.
No confusion.
No claim that Mom had agreed.
My father had written down the lie himself.
Noah stared at the page.
“He knew.”
Mom looked at him.
“He always knew.”
For years, some small part of her must have wondered if Dad had panicked.
If a doctor had misled him.
If some terrible mistake had happened.
That letter killed every excuse.
Celia looked at Noah.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t answer.
She moved closer.
“I know sorry doesn’t—”
“No.”
She stopped.
Noah’s voice was calm.
“Sorry doesn’t give me thirteen years.”
Celia nodded.
“You’re right.”
“It doesn’t bring Rosa back.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t erase what you did.”
“I know.”
He looked at her for a long time.
Then he said, “But you’re going to testify.”
It wasn’t a question.
Celia looked at Daniel.
Fear returned to her face.
“My family—”
“My family was threatened too,” Noah said.
His voice broke.
“Rosa lived scared until she died.”
Celia began crying again.
Noah stepped closer.
“You got to disappear.”
He touched his chest.
“I had to live inside what you did.”
Silence.
Then Celia nodded.
“Yes.”
Noah stared at her.
“Yes what?”
“I’ll testify.”
Mom covered her eyes.
Daniel immediately began photographing the documents.
I stood beside Noah.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He leaned slightly toward me.
“But I will be.”
On our way back to New York, Mom’s phone exploded with notifications.
Daniel’s assistant called.
Then Maya.
Then our school.
A newspaper had published a story.
Bennett Heir Targeted by Homeless Impostor in Family Dispute.
There was a photograph of Noah standing outside our hotel.
Someone had leaked his location.
Someone had called him a fraud even after the DNA results.
I watched Noah read the headline.
His face changed.
“They’re never going to let me just be your brother, are they?”
I looked at the article.
Then at him.
“No.”
May you like
I took the phone from his hand.
“We’re going to make them learn your name.”
