Chapter 8: The Truth About the Second Trust
I had never hated a sound more than the sound of that helicopter disappearing.
Maisie was somewhere above us.
My four-month-old daughter.
Too small to understand why the people holding her weren't her father.
Too small to know that her mother was alive.
Too small to know that her grandmother had arranged her disappearance.
James grabbed my shoulder.
"Dominic, listen to me.""
I turned.
"We need the aircraft registration.""
"Our security team has it.""
"Then get the police.""
"They're already on their way.""
I looked at the sky.
"How long until they find her?""
"I don't know.""
My phone vibrated.
A message from Isabella.
*Go to the old chapel on the Maine property. Bring the blue ledger. Come alone if you want to see the truth.*
I showed James.
He read it twice.
"That's a trap.""
"Maybe.""
"You can't go alone.""
"I'm not leaving Maisie.""
"We'll coordinate with law enforcement.""
I nodded.
But something else was bothering me.
The second trust.
The original beneficiaries.
What had Isabella meant?
I called her.
She answered immediately.
"Dominic?""
"Explain the trust.""
A long silence.
Then she said:
"Your father created two trusts. One for his grandchildren and another for the children of people who helped him build the company.""
"How many beneficiaries?""
"Seven.""
I looked at the ledger.
"Why have I never heard about the second trust?""
"Because your mother convinced everyone it had been dissolved.""
"Was it?""
"No.""
I opened the blue ledger.
The names were written in a column.
Seven children.
Seven families.
Some names were unfamiliar.
But one made my blood run cold.
*Maisie Caruso.*
Beside it was another name.
*Rosie Caruso.*
And beneath both was a note.
*Original beneficiaries retained until age twenty-one.*
I looked at Isabella's photograph.
"Why did you say the original beneficiaries were being hidden?""
"Because those children were never supposed to be the only beneficiaries.""
"What?""
"Dominic, your father discovered that several of the children listed in the trust had been declared dead or removed from their families under suspicious circumstances.""
I stared at the page.
"How many?""
"Four.""
I couldn't speak.
"Your mother knew about it. She was helping arrange the transfers.""
"Why?""
"Because each child represented a separate portion of the estate. If they disappeared, the money could be redirected.""
I looked at the seven names.
Four had red marks beside them.
The other three had been circled.
"Who are the other three?""
"One is your daughter Maisie. One is Rosie. The third is a boy named Daniel Whitmore.""
I frowned.
"Whitmore?""
"Samuel Whitmore's son.""
I stared at the phone.
"Is he alive?""
"I don't know.""
"Is that why Eleanor was appointed guardian?""
"Yes. She's not just connected to the trust. She's connected to the children.""
"How?""
Isabella took a breath.
"She was the woman who arranged their placements.""
My hands tightened around the phone.
"You're saying she stole children?""
"I'm saying she used falsified medical and legal records to separate children from their families.""
I looked toward James.
He had heard enough to understand.
"Dominic," Isabella continued, "the night the twins were born, your mother came to the hospital with Eleanor. They wanted me to sign documents declaring myself incapable of raising the girls.""
"Why?""
"Because if I was declared mentally unfit, they could transfer guardianship without your consent.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"I tried.""
Her voice cracked.
"Your mother intercepted my calls. She told you I was unstable. She told the hospital I was dangerous. Then she arranged for me to be moved.""
I closed my eyes.
"What happened to my father?""
"He helped me escape.""
"Why didn't he come home?""
"Because he was being hunted, too.""
I looked at the photograph.
The man in the gray suit.
My father.
"Where is he now?""
"At the chapel.""
"Then I'm coming.""
"Bring the ledger.""
"I will.""
"And Dominic?""
"Yes?""
"Don't trust anyone wearing a hospital badge.""
The call ended.
James looked at me.
"We're going to Maine.""
He picked up his coat.
I shook my head.
"First, we find Maisie.""
At 11:35 a.m., the police located the helicopter.
It had landed at a private airstrip forty miles away.
But the aircraft was empty.
No baby.
No pilot.
No Eleanor.
Only a blanket and an infant bottle.
I felt something break inside me.
Then the officer handed me a small envelope.
It contained a photograph.
Maisie was asleep in someone's arms.
On the back, a message had been written.
*One daughter for one ledger.*
I looked at James.
"They want the book.""
He nodded.
"Then we give them a copy.""
I turned.
"What?""
"We photograph every page, create a digital copy, and keep the original secure. They get what they think they want.""
I looked at him.
"Can you do that?""
"Already done.""
He handed me a flash drive.
"Everything is backed up.""
I put it in my pocket.
Then we drove toward Maine.
The coastal property stood behind a long gravel road.
The house was large, white, and surrounded by pine trees.
A small chapel stood near the water.
I stepped out of the car.
The wind smelled of salt and rain.
A man stood in the doorway.
Older.
Thin.
Gray hair.
He was wearing a dark suit.
For several seconds, I couldn't recognize him.
Then he turned his face toward me.
The scar above his eyebrow.
The same eyes.
The same crooked smile.
My father.
I walked toward him.
"Dad.""
He looked at me.
"Hello, son.""
I punched him.
Hard.
He stumbled backward.
James grabbed my arm.
"Dominic!""
My father touched his lip.
Then he nodded.
"I deserved that.""
I stood there, breathing heavily.
"You let me bury you.""
"I know.""
"You let me believe you were dead.""
"I know.""
"You let me raise my daughters believing their mother was gone.""
His eyes filled.
"I didn't know where you were. I couldn't risk contacting you.""
I stepped closer.
"Six years, Dad.""
He looked down.
"Six years.""
I wanted to hit him again.
Instead, I asked the question that mattered.
"Where is Isabella?""
He looked toward the chapel.
"Inside.""
I pushed past him.
The chapel was small.
A single candle burned near the altar.
And there she was.
My wife.
Alive.
Thinner than I remembered.
Her hair was shorter.
A pale scar crossed her left temple.
But it was Isabella.
She stood when she saw me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she whispered:
"Dominic.""
I crossed the room.
She touched my face.
And I broke.
I held her so tightly that she began to cry.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She shook her head.
"Don't.""
"I should have listened.""
"You didn't know.""
"I should have known.""
She pressed her forehead against mine.
"We're here now.""
I kissed her.
For the first time in months, the world felt real.
Then she stepped back.
"Dominic, we have to talk.""
I looked toward the door.
"Where's Maisie?""
Isabella's face changed.
"She's safe.""
"Where?""
She looked at my father.
He lowered his eyes.
"Dominic, there's something you need to know.""
"What?""
My father opened a small wooden box.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Not for Maisie.
Not for Rosie.
For a third child.
The name on the certificate was Daniel Samuel Whitmore.
And the date of birth was the same day as my daughters.
Isabella took my hand.
"Dominic, your mother didn't just take Maisie.""
May you like
She looked toward the chapel window.
"She has been hiding a third baby for four months.""
