Chapter 5: The DNA Results Were Not the Only Surprise
The next morning, I received a message from an unknown number.
You need to stop investigating the hospital records. Your mother died protecting you. Don't make her sacrifice meaningless.
I read it three times.
Then I showed Jordan.
He immediately called Patricia.
Within an hour, she was at my apartment with Michael.
“Did you recognize the number?”” she asked.
“No.””
“Have you received anything similar before?””
“No.””
Patricia photographed the message.
“Don't reply. We'll preserve it.””
Michael paced across the living room.
“This is getting out of control.””
Jordan shook his head.
“Someone knows we're investigating. That means we're close.””
Patricia looked at him.
“Or someone wants you to believe you're close.””
She placed a folder on the coffee table.
“I've been looking into Carter Medical Holdings.””
Michael stopped pacing.
“What did you find?””
“It was established by Richard Williams shortly before the twins were born. After his death, ownership passed through several shell companies.””
Jordan frowned.
“Who owns it now?””
Patricia opened the folder.
“Your mother.””
The room fell silent.
I looked at Denise's name printed on the page.
“She's the owner?””
Patricia nodded.
“She's been receiving distributions from the company for more than a decade.””
Michael stared at his wife.
“You told me you inherited nothing from your father.””
“I didn't!””
“Then what is this?””
Denise's face tightened.
“It's complicated.””
Michael laughed bitterly.
“Everything with you is complicated.””
Patricia raised her hand.
“Please. We need to understand why the company was created.””
She turned another page.
Carter Medical Holdings had made payments to three separate institutions over the years.
St. Mary's Hospital.
A private adoption agency.
And a medical research foundation.
I recognized the hospital.
The adoption agency was unfamiliar.
But the foundation's name made my stomach tighten.
*The Renee Williams Children's Heart Foundation.*
I stared at the page.
“My mother's name?””
Patricia nodded.
“It was established shortly after your grandfather died.””
“Who funded it?””
“Carter Medical Holdings.””
I looked at Denise.
“Why would your father's company fund a foundation in my mother's name?””
Denise's eyes filled.
“Because I asked him to.””
Michael frowned.
“Why?””
She swallowed.
“Because I wanted to help children with the same condition Aaliyah had when she was born.””
I felt my anger shifting into confusion.
“You knew about my heart condition?””
“Yes.””
“Did you know my mother struggled to pay for my surgery?””
Denise nodded.
“Your grandfather told me.””
I stared at her.
“And you never helped?””
“I tried.””
“When?””
She looked away.
“After Renee refused to let me see you, I arranged for money to be sent to her.””
I shook my head.
“My mother never received anything.””
Patricia opened another file.
“That's because the payments were redirected.””
“By whom?””
Patricia turned a page.
A signature appeared.
Michael leaned forward.
He stared at it for several seconds.
Then he whispered a name.
“Harold Bennett.””
The same hospital administrator.
The man who had signed the adoption agreement.
The man who had received payments for twenty-eight years.
Patricia nodded.
“According to these records, he intercepted the money intended for Renee and redirected it through several accounts.””
My hands clenched.
“So my mother was supposed to receive financial help?””
“Yes.””
“But she never did?””
“No.””
I felt a wave of nausea.
My mother had worked double shifts at a nursing home.
She had skipped meals so I could have school supplies.
She had repaired my winter coat instead of buying a new one.
And somewhere, money intended to help us had been stolen.
Jordan put his hand on my shoulder.
“I'm sorry.””
I shook my head.
“Why didn't anyone tell her?””
Patricia closed the folder.
“We need to speak with Harold Bennett.””
That afternoon, she arranged a meeting.
Harold lived in a retirement community outside Baltimore.
He was seventy-nine, thin, and used a walking cane.
When we entered his apartment, he looked at Michael and immediately turned pale.
“You shouldn't have come here.””
Michael stepped forward.
“You remember me?””
Harold looked at the floor.
“I remember everything.””
Patricia placed the adoption paperwork on the table.
“Mr. Bennett, did you falsify hospital records thirty years ago?””
He didn't answer.
“Did you arrange for a newborn boy to be transferred into Richard Williams's custody?””
Harold gripped his cane.
“I followed instructions.””
“Whose instructions?””
“Richard's.””
“And the money?””
Harold closed his eyes.
Patricia leaned forward.
“Did you intercept payments intended for Renee Williams?””
He began trembling.
“I didn't keep all of it.””
Michael slammed his palm against the table.
“Where did it go?””
Harold looked at him.
“Richard had debts. He said the money was his.””
I stepped closer.
“My mother worked two jobs while you stole money meant for her?””
Harold's eyes filled.
“I didn't know she was struggling.””
“You didn't know?””
My voice rose.
“You had her address. You knew exactly where she lived. You knew she had a daughter. You knew she was raising a child alone.””
He lowered his head.
“I was told she had stolen the baby.””
“She was protecting me!””
Harold began crying.
“I know that now.””
Patricia took out another document.
“Who ordered the hospital records changed?””
Harold looked toward the window.
“Richard.””
“Who else?””
He hesitated.
Then he looked at Denise.
“She knows.””
Denise stiffened.
“Don't you dare.””
Harold swallowed.
“Mrs. Carter signed the first agreement. But the second transfer was arranged by someone else.””
Michael frowned.
“What second transfer?””
Harold slowly reached into the drawer beside his chair.
He removed a photograph.
It showed two newborn babies in separate hospital bassinets.
One wore a white bracelet.
The other wore a blue one.
On the back was a handwritten note.
Baby A — Aaliyah Renee Carter.
Baby B — Jordan Renee Carter.
I looked at Jordan.
He was staring at the photograph.
Harold pointed at the blue bracelet.
“Your father was told the boy had been placed with a wealthy family.””
Michael shook his head.
“I was told our son had died.””
Harold nodded.
“You were both lied to.””
Patricia leaned forward.
“Who arranged the placement?””
Harold's lips trembled.
“Richard Williams.””
“Was he acting alone?””
Harold looked at Denise again.
“No.””
Denise suddenly stood.
“That's enough.””
Harold's voice became barely audible.
“The person who arranged the transfer was the woman who signed as the emergency guardian.””
Michael stared at him.
“Who?””
Harold pointed toward Denise.
“She didn't just sign the paperwork. She chose which child would stay with her.””
Denise's face crumpled.
“That isn't true.””
Harold shook his head.
“You chose the boy.””
I felt the room tilt.
“Why?””
Denise looked at me.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she whispered:
“Because your grandfather told me the boy was the heir.””
Jordan stepped backward.
“What?””
“He said the family company needed a male successor. He told me that if I wanted to keep Michael and protect our future, I had to let him take you.””
I stared at her.
“So you chose Jordan?””
Denise began sobbing.
“I was told you would be adopted by a loving family.””
“But you knew where I was!””
“No!””
“You knew my mother!””
“I was told Renee would never keep you!””
My voice cracked.
“She did keep me. She loved me. She raised me. She died without ever knowing whether she had done enough.””
Denise covered her face.
Michael looked at Harold.
“Who was supposed to adopt Aaliyah?””
Harold hesitated.
“Richard had arranged for a family in Pennsylvania.””
Patricia checked the paperwork.
“Evelyn and Thomas Williams?””
Harold nodded.
I frowned.
“Those were my grandparents.””
“No,” he said quietly.
“They were your mother's adoptive parents. But the couple who were supposed to adopt you were someone else.””
Patricia leaned forward.
“Who?””
Harold looked at me.
“The people who signed the original adoption agreement were a couple named David and Laura Carter.””
Denise stopped crying.
Michael slowly turned toward her.
“Carter?””
Harold nodded.
“Your wife's older brother and his wife.””
My heart began pounding.
I had never heard of Denise having an older brother.
Jordan looked at his mother.
“Mom, who is David Carter?””
Denise's lips parted.
Then she whispered something that made Michael stumble backward.
“My brother died before you were born.””
Patricia shook her head.
“No, Mrs. Carter.””
She pulled out another document.
“David Carter died seven years ago. And according to the adoption agency's records, he and his wife never stopped searching for the little girl they were promised.””
I stared at the document.
At the bottom was a note written in blue ink.
We were told the child died. We were never informed that she survived.
My chest tightened.
Another lie.
Another family.
Another secret.
Then Patricia turned the page.
There was a recent photograph attached to the file.
A woman in her late fifties stood outside a house in Pennsylvania.
Her eyes were familiar.
Her smile was familiar.
And beside her was a young man holding a framed photograph.
I recognized him immediately.
He was the man from the old hospital photograph.
Dr. Samuel Bennett.
Patricia looked at me.
“I contacted the woman in this picture yesterday.””
“Who is she?””
“Her name is Laura Carter. She is your biological aunt.””
I swallowed.
“Is she alive?””
“Yes.””
“Does she know about me?””
Patricia nodded.
“She believes you died thirty years ago.””
My eyes filled with tears.
Then Patricia delivered the final blow.
“She also has something your mother left behind.””
“What?””
“A second pendant.””
I instinctively touched the silver necklace around my neck.
Patricia opened a small photograph attached to the file.
It showed two identical pendants.
One had been worn by my mother.
The other was resting in Laura Carter's hand.
And written beneath the photograph were six words:
The other half reveals who took him.
I looked at Jordan.
He was staring at the image.
Then his phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
One message.
May you like
Jordan, don't trust your mother. She knows what happened to your real father.
*And beneath it was a photograph of a man Jordan had spent his entire life believing was dead.*
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