Chapter 2 - Uncle Vincent
Damon waited until Ivy was asleep.
He sat alone at the dining table with Richard’s letter beneath the pendant lights.
Felicity remained across the room.
She had offered him water twice.
He had ignored her.
Finally, he began reading.
Richard’s words were painfully direct.
Damon,
I have delayed this truth so long that delay became cowardice. You were born while your mother and I were trying to repair a marriage I had nearly destroyed through neglect. Margaret made a mistake during that separation. So did someone I trusted more than anyone except her.
Damon’s hands went cold.
The next paragraph contained the name Ivy had almost spoken.
Vincent is your biological father.
Damon stopped.
Vincent Hale.
Richard’s younger brother.
Uncle Vincent.
The man who had taught Damon to throw a baseball.
The man who had stood beside Richard at Damon’s wedding.
The man who came to their house for Sunday dinner at least twice a month.
The man Ivy called Uncle Vince.
Damon looked toward his wife.
“You knew.”
Felicity did not deny it.
“How long?”
Her lips parted.
“Two years.”
Damon laughed once, without humor.
“Two years.”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“You had seven hundred and thirty chances.”
“Damon—”
“You let him sit at my table.”
“I know.”
“You watched him play with my daughter.”
“He loves Ivy.”
“Don’t.”
Felicity recoiled.
“Do not tell me what he feels.”
He returned to the letter.
Richard continued.
Do not make the mistake of thinking this letter is only about blood. If that were all, I would have carried the secret to my grave. Vincent’s biology changes nothing about what you are to me. What matters is what he has done with the secret—and what he may still do.
Damon frowned.
The next lines made him sit straighter.
Felicity knows part of it. Do not mistake her fear for innocence. But do not mistake fear for guilt until you have seen what I saw.
He looked up.
Felicity’s face crumpled.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing that I understood at first.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I signed things.”
Damon stared.
Felicity had once worked for Hale Development Group.
Before Ivy’s birth, she had been a senior finance manager overseeing several property-holding companies. Even after leaving daily operations, she remained co-manager of Hale Family Holdings, which owned several parcels and investments outside the main corporation.
“What things?”
“Transfers. Loan approvals.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
His voice became quieter.
“How much, Felicity?”
“Maybe two million.”
Damon stood so abruptly his chair scraped the floor.
“Two million dollars?”
“Not all at once.”
“That makes it better?”
“I thought the transactions were legitimate.”
“When did you stop thinking that?”
She said nothing.
Damon knew.
“Two years ago.”
Felicity nodded.
“The same time you learned about Vincent.”
“Yes.”
He stared at her.
“How?”
“He told me.”
“Why?”
“To make sure I stayed quiet.”
Damon looked back at Richard’s letter.
One final paragraph remained.
Your mother left proof of what happened, but parentage is not the danger. Hawthorne is. Vincent thinks I never found the connection. He is wrong. Margaret hid what she could not bear to destroy. Look inside her blue sewing box before Vincent does.
Damon read the sentence twice.
“Hawthorne.”
Felicity went still.
He noticed.
“What is Hawthorne?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just reacted.”
“I know the name.”
“How?”
“Old invoices.”
“What invoices?”
She hesitated.
Damon slammed his palm flat against the table.
“Stop deciding which truth I can handle!”
Felicity jumped.
Upstairs, the house remained quiet.
Damon lowered his voice.
“Where is my mother’s sewing box?”
“I don’t know.”
Margaret Hale had died nine years earlier after a short battle with pancreatic cancer. Most of her belongings were stored at Richard’s country property outside Lexington, in a stone house the family called Bellweather.
Damon suddenly knew where to look.
“The blue bedroom.”
Felicity frowned.
“What?”
“At Bellweather. Mom kept her sewing things in the upstairs blue bedroom.”
Damon folded the letter.
Felicity moved toward him.
“You can’t go tonight.”
“Watch me.”
“Vincent has keys to Bellweather.”
Damon stopped.
That was true.
Vincent had handled maintenance there since Richard’s death.
Damon looked at his wife.
“If he knew Dad was looking into Hawthorne, why hasn’t he already searched it?”
Felicity’s expression changed.
A realization.
“He has.”
“What?”
“Three weeks ago. He told me he was checking a leak at Bellweather.”
Damon grabbed his keys.
Felicity followed.
“Damon, think.”
“I am.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m forty-one years old and I just learned my uncle is my biological father, my wife has hidden it for two years, and millions of dollars may have moved through documents she signed.”
He opened the front door.
Cold rain blew inside.
“Anger is the clearest thing I have right now.”
He stepped onto the porch.
Then his phone rang.
Vincent Hale’s name appeared on the screen.
Damon stared at it.
Felicity whispered, “Don’t answer.”
Damon looked at her.
For the first time that night, fear appeared in him too.
Because there was no reason Vincent should be calling at eleven forty-seven.
Unless someone had already told him the letter had been found.
Damon answered.
“Hello?”
Vincent’s voice came softly through the phone.
“Damon. We need to talk before you make a mistake.”
Damon’s blood ran cold.
“How do you know I’m about to make one?”
Silence.
May you like
Then Vincent said:
“Because your father always did love hiding things in books.”
