Chapter 10 - The Whitmore NameClaire found Ethan in the kitchen at dawn.
Neither of them had slept.
She poured coffee.
He watched her hands.
“Are we still getting married tomorrow?” she asked.
The question was so absurd Ethan almost laughed.
“Do you want to?”
Claire looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her expression changed.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
“Because I love you.”
Ethan nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
She set the coffee pot down.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You don't believe me.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
Ethan wanted to tell her.
I heard you.
I heard what you said about my daughter.
Instead he asked, “Tell me about your father.”
Claire froze.
Only for half a second.
Then she reached for her cup.
“What about him?”
“Samuel Whitmore.”
She looked toward the windows.
“My father died twelve years ago.”
“I know.”
“You've never asked before.”
“I am now.”
Claire stirred coffee she hadn't sweetened.
“He was a scientist.”
“At Mercer.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Would it have mattered?”
“You were dating the CEO of the company that fired him.”
“He worked there before you ran it.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Claire smiled faintly.
“You really want to talk about our fathers the day before our wedding?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don't.”
She walked away.
Ethan caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Claire looked down at his hand.
He released her immediately.
“Tell me.”
She faced him.
“My father believed your father ruined his career.”
“Did he?”
Claire's eyes flashed.
“You tell me.”
“I found the Halcyon files.”
For the first time since the pool, Claire lost control completely.
Color vanished from her face.
“What files?”
“Old research records.”
Claire stepped backward.
“How much?”
“Enough to know Samuel accused Mercer of altering safety data.”
Her voice dropped.
“You had no right.”
Ethan stared.
“To read my own company's records?”
“To dig through my father's life without telling me.”
“You didn't tell me he worked there.”
Claire laughed sharply.
“Because Richard Mercer was dead. I thought maybe I could love his son without having to resurrect him.”
“Is that what this is?”
“What?”
“Resurrection?”
She stared at him.
Ethan nearly crossed the line.
Nearly told her everything.
Then Claire's phone buzzed.
She looked down.
A message.
Her expression changed.
Fear.
Not guilt.
Fear.
She put the phone away.
“I need to get dressed.”
“For what?”
“The wedding coordinator.”
She left.
Ethan waited five minutes before calling Nora.
“I pushed her on Samuel.”
“You weren't supposed to.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“She got scared when her phone buzzed.”
“Could be anything.”
“Find Martin.”
“Detective Chen already requested an interview.”
“Did he answer?”
“He sent counsel.”
Ethan swore.
Nora continued.
“I found something else about your mother.”
“What?”
“Evelyn donated money to a trust established for Samuel Whitmore's medical expenses.”
“When?”
“Every year for nine years.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“How much?”
“About six hundred thousand total.”
“Claire knew?”
“No idea.”
Ethan went upstairs.
Evelyn had been discharged and was resting in her suite.
He entered without knocking.
She glared at him.
“I raised you better.”
“You paid Samuel Whitmore.”
Her expression changed.
“Close the door.”
Ethan did.
“Why?”
“I was helping.”
“Because Dad hurt him?”
Evelyn looked toward the fireplace.
“Because your father was ashamed.”
“Did he falsify the safety records?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“You knew Claire was Samuel's daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me propose.”
“I didn't ‘let' you do anything. You were thirty-nine years old.”
“Why didn't you warn me?”
“Warn you about what? Her last name?”
“About the possibility she hated this family.”
Evelyn's eyes filled with something Ethan rarely saw in her.
Guilt.
“I wanted to believe she didn't.”
“That isn't good enough.”
“No.”
“What happened to Samuel?”
Evelyn looked at him for a long time.
“Your father and Martin came home one night in 1999. They argued in Richard's study until three in the morning.”
“About Halcyon?”
“Yes.”
“What did you hear?”
“Samuel wanted to report the exposure.”
“And Dad?”
“He said the company wouldn't survive.”
“Martin?”
Evelyn's mouth tightened.
“He said Samuel could be made responsible.”
Ethan felt cold.
“And Dad agreed?”
“I don't know.”
“You were in the house.”
“I heard pieces.”
“What happened afterward?”
“Samuel was fired.”
“And Dad paid him secretly.”
“Years later.”
“Why?”
“Guilt.”
“Or silence.”
Evelyn flinched.
Ethan turned away.
“There's more,” she said.
He stopped.
“After your father got sick, he wrote something.”
“What?”
“A letter.”
“To whom?”
“You.”
Ethan turned.
“I never got a letter.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked me to destroy it.”
“Did you?”
Evelyn looked toward the locked drawer of her bedside table.
“No.”
Ethan crossed the room.
Her hand caught his arm.
“I haven't opened that drawer since the day he died.”
He looked at her.
“Why now?”
“Because yesterday I thought the past was buried.”
“And today?”
Evelyn's eyes moved toward the mansion grounds.
“Today Samuel Whitmore's daughter is sleeping under my roof.”
She unlocked the drawer.
Inside lay a cream envelope.
ETHAN.
His father's handwriting.
Ethan reached for it.
Before he could open it, Evelyn whispered:
“There's something you need to know first.”
May you like
He looked at her.
“Claire came here once before you ever met her.”
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