Chapter 10 - The Second Mercer Child
Alan denied it.
Not carefully.
Not cautiously.
Completely.
“My mother had one child.”
“Me.”
Diane Bennett disagreed.
She flew in from Maine two days later carrying a blue leather journal that had belonged to Walter.
She had kept it hidden since his death.
We met at Laura’s office.
Diane was sixty-eight.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
She hugged Evan the moment she saw him.
Then she slapped him lightly on the cheek.
“You look terrible.”
Evan almost laughed.
“Good to see you too.”
She looked at me.
“And you must be Claire.”
I nodded.
Diane hugged me too.
“Thomas adored you.”
Every time someone said that, I felt a strange ache.
I wished Thomas were alive.
Not because I believed he had been perfect.
He had hidden too much.
But at least he might finally explain why.
Diane placed Walter’s journal on the table.
“Before we open this, I want something understood.”
Laura nodded.
“This is not a clean story.”
“Nobody here is clean.”
“Not Walter.”
“Not Evelyn.”
“Not Thomas.”
“Not me.”
“Possibly not Alan.”
Alan stiffened.
Diane looked at him.
“You don’t remember me.”
“I do.”
He stared.
“You were a teenager.”
“I was fifteen when Evelyn died.”
Alan nodded slowly.
“You came to the funeral.”
“Yes.”
Diane sat.
“Walter told me you were my brother when I was thirty.”
“Years after Evelyn died.”
“Why tell you?”
“Because he was dying and fear finally became stronger than pride.”
She opened the journal.
Several pages had been marked.
One entry from 1950 mentioned Evelyn.
Another from 1951.
Then one from 1953.
E. SAYS BABY IS MINE.
I WANT TO BELIEVE HER.
Alan stared.
Diane turned the page.
Another entry.
R. WAS THERE TOO.
I MAY NEVER KNOW.
My stomach tightened.
“Who is R?”
Diane looked toward Alan.
“Robert Bennett.”
Evan frowned.
“My grandfather’s brother?”
Diane nodded.
I knew the name.
Robert Bennett had died young.
Margaret once mentioned him.
Walter’s younger brother.
A charming alcoholic.
Killed in a boating accident in 1962.
Alan looked confused.
“My mother never mentioned Robert.”
Diane continued.
“Walter and Robert both had relationships with Evelyn.”
The room went quiet.
Alan stood.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I am reading Walter’s own words.”
“That doesn’t make them true.”
“No.”
“It makes them his belief.”
Alan paced to the window.
If Robert Bennett had been Alan’s father instead of Walter, Alan would still be Bennett blood.
But the trust specifically named Walter’s unacknowledged descendant.
That mattered legally.
Then Diane turned to another entry.
E. PREGNANT AGAIN.
SAYS R.
WANTS CHILD GONE.
Alan stopped pacing.
“Again?”
Diane nodded.
“According to Walter, Evelyn became pregnant roughly two years after you were born.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Journal entries stop mentioning the pregnancy.”
“Then in late 1955, Walter wrote that Evelyn returned to work after an absence.”
Alan looked sick.
“Did the baby die?”
Diane shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
I thought of her phone statement.
Alan had a brother.
“You said Walter confessed there was another child.”
“He did.”
“When?”
“1999.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Diane closed the journal.
“He said Evelyn gave birth to a second boy.”
“He said Robert was almost certainly the father.”
“What happened to him?”
Diane looked toward the table.
“He was adopted.”
Alan sat slowly.
“By whom?”
“Walter wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why?”
“He said knowing would destroy another family.”
That phrase again.
Protecting families by hiding people.
I hated it.
Laura asked the obvious question.
“Could this second child still be alive?”
“Yes.”
“He would be about seventy-one.”
“Could he have descendants?”
“Of course.”
“Could that affect the DNA results?”
Diane nodded.
“It could complicate them.”
We proceeded with the test anyway.
Diane and Alan submitted samples.
The results arrived forty-eight hours later because Laura paid for expedited processing.
They were definitive enough.
Alan and Diane shared DNA consistent with a half-sibling relationship.
Walter Bennett was almost certainly Alan’s biological father.
Evan’s legal position strengthened dramatically.
For the first time, I felt like we were ahead of Richard.
Then Laura read the second page.
“There is another match.”
Alan looked at her.
“What?”
“The database updated after Diane’s sample.”
“Close relative.”
“Male.”
“Name?”
Laura turned the laptop.
PETER VALE.
AGE 70.
Relationship estimate to Alan.
HALF-BROTHER.
Diane closed her eyes.
“Oh God.”
Alan stared at the screen.
“That’s him.”
Maybe.
Peter Vale lived ninety miles away.
He was a retired history teacher.
Married.
Two children.
Three grandchildren.
He had no known connection to the Bennett family.
Laura advised caution.
Alan ignored her.
He called Peter.
The conversation lasted forty-three seconds.
Alan introduced himself.
Peter listened.
Then he said, “I know who you are.”
Alan gripped the phone.
“How?”
Peter answered, “My mother told me.”
Silence filled the room.
“What mother?”
“My adoptive mother.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That Evelyn Mercer gave birth to me.”
Alan closed his eyes.
“Did she tell you who my father was?”
Peter laughed bitterly.
“Yes.”
“Robert Bennett.”
Diane covered her mouth.
Alan sat down.
Peter continued.
“But that’s not why you’re calling, is it?”
“No.”
“I found you through DNA.”
“I figured this would happen eventually.”
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
Another pause.
“Because someone paid me not to.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
Alan asked.
Peter’s answer came quietly.
“Richard Bennett.”
We drove to Peter’s house the next morning.
He had no desire to protect Richard.
He had only wanted peace.
Richard found Peter fourteen years earlier.
He arrived with documentation.
He told Peter about Evelyn.
Robert.
Alan.
Walter.
Then he offered him $500,000.
In exchange, Peter signed a confidentiality agreement and agreed never to pursue Bennett assets.
“Why would you sign?”
Alan asked.
Peter looked at him.
“Because I had cancer.”
“My insurance wasn’t covering everything.”
“I had a daughter in college.”
“A mortgage.”
“Richard offered money for a family I had never known.”
“I took it.”
No one judged him.
Not even Alan.
Peter handed Laura a copy of the agreement.
The language was broad.
Too broad.
It referred to “any biological interest, inheritance, or beneficial claim arising from descent from Robert L. Bennett or Walter J. Bennett.”
Laura stared at the wording.
“Why mention Walter if everyone believed Robert was your father?”
Peter shook his head.
“I asked the same thing.”
“What did Richard say?”
“He said lawyers cover possibilities.”
Maybe.
Or maybe Richard had never been sure which Bennett brother fathered Peter.
That could matter.
Then Peter gave us something else.
A letter.
Written by Evelyn Mercer.
Dated 1973.
One year before she died.
Peter’s adoptive mother had received it.
Evelyn wrote that she hoped Peter had grown up loved.
She apologized for giving him away.
She said she had been pressured.
Not by Walter.
By Robert.
Robert had been dead eleven years by then.
But the final paragraph changed everything.
IF ANYTHING EVER HAPPENS TO ME, FIND THOMAS.
HE KNOWS WHAT RICHARD DID.
Alan read the line twice.
“What Richard did.”
Not Walter.
Not Robert.
Richard.
But Richard had been only twenty-four in 1973.
What could he have done that Evelyn feared thirteen months before her death?
Peter walked to a filing cabinet.
“There is one more thing.”
He pulled out an old cassette tape.
“My mother received this with the letter.”
“Did you listen to it?”
“Once.”
“What is it?”
Peter looked at Alan.
“Evelyn’s voice.”
Alan stopped breathing.
Peter placed the cassette recorder on the table.
The tape hissed.
Then a woman’s voice filled the room.
Soft.
Nervous.
Alive.
“My name is Evelyn Mercer.”
“If Alan ever hears this, I need him to know I tried to protect him.”
Alan covered his mouth.
The recording continued.
“Walter thinks Richard only cares about the company.”
“He is wrong.”
“Richard knows what happened at St. Matthew.”
“He knows who was used.”
“He knows the records were changed.”
I stared at Evan.
St. Matthew.
The fertility clinic.
But this recording was made in 1973.
Years before Evan was conceived.
The tape crackled.
May you like
Then Evelyn said the sentence that made Alan turn white.
“Richard knows the Mercer boys are not the only children.”
