Chapter 15 - The Dead Man’s Name
Lily’s statement made no sense.
Lorraine’s father, Charles Whitcomb, had died before Travis started kindergarten.
There were photographs.
A funeral.
A grave.
Family stories.
He could not have taken Thomas.
Unless Lily was confused.
Detective Alvarez crouched beside her.
“What did the man say his name was?”
Lily hugged a blanket.
“He didn’t.”
“Why do you think Grandma Lorraine calls him Dad?”
“I heard Uncle Thomas.”
“What did Thomas say?”
Lily looked toward Naomi.
“He said, ‘Dad told us you were dead.’”
Nobody moved.
Lorraine grabbed the back of a chair.
“Dad?”
Naomi stared at her.
“What?”
Lorraine looked faint.
“My father told us Samuel Brooks was dead.”
Celia’s brother.
Naomi’s biological father.
“Was he?”
Lorraine shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Travis frowned.
“Grandma said Samuel died?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before Naomi found me.”
“Who told you?”
“My father.”
“Your father had been dead by then.”
Lorraine stopped.
The timeline broke.
“What?”
Naomi leaned forward.
“When did you think Samuel died?”
“Before my father.”
“How long before?”
“Years.”
“Who told you?”
“My mother.”
Now it became stranger.
Lorraine’s mother had outlived Charles by twelve years.
She could have lied.
But why?
Alvarez looked at Lily.
“Did the man look old?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Like Grandpa people.”
That helped very little.
“Hair?”
“White.”
“Tall?”
“Yes.”
“Did Thomas seem scared of him?”
“Very.”
“What happened?”
Lily’s breathing changed.
Naomi moved closer.
“You don’t have to tell everything now.”
Alvarez nodded.
“Correct.”
Lily looked at Naomi.
“I want to.”
So she did.
Thomas had taken her from the cabin after seeing someone near the property.
They drove to the red cottage.
He hid Lily in the root cellar with food, blankets, and a flashlight.
Then a man arrived.
Thomas argued with him outside.
Lily could hear through a floor vent.
Thomas said, “Dad told us you were dead.”
The man answered, “Charles lied about many things.”
Lorraine covered her mouth.
Samuel Brooks.
Alive.
Possibly.
Naomi looked physically ill.
“My father.”
Lily continued.
Thomas said, “Celia doesn’t know.”
The man answered, “She knows enough.”
Then they left.
No struggle.
No gunshot.
Thomas went willingly.
Or was forced without violence.
“Did you see the man’s face?” Alvarez asked.
“Yes.”
“Could you identify him?”
“I think.”
Police created a photo lineup using old photographs of Samuel Brooks.
Lily selected him immediately.
Except Samuel would now be nearly eighty.
The photograph showed him at thirty.
Still, facial structure could match.
Alvarez requested death records.
Samuel Brooks had officially died forty-one years earlier in Ohio.
Cause.
Drowning.
Body recovered.
Identification by family.
This should have ended the theory.
Then Andrew found something.
No fingerprints.
No dental comparison.
Identification relied on clothing and testimony from Charles Whitcomb.
Lorraine’s father.
The same man who arranged Naomi’s adoption.
A terrible possibility emerged.
Charles may have falsely identified another body as Samuel.
Why?
To remove him.
To keep him from finding Naomi.
To protect the adoption secret.
If Samuel survived, where had he been for forty years?
And why return now?
Naomi sat in our kitchen staring at an old school photograph of him.
“I looked for him.”
“When?”
“After I found Lorraine.”
“You thought he was dead?”
“Yes.”
“Celia told you?”
“Yes.”
“Could Celia have known he was alive?”
Naomi’s expression hardened.
“If she did, I’ll never forgive her.”
Lorraine almost laughed.
“That would be the line?”
Naomi looked at her.
“Don’t.”
Lorraine nodded.
“Fair.”
Healing between them was not beautiful.
It was full of sharp edges.
It probably would be for years.
Alvarez traced old social-security records.
No Samuel.
No bank accounts.
No obvious identity.
Then Thomas called.
One sentence.
“Meet me alone.”
Travis answered.
“No.”
“Maya then.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You need to understand.”
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“With Samuel?”
Silence.
“So he’s alive.”
Thomas exhaled.
“Yes.”
“Why did you run?”
“I didn’t.”
“Lily said you left.”
“I went willingly.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows where Celia is going.”
“Where?”
“He won’t tell me unless we give him the ledger.”
Travis laughed.
“Everybody wants the ledger.”
“It proves what Charles did.”
“To Samuel?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“Stole Naomi.”
Lorraine shut her eyes.
Thomas continued.
“And sold three other babies.”
My stomach turned.
“Your grandfather sold children?”
Travis sounded sick.
“Yes.”
“Through St. Agnes?”
“Yes.”
“Was he part of the network?”
“He helped create it.”
Suddenly Lorraine’s obsession with reputation had roots.
Her own parents had built a life on secrets.
She had inherited the architecture.
“Why does Samuel need the ledger?”
“To expose the names.”
“Federal investigators already have it.”
“No.”
Thomas’s voice sharpened.
“They have Victor’s ledger.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are two.”
Silence.
“The one you found tracks money after Naomi returned.”
“And the other?”
“Tracks the adoptions.”
My skin went cold.
“Where is it?”
“Celia has it.”
“Then Samuel needs Celia.”
“Yes.”
“Why involve us?”
“Because Celia is coming for Lorraine.”
Travis looked at his mother.
“Why?”
“Not because of the fraud.”
“Then why?”
“Because Samuel wants Lorraine to testify publicly about Charles.”
Lorraine stared at the phone.
“Publicly?”
Thomas continued.
“He wants every family to know.”
Naomi spoke.
“Good.”
Lorraine looked at her.
Naomi did not apologize.
“Good.”
Thomas’s voice came through.
“Celia doesn’t want that.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because Celia spent forty years believing Samuel died because of Charles.”
“But he didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
“So her entire life—”
“Was built around revenge for a death that never happened.”
I looked at Naomi.
That realization was devastating.
Celia had destroyed lives partly because she believed her brother had been murdered.
And Samuel had been alive the entire time.
“Did Samuel know what Celia became?” Alvarez asked from speakerphone.
Thomas hesitated.
“Yes.”
“And did nothing?”
“He was hiding.”
“For forty years?”
“Yes.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“No.”
“What is?”
Thomas’s voice dropped.
“He was in prison.”
“Where?”
“Canada.”
“For what?”
“Armed robbery.”
That changed the picture again.
Samuel was no saint.
He had survived.
Changed names.
Committed crimes.
Spent decades incarcerated.
Released eight years ago.
The same period Melissa died.
My skin crawled.
“Did Samuel meet Melissa?”
Naomi asked.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“My daughter knew him.”
“Yes.”
“Did he cause her death?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he has proof Celia did.”
Naomi stood so fast her chair fell.
“What?”
Thomas continued.
“Melissa found Celia’s adoption ledger.”
“She was going to expose her.”
“Yes.”
“And Celia—”
“Ran her off the road.”
The same method.
Cars.
Rain.
Fear.
Celia repeated patterns.
Maybe because they had worked before.
Naomi began sobbing.
Lorraine reached toward her.
Then stopped herself.
That restraint was more meaningful than a hug would have been.
“What does Samuel want?” I asked.
“Everything public.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“Not the way he plans to do it.”
“What does that mean?”
Thomas sighed.
“He wants Celia to come to Hawthorne House.”
Travis stared at the phone.
“The house is under police watch.”
“Not tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because the sale closes.”
He was right.
The nonprofit was taking possession.
Security arrangements would change.
“Why Hawthorne House?”
“Because that is where Charles hid the original adoption ledger.”
My heart pounded.
“In the basement?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Inside the chimney.”
The dining room chimney.
The room damaged by Celia’s fire.
If the ledger survived, it was still there.
And Celia knew.
So did Samuel.
So did Thomas.
Three people were converging on the house that had started everything.
Travis immediately called Alvarez.
Police prepared.
The closing was delayed.
The nonprofit stayed away.
We did not go.
Lorraine insisted.
“No.”
Travis said it again.
“She wants me there.”
“Then she can be disappointed.”
“Samuel wants me too.”
“That changes nothing.”
Lorraine looked at Naomi.
“What do you think?”
Naomi stared at her mother.
“I think for the first time in your life, you should do exactly what the police tell you.”
Lorraine almost smiled.
“Fair.”
At 4:12 the next morning, motion sensors at Hawthorne House triggered.
Police surrounded the property.
A figure entered through the damaged dining-room window.
Celia.
She climbed toward the chimney cavity.
Officers moved.
Then another man entered.
Samuel.
Elderly.
Tall.
White hair.
He carried a gun.
Thomas followed.
He shouted something.
Celia turned.
Samuel raised the weapon.
Police ordered everyone down.
Celia laughed.
Even from body-camera footage later, the sound was chilling.
“You waited forty years to be a father.”
Samuel’s hand shook.
“You killed Melissa.”
“You abandoned Naomi.”
“You lied.”
“You became worse than Charles.”
Celia’s smile disappeared.
Then she reached into the chimney.
Pulled out a weathered metal tube.
The original adoption ledger.
Samuel stepped forward.
Celia raised a lighter.
“Back up.”
Everyone froze.
“Celia,” Thomas said.
“Don’t.”
She looked at him.
“You always were weak.”
“Maybe.”
He took another step.
“But I’m done being useful to cowards.”
She struck the lighter.
Samuel lunged.
Police shouted.
A gunshot cracked through the room.
The body camera jerked.
Smoke filled the image.
Someone screamed.
When the picture stabilized, one person was on the floor.
But it was not Celia.
May you like
It was Thomas.
And blood was spreading beneath him.
