Chapter 4 - THE MOTHER WHO WASN'T HIS MOTHER
We located Evelyn Mercer in a rehabilitation center outside Albuquerque.
Rebecca warned me not to assume the records told the entire story.
Nevertheless, I insisted on going with her.
Evelyn was sixty-two, thin as folded paper, and alert beneath a blanket decorated with sunflowers.
When Rebecca mentioned Trent, her hands went still.
“Is he alive?” she asked.
I had expected anger.
Instead, her question carried nineteen years of exhaustion.
“He's alive,” I said.
“And he married me.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“Then Gloria finally got what she wanted.”
She explained that she had once worked for Gloria as a bookkeeper.
Gloria and Walter had helped her through a period of homelessness, then offered to provide a stable home for her son.
What began as an informal arrangement became a contested guardianship after Evelyn entered treatment for an illness.
The eventual court order granted Gloria legal guardianship.
It did not make Gloria Trent's biological mother.
“Trent was young,” Evelyn whispered.
“He told himself I had abandoned him because that hurt less than wondering why they wouldn't let him see me.”
I showed her a photograph from our wedding.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“He looks like his father,” she said.
For a moment, I felt sorry for the boy my husband had once been.
Then I remembered the man who called me a bitter, childless woman.
“Did you ever meet Brooke Mitchell?” Rebecca asked.
Evelyn's expression changed immediately.
“Brooke worked for Gloria,” she said.
“She brought me checks sometimes.”
“Checks from North Star?”
Evelyn nodded.
We showed her the memorandum.
She pointed to the signature beside Brooke's name.
“That was the girl who told me Trent would reconcile with me when he was financially secure.”
It had never happened.
Rebecca asked permission to obtain records proving the guardianship history and Evelyn's payments.
Evelyn agreed, but she asked one thing of me.
“Don't let them make you believe he was born cruel.”
I promised nothing.
On the drive back, Rebecca received a call from the insurer.
They had found two additional attempted changes to the policy, both blocked by verification controls.
One submission contained a scanned identification document with my name and a photograph that wasn't mine.
It was Brooke's photograph.
Daniel called a few minutes later.
He had traced North Star's original organizer to a Phoenix attorney named Martin Vale.
Martin Vale had handled our prenuptial documents.
I remembered the elegant office, the polished silver pen, and Trent telling me that using a lawyer his family knew would save us money.
I had insisted on independent counsel before signing.
My attorney had reviewed the agreement, and nothing in the executed version granted Trent control of my company.
That had apparently frustrated someone.
When Rebecca requested the records, Vale's receptionist said the attorney was unavailable.
The next morning, his office was empty.
The firm website had gone dark.
And on the locked glass door someone had taped a handwritten note.
May you like
Ask Gloria about the other bride.
