Chapter 4 - The Cousin Who Wasn't a Blackthorn
DNA tests are brutally efficient.
They can dismantle thirty years of family mythology in five days.
Grant demanded one.
Victoria refused.
That refusal became the answer before the laboratory provided it.
Grant was not David Hale's biological son.
David—Victoria's late husband—had raised Grant until his death seven years earlier.
The test compared preserved medical samples authorized by his estate.
Probability of paternity:
Essentially zero.
Grant stared at the report.
“Who?”
Victoria stood at the library window.
She had stopped pretending this was harmless.
“It's irrelevant.”
“To you.”
“David was your father.”
“Biologically?”
“He raised you.”
“WHO?”
Her shoulders stiffened.
Then she whispered:
“Marcus.”
Silence.
Chloe sat down.
Grant laughed.
Once.
Like he'd been punched.
“Marcus Vane?”
“Yes.”
“The lawyer you used to challenge Grandpa's deed?”
“Yes.”
“The man who was at Aunt Caroline's crash?”
Victoria turned.
“I didn't know that.”
I watched her.
For the first time, I couldn't tell whether she was lying.
Grant could.
“You've been sleeping with him for thirty years?”
“No.”
“How long?”
Victoria's composure cracked.
“Your father—David—was never home.”
“Oh, spare me.”
“Don't speak to me like—”
“I AM THIRTY-TWO!”
The walls echoed.
Grant had never raised his voice to Victoria in his life.
Now his hands shook.
“You built my entire identity around being Grandpa's male heir.”
Victoria's face tightened.
“You are his grandson.”
“No. I'm your son.”
“Same blood.”
“Then why hide my father?”
She had no good answer.
Because the truth wasn't about blood.
It was about image.
Marcus had been an ambitious junior attorney when Victoria began seeing him.
David came from an old family.
Better surname.
Better social position.
Better husband for the public version of Victoria's life.
Grant stared at me.
“Mom said Grandpa didn't trust me because I was weak.”
I didn't know what to say.
Victoria snapped.
“He loved Isabella more than everyone!”
There it was.
Again.
The original wound.
She pointed toward me.
“He paid for her schools. Gave her rooms here. Took her everywhere. Caroline was dead and somehow she was still winning!”
The room went silent.
I stared.
“You hated my mother.”
Victoria's face changed.
“I loved Caroline.”
“No.”
“Don't tell me—”
“You competed with a dead woman through her daughter.”
Her eyes flashed.
Maybe the truth was finally too accurate.
Then Arthur entered with investigators.
Not police.
Private forensic accountants Grandpa had retained months before death.
He had instructed them to release findings after the funeral.
Of course he had.
Grandpa apparently spent his final year planting truth like land mines.
The accountants had traced the nine million dollars my mother mentioned.
It had grown.
Across fifteen years, more than $22 million had moved through shell entities linked to Marcus.
Some money returned to Victoria.
Some paid gambling debts.
Some financed Grant's failed business ventures without his knowledge.
Some purchased property.
But one series of transfers stood out.
Payments to a company called Northline Automotive Services.
Arthur frowned.
“Automotive?”
My stomach dropped.
Northline had serviced my mother's car.
One week before she died.
The company dissolved three months later.
Its registered owner?
A cousin of Marcus Vane.
Grant whispered, “Jesus.”
Victoria shook her head.
“No.”
Arthur looked at her.
“You paid Marcus repeatedly.”
“For legal work.”
“Some transfers occurred immediately before Caroline's death.”
“No.”
For the first time, Victoria looked truly terrified.
“Arthur, I swear.”
He ignored her.
I stepped closer.
“Did you know?”
“No!”
“Did you know Marcus was stealing?”
Her mouth trembled.
“I knew some money was being moved.”
“Did you know why?”
“I thought he was covering investment losses.”
“You heard my mother challenge you.”
“I told her to stop because I was afraid Dad would expose everything!”
“And then she died.”
“I DIDN'T KILL HER!”
The scream echoed through Blackthorn Hall.
Nobody had accused her directly.
Yet.
That mattered.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She didn't.
I stared.
Another message.
BUT SHE KNOWS WHO DID.
I looked at Victoria.
Her face collapsed.
May you like
And this time, I knew.
Whatever happened to my mother, my aunt had been protecting the person responsible for fifteen years.
