Chapter 8 - The Fireplace
They reached the estate in twelve minutes.
Margaret had locked the study.
Daniel pounded on the door.
“Mom!”
No answer.
Smoke drifted beneath the frame.
Peter slammed his shoulder into the wood.
The door opened.
Margaret stood beside the fireplace.
A metal wastebasket held burning papers.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning my house.”
Daniel rushed toward the fire.
Margaret blocked him.
“Those are private.”
“They’re evidence.”
“Of what?”
Rachel entered behind them carrying Lily.
Margaret’s face changed.
“Why is she here?”
Rachel stared at her.
“She has a name.”
Margaret ignored her.
Peter pulled a half-burned document from the edge of the hearth.
It was one of William’s financial ledgers.
Samuel had already warned them about suspicious estate transfers.
Peter looked at Margaret.
“Did you steal from Dad too?”
Margaret laughed.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Answer me.”
“I managed what your father was too sentimental to manage.”
Daniel grabbed another surviving page.
Several payments had been made from William’s personal investment account to a company named M.P. Holdings.
Rachel recognized the initials.
Margaret Patricia.
“You moved his money.”
Margaret’s expression tightened.
“He was my husband.”
“That doesn’t make it yours.”
Margaret turned on Rachel.
“You have no idea what this family cost me.”
Rachel almost couldn’t believe her.
“You tried to take sixteen million dollars from a baby.”
“I tried to keep William’s estate where it belonged.”
“With Noah?”
“With Peter’s line.”
Peter flinched.
Margaret realized what she had said.
Too late.
Peter stepped closer.
“Why mine?”
Margaret said nothing.
Daniel answered.
“Because she could control you.”
Peter stared at his mother.
Margaret’s eyes filled with fury.
“I protected you.”
“No.”
His voice broke.
“You lied to me.”
Peter told her he knew about his biological father.
Margaret’s face emptied.
“No.”
“Dad knew.”
“You’re lying.”
“He knew for thirty years.”
“No.”
“He loved me anyway.”
Margaret suddenly looked small.
Then she saw Rachel holding Lily.
Her humiliation turned into rage.
“This is because of you.”
Rachel’s grip tightened around Lily.
Margaret pointed.
“That child came into this family and destroyed everything.”
“No,” Peter said.
“You did.”
For once, both sons stood together.
Margaret stared at them.
Then she made a mistake.
She ran.
Not out of the house.
Toward the filing cabinet.
She pulled a small black ledger from behind the lowest drawer and tried to tear it.
Daniel caught her wrist.
Rachel took the book.
Inside were handwritten dates.
Payments.
Initials.
And one entry made two weeks after Lily’s birth:
Paternity challenge — D signature completed.
May you like
Forged.
In Margaret’s own handwriting.
