Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN FROM THE PAST
Grant didn't sleep that night.
Neither did I.
Cole had gone upstairs after telling us everything he knew.
He had been sending his biological mother information about our family.
Not passwords.
Not bank account numbers.
Mostly harmless things.
Where Grant worked.
When I traveled.
When Cole had games.
Who our friends were.
But one detail bothered me.
“She asked about your company,” Cole had told me.
“My company?”
He nodded.
“She wanted to know if you were planning to expand.”
That made no sense.
I didn't own a huge corporation.
I ran a successful interior design business with several commercial clients.
It was comfortable.
Profitable.
But hardly something worth secretly investigating.
Unless there was something I didn't know.
At 2:17 in the morning, Grant finally spoke.
“She’s back.”
I stared at him.
“Who?”
“Cole’s mother.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
I waited.
“She contacted me six months ago.”
My entire body went still.
“What?”
Grant looked down.
“She called me.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“She said she wanted to reconnect with Cole.”
“And?”
“I told her no.”
“Why?”
“Because every time she comes back, she creates chaos.”
I stared at him.
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You don't protect someone by keeping information from them.”
“I know.”
“No, Grant. You don't.”
He looked devastated.
But I was too angry to stop.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long has she been contacting you?”
He didn't answer.
“Grant.”
“Six months.”
I pushed my chair back.
“You let me believe she was completely gone.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That you'd leave.”
That stopped me.
Grant looked at me.
“I knew if I told you she was back, you'd think you were walking into the same mess you escaped from.”
I folded my arms.
“This isn't about her.”
“It is.”
“No. It's about trust.”
The next morning, Grant called a lawyer.
We needed to understand what was happening.
By noon, we discovered something disturbing.
The Harrison Youth Development Foundation wasn't really a charity.
It was legitimate on paper.
But one of its largest donors was a private investment company.
And that investment company had recently acquired a controlling interest in one of my biggest commercial clients.
My stomach tightened.
“What does that have to do with me?”
The lawyer looked at me.
“Your company is currently negotiating a contract worth approximately four million dollars.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“The competing company wants that contract.”
“And?”
“They may have tried to obtain information about your proposal.”
I stared at him.
“Through Cole?”
He nodded.
“That is one possibility.”
My hands went cold.
Someone had used my stepson to spy on me.
And his mother had helped them.
But there was something else.
The lawyer placed a folder on the table.
“We found this.”
He opened it.
Inside was an old photograph.
It showed Grant, Cole's mother, and a third person.
A man I didn't recognize.
“Who is that?”
Grant's face changed.
“That’s Michael.”
“Michael who?”
“My brother.”
I stared at him.
“You have a brother?”
Grant looked away.
“I did.”
The lawyer spoke carefully.
“Michael died seven years ago.”
I looked at Grant.
“Why have you never told me?”
“Because he betrayed me.”
“How?”
“He stole money from the company I worked for.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Was he ever connected to Cole's mother?”
Grant nodded.
“They were close.”
The room suddenly felt much colder.
“Is Michael really dead?”
Grant looked at me.
“Yes.”
Then the lawyer said something that made my heart stop.
“His name appears on a company filing from three months ago.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
Grant grabbed the document.
His face went pale.
“That signature…”
“What?”
“That isn't Michael's.”
“Then whose is it?”
Grant looked at me.
“I don't know.”
The front door suddenly slammed upstairs.
Cole shouted.
“Dad!”
We ran.
He was standing at the top of the stairs holding his phone.
His face was terrified.
“There’s someone outside.”
Grant rushed to the window.
A black SUV sat across the street.
It had been there before.
Cole whispered,
“They sent me a picture.”
He turned his phone toward us.
The message contained one sentence.
**STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.**
Underneath it was a photograph.
A photograph of our house.
Taken from across the street.
May you like
And the timestamp was only three minutes old.
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