Chapter 16 - THE OTHER DAUGHTERWe spent the next twelve hours searching.
Birth records.
Clinic files.
Foundation documents.
Walter Crane’s testimony.
Nothing officially acknowledged twins.
But Anna’s photograph did.
Two babies.
Similar size.
Same blanket.
One labeled Laura.
One Grace.
My father stared at the image until his eyes hurt.
“I never saw two babies.”
“Who brought me to you?”
“Vivian.”
“When?”
“Two days after Anna disappeared.”
My skin crawled.
“You didn’t see Anna after the crash?”
“I believed she had died instantly.”
“So Vivian arrived with me.”
“Yes.”
“And said?”
“That Anna wanted me to raise you.”
“Just me.”
“Yes.”
Beatrice whispered, “She kept the other baby.”
“No,” Nora said.
Everyone turned.
She had been placed under protection but agreed to help.
“Vivian didn’t keep Grace.”
“You knew?”
“I heard the name once.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Nora looked at me.
“Charles was arguing with Vivian.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘One Reed girl was enough trouble. You should have dealt with both babies.’”
My stomach turned.
“What did Vivian answer?”
“She said Grace had been placed where nobody would find her.”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
My twin had been given away.
Hidden.
Maybe raised under another name.
Maybe told another lie.
Daniel hired investigators.
Agent Ruiz searched sealed adoption records through legal channels.
DNA databases were checked.
Then a match appeared.
Not a direct twin profile.
A close family connection.
A woman named Grace Bennett had submitted DNA years earlier while researching ancestry.
Age thirty-eight.
Born in our county.
Adopted privately.
Current residence:
Portland, Maine.
I stared at her public photograph.
It was like looking at a version of myself shaped by a different life.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
Different hair.
She was a pediatric nurse.
Married.
Two children.
Daniel looked at me.
“We should contact her carefully.”
“How do you tell someone their entire birth story may be false?”
“You don’t do it in a text.”
I laughed nervously.
Beatrice squeezed my hand.
I looked down.
Six months earlier, I might have pulled away.
Now I didn’t.
We called Grace.
She answered.
“Hello?”
My voice failed.
Daniel touched my shoulder.
“Grace?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Laura Mercer.”
Pause.
“Okay.”
“I think we may be related.”
Longer pause.
“What kind of related?”
I looked at the photograph.
“I think I’m your twin sister.”
Silence.
Then she laughed.
“I’m sorry?”
“I know how this sounds.”
“Like a scam.”
“That’s fair.”
“Are you selling something?”
“No.”
“Do you need money?”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
“Because our biological mother’s name was Anna Reed.”
Grace stopped breathing.
“How do you know that name?”
My heart hammered.
“You know it?”
“My adoption file was opened when I turned thirty.”
I stood.
“What did it say?”
“Biological mother: Anna Reed.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Grace.”
“Oh my God.”
She whispered the words.
“My file said there was another infant.”
“You knew?”
“It said sibling, female, placement unknown.”
We both cried.
Thirty-eight years of separate lives collapsed into a phone call.
Grace flew in the next day.
When she walked through the mansion doors, nobody spoke.
Emma stared at her.
Then at me.
Then back at Grace.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Why are there two of you?”
Grace laughed and cried at the same time.
I hugged her.
It felt strange.
Natural.
Impossible.
She smelled like lavender.
My mother had hidden a sister from me for nearly four decades.
Grace told us about her parents.
Good people.
A teacher and a mechanic.
They had wanted children for years.
They loved her.
Vivian had apparently arranged a private adoption through an attorney tied to Charles.
“Did you know who arranged it?” I asked.
Grace nodded.
“The file named a lawyer.”
“Who?”
“Thomas Mercer.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
“My father?”
Grace looked at him.
“You’re Daniel Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“He handled my adoption.”
Daniel sat down.
Another piece of his father’s legacy.
He had not created the scheme.
But he had participated in separating us.
Grace reached into her bag.
“My parents gave me this when I turned eighteen.”
A sealed letter.
Written by Thomas Mercer.
Grace,
If you ever search for your biological family, begin with the Hale Foundation.
Do not trust Vivian Hale.
I stared.
“Your parents never followed up?”
“They tried.”
“When?”
“When I was twenty.”
“Why didn’t they find anything?”
“Someone sent them a death certificate for Anna and a letter saying no surviving relatives wished contact.”
Vivian again.
Grace looked around the mansion.
“So this is where you grew up?”
“Yes.”
She smiled sadly.
“I used to imagine my twin was raised somewhere glamorous.”
“It photographed well.”
She understood.
“Not the same thing.”
“No.”
Later, she met Richard.
He apologized.
She told him he had nothing to apologize for because he had never known she existed.
Then Beatrice entered.
Grace studied her.
“Our sister?”
“Half sister,” Beatrice said.
Then she smiled weakly.
“Family labels are currently undergoing renovation.”
Grace laughed.
They hugged.
For one hour, the mansion contained something I had never experienced there.
Warmth without performance.
Then Daniel’s investigator called.
Malcolm had been located.
Not in another country.
Not hiding.
He had checked into a hospital under a false name after being injured in a car accident.
He claimed someone forced his vehicle off the road.
My father stared.
“Same method.”
History repeating.
Agent Ruiz placed Malcolm under guard.
He agreed to speak.
Not because he suddenly found morality.
Because he was terrified.
“Charles has another partner,” he said.
“Who?” Ruiz asked.
Malcolm looked toward me.
“Someone you all trust.”
My skin crawled.
“Name.”
He swallowed.
“Rebecca Stone.”
Our attorney.
The woman standing beside me since the first vehicles arrived.
The woman who handled the trust.
The woman who told us which documents were valid.
I turned.
Rebecca was no longer in the room.
May you like
Her briefcase was gone.
So was the original trust document.
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