Chapter 9 - THE LAST LIE HE TOLD
I didn't believe it.
I couldn't.
My mother had made mistakes.
She had trusted Julian.
She had hidden things from me.
But framing my father?
Destroying his life?
No.
There had to be another explanation.
Adrian drove me to the hospital that evening.
Daniel Cole was lying in a private room with bruises across his face and one arm in a sling.
He looked older than I expected.
Exhausted.
Defeated.
When he saw me, his expression changed.
"Margaret's granddaughter."
I stood at the foot of the bed.
"Tell me what happened to my father."
Daniel closed his eyes.
"Your father was a good man."
My throat tightened.
"Then why did he leave?"
"Because he believed he had destroyed your family."
I stepped closer.
"Who made him believe that?"
Daniel looked at Adrian.
Then back at me.
"Richard Mercer arranged the financing scheme. But he needed someone inside your family to help him."
I felt sick.
"My mother?"
Daniel nodded.
"She was having an affair with Richard."
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"No."
My voice broke.
"She loved my father."
Daniel looked away.
"People can love someone and still betray them."
The words struck me with terrible familiarity.
Julian.
Sienna.
My mother.
Richard Mercer.
A history repeating itself.
Daniel continued.
"Your mother gave Richard access to documents your father kept at home. Richard used them to create false records suggesting your father had approved transactions he never authorized."
I covered my mouth.
"Why?"
"Richard promised her money. A new life. He told her your father would never recover financially."
My eyes burned.
"And when everything collapsed?"
"Richard abandoned her."
I stared at the floor.
My mother had spent fifteen years telling me my father was the villain.
And I had believed her.
"Where is my father?" I whispered.
Daniel hesitated.
"He moved to Vermont several years ago."
My heart pounded.
"He's alive?"
"Yes."
"Do you know where?"
He nodded.
"I can give you his last known address."
I began crying.
Not because I was sad.
Because for the first time in fifteen years, I had hope.
The next morning, Adrian drove me to Vermont.
We barely spoke during the journey.
I watched the trees pass.
Red.
Gold.
Orange.
Autumn had transformed the mountains.
I remembered my father teaching me how to identify maple leaves.
How he used to lift me onto his shoulders so I could reach the lowest branches.
I remembered his laugh.
His warm hands.
The way he called me his little star.
And I wondered whether he had thought about me as often as I had thought about him.
We arrived at a small woodworking shop outside a quiet town.
A wooden sign read:
THOMAS HAWTHORNE — CUSTOM FURNITURE & RESTORATION.
My heart stopped.
Adrian parked.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
I shook my head.
"I need to do this alone."
He nodded.
"I'll be right here."
I stepped out.
The air smelled of pine and sawdust.
Inside the workshop, a man stood beside a wooden table.
His hair was gray.
His shoulders slightly stooped.
He wore a faded flannel shirt.
He was sanding the edge of a chair.
I stood in the doorway.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered, "Dad?"
He looked up.
The sanding block fell from his hand.
His face changed.
Disbelief.
Recognition.
Pain.
"Clara?"
I began crying.
He crossed the room slowly.
As though afraid I might disappear.
"Clara?"
I nodded.
"It's me."
He stopped inches away.
His hands trembled.
"My little star?"
That was all it took.
I threw my arms around him.
He held me so tightly I could barely breathe.
And we cried.
Fifteen years disappeared.
All the birthdays.
The Christmas mornings.
The graduations.
The lonely nights.
Everything we had lost stood between us.
But for that moment, none of it mattered.
He was alive.
And he was holding me.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
I shook my head.
"No."
"I should have fought harder."
"No, Dad."
He pulled back.
His eyes were wet.
"I tried to write."
"I know."
"Your mother said you didn't want to see me."
My heart broke again.
"She lied."
He closed his eyes.
"I was afraid."
"Me too."
We sat together for hours.
He told me everything.
How Richard Mercer manipulated the financing.
How my mother had been involved.
How my grandmother eventually discovered the truth.
How she tried to help him rebuild.
But shame had kept him away.
"I thought you'd be better without me," he whispered.
I reached for his hand.
"I wasn't."
He began crying again.
I held his hand.
And for the first time in years, I felt a piece of my childhood return.
That evening, Adrian joined us for dinner.
My father remembered him.
"Young Whitcomb," he said, smiling.
Adrian laughed.
"Not so young anymore."
My father looked between us.
Something amused flickered in his eyes.
"Interesting."
I blushed.
"Dad."
He raised his hands.
"I didn't say anything."
For the first time in weeks, I laughed without sadness following immediately afterward.
But when we returned to New York, reality was waiting.
Julian had been questioned by investigators.
Sienna had retained an attorney and agreed to cooperate in exchange for consideration regarding her role in the forged documents and suspicious transfers.
Daniel Cole had also provided records.
And my mother had confessed to Nathaniel that she had helped Richard Mercer years earlier.
The investigation was expanding.
Julian's company was unraveling.
Yet he still refused to let me go.
Three days later, he appeared outside Evelyn's apartment.
I was returning from a meeting when I saw him.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Exhausted.
His expensive suit wrinkled.
"Clara."
I stopped.
"Julian."
He stepped toward me.
"Please. Five minutes."
I looked at Rachel, who stood beside me.
She remained close.
I nodded.
"Five minutes."
Julian looked at me with red eyes.
"I made mistakes."
I said nothing.
"I was under pressure. My father's debts. The company. Sienna."
He swallowed.
"But I did love you."
I stared at him.
"Then why did you plan to have me declared incapable of managing my inheritance?"
His face went pale.
He hadn't expected me to know.
"Clara—"
"Why?"
He looked away.
"That was Martin's idea."
"You signed off on it."
Silence.
I stepped closer.
"You wanted my money. You wanted my reputation destroyed. And when I stopped cooperating, you threatened me."
His eyes filled.
"I was desperate."
I shook my head.
"Desperation doesn't excuse cruelty."
He reached toward me.
Rachel moved.
Julian stopped.
"Can we start over?" he whispered.
I looked at the man I had married.
The man I once loved more than anyone.
And I felt something unexpected.
Nothing.
Not hatred.
Not longing.
Not even anger.
Just the quiet certainty that I was finished.
"No, Julian."
He closed his eyes.
"Please."
"You didn't lose me at the airport."
He looked up.
"You lost me every time you made me feel foolish for asking the truth."
A tear slipped down his face.
I continued.
"And the worst part is, I would have loved you if you'd had nothing."
His expression crumpled.
"But you couldn't love me without wanting everything."
I walked past him.
He didn't follow.
That night, I stood on Evelyn's balcony.
Adrian joined me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, "Your father called."
I smiled.
"He wants me to visit again."
"Are you going?"
"Yes."
Adrian nodded.
"Good."
I looked at him.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For helping me find him."
He smiled.
"You found him. I just drove."
I laughed.
Then silence settled between us.
Comfortable.
Warm.
Different from the silence I had known with Julian.
Adrian looked at me.
"Clara, there's something I need to tell you."
My heart fluttered.
"What?"
He hesitated.
"I've cared about you for a long time."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"But I know you're healing. And I don't want to be another person who asks you for something before you're ready."
My eyes filled.
"Adrian—"
He smiled gently.
"You don't have to say anything."
I stepped closer.
For the first time in years, I wasn't afraid of what someone wanted from me.
I was simply curious about what we might become.
"Then don't ask," I whispered.
He looked confused.
I smiled.
May you like
"Just stay."
And he did.
