Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Brought the FlowersThe next morning, Nathaniel gathered everyone in the dining room.
The atmosphere felt like a courtroom.
His fiancée, Victoria Hale, arrived twenty minutes late.
She was elegant, composed, and perfectly dressed.
She walked into the room carrying white roses.
Nathaniel stared at them.
Victoria noticed.
"What?"
"Where did you get those?"
She smiled.
"From the florist."
Mr. Harris looked at me.
I remembered his warning.
The person who brought the flowers.
Victoria placed the bouquet on the table.
"Is something wrong?"
Nathaniel didn't answer.
He turned toward me.
"Clara, take the children upstairs."
Victoria frowned.
"Why?"
Nathaniel finally looked at her.
"Because I need to ask you a question."
She laughed softly.
"About what?"
"Evelyn."
The smile disappeared from her face.
"What about her?"
"Were you here the night she died?"
"No."
"You visited the house that week."
"Once."
"You brought flowers."
Victoria's eyes sharpened.
"Who told you that?"
Nathaniel leaned forward.
"Answer me."
She looked at him for several seconds.
Then she sighed.
"Evelyn called me."
"Why?"
"She wanted to meet."
"What did she want?"
"To warn me."
"About what?"
Victoria looked at me.
"I don't think this conversation should happen in front of employees."
Nathaniel's voice hardened.
"Everyone stays."
Victoria stood.
"Evelyn believed you were being manipulated."
Nathaniel stared.
"By whom?"
"Your father."
"My father has been dead for five years."
"I know."
"Then explain."
Victoria shook her head.
"She believed he had left something behind."
Nathaniel went silent.
"What?"
"A financial network."
Victoria's voice lowered.
"Shell companies. Hidden accounts. Names."
Nathaniel's expression changed.
"Did Evelyn find it?"
"She said she did."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
Victoria looked wounded.
"I loved Evelyn."
"Then why did you lie about visiting?"
"Because she asked me to."
Nathaniel's anger faltered.
"Why?"
"She said someone was watching her."
Silence.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Victoria looked toward the ballroom.
"She gave me something."
Nathaniel stepped closer.
"What?"
"A key."
"What key?"
Victoria reached into her purse.
She pulled out a brass key.
Nathaniel recognized it immediately.
"The west garden gate."
Mr. Harris inhaled sharply.
Nathaniel took the key.
"Why did Evelyn give you this?"
"She told me that if she disappeared, I should give it to you."
"Why didn't you?"
Victoria looked down.
"Because I was afraid."
Nathaniel stared at her.
"Of whom?"
She whispered:
"Daniel."
The room became silent.
Nathaniel turned toward me.
"Clara."
I stepped forward.
"What?"
"Take Sophia and Eli upstairs."
I did.
But before I reached the door, Sophia slipped her hand into mine.
"Mommy."
"What?"
She looked toward Victoria.
"The flower lady."
Victoria's face went white.
"What did she say?"
Sophia pointed at her.
"You were crying with the other lady."
Nathaniel turned.
"What other lady?"
Sophia shrugged.
"The lady who looked like Mommy."
I froze.
Victoria covered her mouth.
Nathaniel stared at his daughter.
"Evelyn?"
Sophia shook her head.
"No."
She looked confused.
"Not Mommy."
"Then who?"
Sophia frowned.
"She had Mommy's hair."
Nathaniel looked at Victoria.
Victoria whispered:
"That's impossible."
But Sophia continued.
"She told the flower lady to run."
Nathaniel grabbed the table.
"Where did you see her?"
Sophia pointed toward the west garden.
Nathaniel immediately took the key.
We followed him outside.
The west garden had been abandoned for years.
Dead vines covered the stone walls.
At the far end stood a greenhouse.
Nathaniel unlocked the gate.
Inside, dust covered every surface.
Then Sophia ran toward an old wooden bench.
"Here."
Nathaniel lifted the bench.
Beneath it was a loose stone.
Under the stone was another box.
This one contained newspaper clippings.
Photographs.
And a medical report.
Nathaniel read the first page.
His face changed.
I took it from him.
The report was for Evelyn Reed.
Date: October 14.
Two years earlier.
The diagnosis section contained one word.
Pregnant.
I looked at Nathaniel.
He couldn't speak.
"That's impossible."
The report continued.
Estimated gestation: eight weeks.
Nathaniel backed away.
"Evelyn wasn't pregnant."
"Maybe she didn't know."
"She couldn't have been."
"Why?"
He stared at me.
"Because the child was born two years ago."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
Nathaniel looked toward the mansion.
"Eli."
I couldn't breathe.
The report was dated eight months before Eli's birth.
Nathaniel picked up another document.
A DNA test.
His hands shook.
The results had been blacked out.
Only one line remained.
Biological father: inconclusive.
Nathaniel whispered:
"Eli may not be my son."
At that moment, a branch snapped behind us.
We turned.
Someone was standing outside the greenhouse.
A man.
Dark coat.
Hat pulled low.
He stared at Nathaniel.
Then he ran.
Nathaniel chased him.
I stayed with the children.
Seconds later, Nathaniel returned empty-handed.
But he wasn't alone.
He carried something.
A photograph.
He held it out.
It showed Evelyn.
Holding a newborn baby.
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On the back were four words:
He was never supposed to survive.
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