For one terrible second, nobody moved. The emergency lights painted the clinic in a dull red glow, and the echo of the gunshot seemed to hang above us. Robert was on the floor near the doorway, one hand pressed against his shoulder. Blood was spreading through his shirt, but he was conscious.
“Don't move him,” Detective Grant ordered.
Two officers rushed forward.
I looked toward the hallway where Nathan Vale had disappeared.
“He's gone.”
Grant was already moving.
“Lock every exit.”
Officers scattered through the clinic. Doors slammed. Footsteps pounded upstairs. Someone shouted that the rear entrance had been secured. Another officer ran outside to check the parking lot.
My mother remained exactly where she had been standing.
She looked at Robert.
Then at me.
Then at the blood.
“You see?” she whispered. “This is what happens when you dig too deep.”
I stared at her.
“You knew someone was going to shoot him.”
“No.”
“Then why aren't you surprised?”
She didn't answer.
Detective Grant turned on her.
“Get on the floor.”
Linda slowly lowered herself.
An officer handcuffed her.
Rebecca hurried toward Robert.
“Stay back,” the paramedic warned.
Robert caught Rebecca's wrist.
“I'm all right.”
“You've been shot.”
“It's through the shoulder.”
His voice was strained, but steady.
I knelt several feet away.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
That single word seemed to affect him more than the bullet.
“You called me that.”
“I know.”
He smiled faintly.
“It's been a long time since you did.”
I felt tears gathering but refused to let them fall.
“You lied to me.”
“I did.”
“You knew Nathan was involved.”
“I suspected.”
“You brought me here.”
“I wanted you to see the document before Nathan destroyed it.”
“You knew the gunman was coming.”
“No.”
Then Robert looked toward my mother.
“She did.”
Everyone turned.
Linda's face hardened.
“I didn't order anyone to shoot you.”
Robert coughed.
“You didn't have to.”
Detective Grant crouched beside him.
“What do you mean?”
“She arranged the meeting. She gave Nathan the location. She knew he would come armed.”
Linda said nothing.
Robert continued.
“She wanted the document transferred in front of Emily.”
“Why?”
“So Emily would believe the trust was real.”
I looked at the paper Nathan had left behind.
The signature looked exactly like mine.
But now I noticed something.
The date.
Two days before the wedding.
I had been in Toronto.
Again.
I had proof I couldn't have signed it.
Detective Grant took the document.
“This can be challenged.”
Nathan had anticipated that.
A second page was attached.
It contained a statement from a notary confirming that I had personally appeared and signed.
The notary's name was familiar.
The same man who had notarized the earlier documents.
My grandfather's former associate.
“He's part of it,” I said.
Grant nodded.
“We'll find him.”
My mother laughed quietly.
“You won't.”
Grant looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because he's already dead.”
Silence.
“What?” I asked.
“He died six months ago.”
Grant checked the database.
The notary had indeed died.
The certificate had been issued after his death.
Someone had used his seal.
The fraud was getting larger by the minute.
Nathan had not simply forged my signature.
He had manufactured an entire chain of evidence.
Then Marcus noticed something.
“Look at the certificate.”
He pointed to the lower corner.
There was a tiny embossed mark.
A bank authentication stamp.
His bank.
Marcus stared at it.
“That shouldn't be there.”
“Why?”
“Because this document was never processed through our trust department.”
“Could someone have forged the stamp?”
“Yes.”
“But who had access?”
Marcus didn't answer.
He looked at me.
“Nathan.”
Detective Grant stood.
“Where is Nathan's office?”
Marcus gave her the address.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
A woman's voice spoke rapidly.
Marcus put it on speaker.
“Mr. Hale, someone just accessed the Wilson trust archive.”
“Who?”
“The authorization came from your credentials.”
Marcus went pale.
“I wasn't there.”
“I know.”
“Lock the archive.”
“We tried.”
“What happened?”
“The system says the administrator account belongs to Emily Wilson.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“I don't have an administrator account.”
“You do now,” the woman replied.
The line went dead.
My mother looked at me.
“That is what Nathan wanted.”
“What?”
“For the system to recognize you as the owner.”
Robert struggled to sit upright.
“Don't let them activate the trust.”
“What happens if they do?”
“They transfer everything.”
“To me?”
“No.”
He looked at the document.
“To the people behind Nathan.”
I stared at the pages.
The entire scheme became clearer.
Nathan didn't need me to steal the money.
He needed my identity to make the theft appear legitimate.
The trust could be emptied, debts transferred, and properties sold while every transaction pointed back to me.
Then I would be left carrying the legal consequences.
“Why me?” I asked.
Rebecca answered.
“Because your grandfather built the trust in your name.”
“That still doesn't explain why they waited thirty-three years.”
“They didn't.”
She pointed to the ledger.
“They've been preparing since you were born.”
Detective Grant received another call.
The caller was an attorney.
He said he represented Nathan Vale.
“He wants a meeting,” she said.
“Where?”
“He says he will surrender if Emily comes alone.”
My mother smiled.
“You see?”
Grant ignored her.
“What does he want?”
“The original ledger.”
Rebecca tightened her grip on it.
“No.”
The attorney had one more condition.
Nathan claimed Robert had hidden the only evidence capable of proving that the trust had been manipulated.
He wanted that evidence in exchange for Robert's safety.
Robert looked at me.
“Don't give him anything.”
Then he reached inside his jacket.
He pulled out a small envelope.
I recognized the handwriting.
My grandfather's.
“This is what I've been carrying.”
He handed it to me.
The envelope had my name on it.
Not Emily Wilson.
Just Emily.
I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
My grandfather had written that the family trust was never intended to make me rich.
It was intended to make me free.
He warned that the person who appeared to control the trust would eventually become its target.
He also named one person he trusted.
Daniel Mercer.
My biological father.
The letter said Daniel had been instructed to protect me if the family ever attempted to use my identity against me.
I looked at Marcus.
He was crying.
“You knew about this letter.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you give it to me?”
“Because your grandfather told me to wait until the people behind him exposed themselves.”
“And now?”
Marcus looked toward the dark hallway.
“Now they have.”
A sound came from upstairs.
Three quick knocks.
Then silence.
Detective Grant raised her weapon.
An officer entered the room.
“Nobody upstairs.”
“Check again.”
The officer returned moments later carrying a phone.
“It was found on the floor.”
The screen showed a live video.
Nathan stood somewhere inside the building.
He was holding a photograph.
It showed me as a baby.
Beside the photograph was another person.
A young man I didn't recognize.
Nathan spoke directly into the camera.
“Emily, you want the truth about your birth?”
He held up the photograph.
“Then come upstairs.”
The video ended.
Grant ordered everyone to stay put.
But I was already walking toward the stairs.
She caught my arm.
“No.”
“He has something.”
“He wants you isolated.”
“He already knows everything about me.”
“That doesn't mean you walk into a trap.”
I looked at the photograph in my hand.
Then at Rebecca.
She nodded.
“Whatever he shows you, don't believe the first version.”
We climbed the stairs together.
The hallway was empty.
At the far end stood an open office.
Nathan was gone.
A projector was running.
On the wall appeared a hospital record.
My birth certificate.
Then another document.
A DNA report.
The names were visible.
Rebecca Mercer.
Daniel Mercer.
Emily Wilson.
The result stated that Daniel Mercer was not my biological father.
Marcus stopped walking.
“No.”
Rebecca covered her mouth.
I stared at the screen.
A third name appeared.
The biological father field had been blacked out.
Then a message appeared beneath it.
YOUR FATHER IS THE ONE WHO HAS BEEN LYING TO YOU LONGEST.
The projector went dark.
Behind us, the stairwell door slammed shut.
And somewhere below, I heard my mother's voice.
“Emily.”
She sounded terrified.
“Don't let him show you the last page.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Last Page Named My Real Father, and the Truth Made Every Secret Between Rebecca, Robert, Marcus, and Linda More Dangerous
By the Time the Wedding Toasts Ended, I Discovered My Savings Had Vanished and My Family Already Knew Why
Part 9 of 35
