Chapter 13 - Catherine's Revenge
“And tonight, I'm going to kill him.”
Catherine's words came through the phone with terrifying calm.
Daniel reacted first.
“Mom, where are you?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom!”
“I love you, Daniel.”
“Don't do this.”
“I should have done it twenty-two years ago.”
The call disconnected.
Daniel immediately called back.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
I looked at Rebecca.
“Where would Richard go?”
“I don't know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Hannah—”
“He just tried to shoot us. Catherine has been planning this for three weeks. Richard wants the ledger, Dad's documents, and whatever evidence connects him to Rachel Grace's death.”
I stepped closer.
“Where would he feel safe?”
Rebecca looked toward the cemetery gates.
“Graybridge.”
Evelyn stared at her.
“We were just there.”
“Not the main building.”
“What else is there?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“A house.”
Martin's expression changed.
“The director's residence?”
Rebecca nodded.
“I thought it was demolished.”
“It wasn't.”
“Where?”
“Behind the eastern woods. You can't see it from Graybridge Road.”
Judith whispered, “Richard lived there.”
“For how long?”
“On and off for years.”
Martin took out his phone.
“We tell the police.”
“Yes,” I said.
No more going alone.
No more secret confrontations.
No more pretending we were equipped to deal with an armed man.
Martin gave the address to the detective who had been taking our statements.
The response was immediate.
Units were sent toward Graybridge.
Daniel and Rachel were told to remain at the station.
They didn't.
I discovered that fifteen minutes later when Daniel called.
“We're following Catherine's car.”
I nearly screamed.
“Turn around.”
“No.”
“You have Emma.”
“No. Claire is staying with her at the station.”
That didn't make me feel much better.
“Where are you?”
“Route 114.”
Rachel spoke in the background.
“We can see Mom's car.”
“Don't approach her.”
“We aren't.”
“Call the police.”
“We did.”
For once, everyone seemed to be calling the police.
Progress.
“Is she alone?”
Daniel said, “I think so.”
Then Rachel whispered:
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Another car just pulled in behind her.”
“What kind?”
“Dark SUV.”
My stomach tightened.
Richard.
“Stay back.”
Daniel slowed.
I could hear it through the phone.
Rachel said:
“The SUV passed her.”
“Can you see the driver?”
“No.”
Then Daniel went silent.
“What?”
“Catherine is following it.”
Rebecca heard.
“He's leading her to the house.”
Martin accelerated.
The cemetery disappeared behind us.
Evelyn sat beside Rebecca in the back seat.
They had barely spoken since their reunion.
There were too many questions and no safe place to ask them.
Finally Evelyn whispered:
“Did you know Catherine was my sister?”
“Yes.”
“All these years?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see her?”
“From a distance.”
“How often?”
“Birthdays sometimes.”
Evelyn stared at her.
“You watched us.”
“I needed to know you were safe.”
“But you never came.”
“I thought Richard was watching.”
“He was.”
“Yes.”
“So instead of giving us the truth, everyone kept us ignorant.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“I was afraid.”
Evelyn looked out the window.
“So was I.”
That ended the conversation.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Claire.
EMMA IS SAFE WITH ME.
Then:
I'M SORRY.
I stared at those words.
For taking Emma?
For manipulating Daniel and Rachel?
For hiding her identity?
For all of it?
I didn't know.
Another message arrived.
THERE'S SOMETHING YOU NEED TO KNOW BEFORE YOU GET TO RICHARD.
I called her.
She answered immediately.
“What?”
“I found another document.”
“Where?”
“Thomas's box.”
“What does it say?”
“It's about Rachel Grace.”
Mom heard the name.
She turned.
“What about her?”
Claire continued.
“The accident wasn't random.”
“We know Richard caused it.”
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“He didn't run her off the road because she happened to see something.”
“Then why?”
“She had something he wanted.”
“What?”
“A cassette tape.”
Martin looked sharply toward the phone.
“What tape?”
Claire heard him.
“An interview.”
“With who?”
“Eleanor.”
Grandma.
Of course.
“When was it recorded?”
“Three days before the accident.”
“What did Grandma tell her?”
“I don't know. The tape is missing.”
“Then how do you know it existed?”
“Rachel Grace wrote about it in a journal.”
Mom covered her mouth.
“You have her journal?”
“It was in the box.”
“What does it say?”
Claire turned pages.
Then read:
Eleanor finally admitted what happened in 1974. She says Richard didn't remove the bracelets because he wanted to confuse the babies. He removed them because one of the girls had a mark that could identify her father.
I frowned.
“What mark?”
“It doesn't say.”
Claire continued.
She told me the truth about Richard. If Margaret ever learns it, she'll understand why Eleanor spent her life terrified of him.
Mom whispered, “What truth?”
Claire kept reading.
Richard isn't Margaret's father.
Everyone in the car went still.
Rebecca leaned toward the phone.
“What?”
Claire repeated it.
Mom stared at Rebecca.
“You said he was.”
“That's what Eleanor told me.”
Claire continued.
Richard is not Evelyn's father either.
Evelyn's face changed.
“No.”
Rebecca looked as shocked as she did.
“That isn't possible.”
“Why?” I asked.
Rebecca whispered, “Because Richard forced a paternity test.”
“When?”
“After the twins were born.”
“Did you see the result?”
“No.”
“Who told you?”
“Richard.”
There it was.
Another truth built entirely on someone's word.
Claire read:
Eleanor says Richard created false paternity records so he could control Rebecca and Margaret. He needed both women to believe their children belonged to him.
“Why?” Evelyn asked.
Claire continued.
Because the real father connected the two families in a way that could expose Richard's identity.
Martin whispered, “Who?”
“I don't know.”
“There must be more.”
“I'm looking.”
Pages turned.
Then Claire stopped.
“What?”
“There is a name.”
Everyone held their breath.
“Whose?”
Claire read:
George Mercer.
Mom's face changed.
“My father?”
Rebecca stared at her.
George Mercer.
The man Mom had believed was her father.
Grandma's husband.
Claire continued reading.
Eleanor says George discovered Richard's real business at Graybridge. Richard destroyed him financially, then forced him out of the state. Everyone was told George abandoned the family.
Mom began crying.
“My father didn't leave us?”
“No.”
“What happened to him?”
Claire turned another page.
“He died in 1982.”
Mom closed her eyes.
She had lost a father without ever knowing he was dead.
“What does that have to do with Evelyn?”
Claire continued.
George returned secretly in 1979.
Rebecca made a sound.
“No.”
Evelyn turned toward her.
“What?”
Rebecca's hand covered her mouth.
“I knew a George.”
Silence.
“He never told me his last name.”
Evelyn stared.
“My father?”
Rebecca began crying.
“I thought Richard was.”
“Were you with George?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Months before I became pregnant.”
“And Richard?”
Rebecca looked away.
“Yes.”
The twins.
Different fathers were possible.
“Which child was George's?” I asked.
Claire found the next entry.
Eleanor believes Evelyn is George's daughter.
Mom stared at Evelyn.
If true, Evelyn wasn't Mom's half sister.
She was something else.
George Mercer was the man Mom had been raised believing was her father, though Rebecca now claimed he wasn't biologically.
But he had still been Mom's father in every meaningful sense.
And Evelyn might be his biological daughter.
Claire continued.
Elizabeth's father was Thomas Mercer.
Catherine.
That remained.
Evelyn whispered:
“So Richard wasn't our father at all.”
Rebecca reached for her.
Evelyn didn't pull away this time.
“What was Richard hiding?” I asked.
Claire flipped forward.
“The journal says Rachel Grace discovered his real identity.”
“What identity?”
Claire stopped.
“There.”
“Read it.”
Her voice changed.
Richard Vale is not Richard Bell. Eleanor knew him under another name before either of those.
“What name?”
“Dr. Raymond Voss.”
Judith gasped.
Martin nearly hit the brakes.
“What?” I asked.
Judith looked terrified.
“Voss was Graybridge's physician.”
“The doctor?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
She didn't answer.
Rebecca did.
“He delivered babies.”
“And?”
“He altered records.”
“And?”
Rebecca's voice became hollow.
“He decided which children went home and which ones disappeared.”
The scale of it suddenly became clear.
Richard hadn't merely been a wealthy man manipulating women.
He had been inside Graybridge.
A doctor.
Access to births.
Records.
Adoptions.
Children.
“What was he doing with them?”
Martin answered.
“Private adoptions.”
“Illegal?”
“Yes.”
“For money?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Nobody knows.”
Mom whispered, “My Charlotte.”
Martin looked at her.
“Yes.”
Richard had access to her baby.
Rebecca's twins.
Perhaps dozens of others.
Claire said:
“Rachel Grace was going to expose him.”
“That is why he killed her.”
“Yes.”
The car fell silent.
Then Daniel called.
I switched lines.
“Hannah.”
“What?”
“Catherine stopped.”
“Where?”
“Graybridge.”
“The main building?”
“No. A dirt road behind it.”
Rebecca pointed ahead.
“There.”
Martin turned.
We entered a narrow road through trees.
Blue police lights were visible far behind us.
Not close enough.
Daniel whispered:
“She got out.”
“Stay in your car.”
“She's walking toward a house.”
“Do not follow.”
Then I heard Rachel scream.
“Daniel!”
The call filled with movement.
“What happened?”
“Someone grabbed Catherine.”
“Who?”
“I can't see.”
A gunshot.
Rachel screamed again.
Then the call ended.
Martin accelerated.
The director's house appeared between the trees.
Catherine's car stood outside.
Daniel's behind it.
Both empty.
The front door was open.
Police sirens approached from the road.
I got out.
Martin grabbed my arm.
“Wait.”
“Rachel is inside.”
“You don't know that.”
“Exactly.”
Then I heard her.
“Hannah!”
From the house.
My sister.
I ran.
Inside, the living room was empty.
A lamp had been knocked over.
Blood marked the floor.
Not much.
But enough.
“Rachel!”
“Upstairs!”
I took the stairs two at a time.
Rachel was kneeling in the hallway beside Daniel.
Blood covered his sleeve.
“Is he shot?”
“Grazed.”
Daniel grimaced.
“I'm fine.”
“Where's Catherine?”
He pointed toward a closed door.
“He took her.”
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn arrived behind me.
Then Rebecca.
Martin.
Judith.
The closed door opened.
Richard stepped out.
Gun in one hand.
Catherine in front of him.
His arm around her throat.
She looked furious rather than afraid.
“Everybody stop.”
We did.
Sirens grew louder.
Richard smiled.
“Excellent. The whole family.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“You aren't my father.”
Something changed in his eyes.
“So you've learned that.”
“George Mercer was.”
“Possibly.”
“You lied.”
“I gave you a useful story.”
Rebecca stepped forward.
“You destroyed our lives.”
Richard pointed the gun at her.
“You destroyed your own life when you trusted George.”
Catherine struggled.
“Let me go.”
“Soon.”
“Police are outside.”
“I know.”
“What do you want?” I asked.
Richard looked at me.
“Thomas's evidence.”
“We don't have it.”
“Catherine does.”
She laughed.
“Not anymore.”
His grip tightened.
“What did you do?”
“I sent copies.”
“To who?”
“The attorney general.”
Richard's face changed.
For the first time, I saw fear.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Everything stopped.
Three weeks.
The moment the entire machine had started moving.
“You sent the files?”
“Copies.”
“Then why all this?”
Catherine stared at him.
“Because copies aren't evidence unless the originals survive.”
Richard's eyes moved toward the ledger in Evelyn's hands.
Original records.
He understood.
“You planned this.”
Catherine smiled.
“I contacted you because I needed you to expose yourself.”
“You led me to Margaret.”
“Yes.”
“You told me about the wedding.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe you wanted answers.”
“I wanted justice.”
Daniel stared at his mother.
“Mom.”
She looked at him.
“I'm sorry.”
Richard pressed the gun against her neck.
“You're not nearly as clever as you think.”
“No.”
Catherine's eyes moved toward the window.
“But the police outside probably are.”
A voice came through a loudspeaker.
“Richard Voss, release the hostage and put down the weapon.”
Richard flinched at the name.
Voss.
His real name.
For decades, he had survived behind other identities.
Now the police were using the one he had tried to bury.
He pulled Catherine backward.
“There is another exit.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
“You don't know this house anymore.”
“I know it better than you.”
He looked at her.
Rebecca smiled sadly.
“Who do you think gave the police the floor plan?”
Richard's face twisted.
Then the lights went out.
Rachel screamed.
A gunshot exploded.
Someone hit me.
I fell.
Another gunshot.
Then Daniel shouted:
“Mom!”
Emergency lights flickered on.
Richard was on the floor.
Catherine stood against the wall.
Alive.
A police officer had entered through the rear staircase.
Richard's gun lay several feet away.
Blood spread beneath him.
For a moment, I thought he was dead.
Then he coughed.
Police rushed in.
Hands pulled us back.
Someone handcuffed him.
Richard laughed.
Even while bleeding.
He looked directly at me.
“Hannah.”
I didn't answer.
“You still haven't opened the box.”
“It's over.”
His smile widened.
“No.”
Police lifted him onto a stretcher.
“You think I'm the secret Thomas was protecting?”
He coughed again.
Blood touched his lips.
“I was only the man trying to find it.”
“What secret?”
Richard looked toward Rebecca.
Then Judith.
Neither would meet my eyes.
He laughed.
“They still haven't told you.”
“Told me what?”
Police began carrying him away.
He raised his voice.
“Ask why Thomas ordered DNA tests on six girls.”
I froze.
Six girls.
Charlotte.
Evelyn.
Elizabeth.
Grace.
Hannah.
Rachel.
Dad's list.
“Five identities altered,” Richard said.
“One death falsified.”
“We know.”
“No.”
His smile disappeared.
“You know the names.”
“What don't we know?”
He looked directly at me.
“You don't know why Rachel Mercer was on the list.”
My sister stood behind me.
“What?”
Richard was carried toward the stairs.
I followed.
“What about Rachel?”
He laughed again.
“Open the box.”
Then he disappeared downstairs.
I turned.
Rachel looked terrified.
Mom did too.
“Mom?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Martin stared at the floor.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“Martin.”
He looked at Rachel.
Then at me.
“Thomas once asked me to test Rachel's blood.”
Rachel stepped backward.
“What?”
“When?”
“You were seventeen.”
“Why?”
“He never told me.”
“Did you do it?”
“Yes.”
“Against who?”
Martin didn't answer.
Rachel shouted:
“Against who?”
His voice dropped.
“Margaret.”
Mom stared.
“And?”
Martin looked at her.
“You were her biological mother.”
Rachel exhaled.
“Then what's the mystery?”
Martin continued.
“But Thomas ordered a second comparison.”
“With who?”
Silence.
“Martin.”
He looked at Rachel.
“Eleanor.”
Grandma.
Rachel frowned.
“Why would Dad compare me to Grandma?”
“He wasn't testing maternity.”
“What was he testing?”
“Something else.”
“What?”
Martin swallowed.
“Whether Eleanor and Thomas were biologically related.”
Nobody spoke.
Rachel looked confused.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Martin's answer came slowly.
“Rachel's sample was the reference.”
“For what?”
“To establish whether Thomas carried the same inherited marker found in Eleanor's family.”
Mom whispered:
“Did he?”
Martin nodded.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
Dad and Grandma had been biologically related.
Mom stared at Martin.
“How closely?”
“I never completed the analysis.”
“Why?”
“Thomas told me to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because he found something in Eleanor's private records.”
“What?”
Martin looked toward the police carrying Richard outside.
“A birth certificate.”
“Whose?”
“Thomas's.”
My father.
“What did it say?”
Martin closed his eyes.
“That Thomas Mercer wasn't born Thomas Mercer.”
I felt cold.
“What was his birth name?”
Martin opened his eyes.
“Thomas Voss.”
Nobody moved.
Voss.
Richard's real surname.
Rachel whispered:
“Was Dad related to Richard?”
Martin nodded.
“I believe so.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Then Rebecca spoke.
“I do.”
We turned toward her.
She was crying.
“Thomas was Richard's younger brother.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Dad and Richard.
Brothers.
One became Thomas Mercer.
The other became Richard Vale, Richard Bell, Dr. Raymond Voss.
Two men whose lives had circled Graybridge for decades.
“Why was Dad raised as Mercer?” I asked.
Rebecca looked at Mom.
“Because Eleanor adopted him.”
Mom stopped breathing.
“My mother adopted Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“He was four.”
Mom's face emptied.
“My mother raised the man I later married?”
“No.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“She didn't raise him.”
“Then what?”
“She arranged the adoption into another Mercer family.”
I remembered Dad's parents.
My paternal grandparents.
Both dead before I was twelve.
“Why?”
“To get Thomas away from Richard.”
“Why?”
Rebecca looked toward the door through which Richard had disappeared.
“Because when Thomas was four years old, he saw Richard kill their father.”
Silence.
“And Eleanor witnessed it too.”
My phone vibrated.
Claire.
One message.
I FOUND THE HIDDEN FILE IN THE BOX.
Then another.
HANNAH, DON'T LET RACHEL LEAVE.
I looked at my sister.
“What?”
Another message appeared.
THE SIXTH DNA TEST WASN'T ABOUT THOMAS.
My hands began shaking.
A photograph arrived.
An old laboratory report.
Two names had been typed across the top.
RACHEL MERCER.
CHARLOTTE MERCER.
Below them:
Probability of full sibling relationship: 99.87%.
I stared at it.
That was impossible.
Charlotte had been born in 1974.
Rachel in 1975.
Wait.
No.
Rachel had always been told she was born in 1975.
But what if another date had been changed?
Rachel took the phone.
Her face drained of color.
“No.”
Mom whispered:
“What does it say?”
Rachel looked at her.
Then at Claire.
At Susan.
At all the women who might have been Charlotte.
Her voice broke.
“If this test is real…”
She couldn't finish.
I did.
“Rachel isn't Mom's second daughter.”
Mom stared at us.
“She is.”