Chapter 6 - The Woman Desmond Buried First

I drove to the warehouse.

I did not remember the road.

Only the red lights.

The white lines.

My hands on the wheel.

My mother.

Alive.

Maybe.

Again.

When I arrived, Desmond was outside.

No guards near him.

That was deliberate.

He looked older.

I got out.

“Where is she?”

He said nothing.

I walked past him.

Inside, Richard Langford stood near my office.

Sixty-five.

Silver hair.

Perfect coat.

Same calm expression Monica wore when she did not want to show fear.

Beside him stood a woman.

Late fifties.

Dark hair.

Gray at the temples.

My mother.

Clara Holloway.

I stopped.

She looked at me.

“Grant.”

My chest tightened.

I had been 15 when she died.

Or when I was told she did.

I stared.

“No.”

She cried.

“I know.”

“You don’t know anything.”

She closed her mouth.

Good.

I looked at Desmond.

“You buried both of them.”

He answered:

“Yes.”

“Jolene.”

“Yes.”

“My mother.”

“Yes.”

“How many more?”

“No one.”

I looked at Richard.

“What did you do?”

He stared.

“I helped.”

“Why?”

“Your mother asked.”

I looked at her.

“Why?”

Clara took one step.

I stepped back.

She stopped.

“Your father was dangerous.”

Silence.

Desmond closed his eyes.

I looked at him.

“You told me Dad protected us.”

“He did.”

“From who?”

Desmond whispered:

“Himself.”

I laughed once.

There it was.

Another perfect memory breaking.

Clara continued:

“Your father loved you.”

“Everyone says that before telling me something terrible.”

Her face broke.

“He also hurt people.”

“I know.”

“He hurt me.”

Silence.

My hands went cold.

“How?”

She looked down.

“Control.”

“Did he hit you?”

“Yes.”

I closed my eyes.

Once.

Enough.

She continued:

“When he learned he had cancer, it became worse.”

“Why?”

“He wanted everything settled.”

“Desmond.”

“Yes.”

“He wanted Desmond to control the organization.”

“Yes.”

“Not me.”

“You were a child.”

“I was 15.”

Clara nodded.

“I know.”

I looked at Desmond.

“You raised me because he told you to.”

“Yes.”

“After helping her disappear.”

“Yes.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Did Dad know?”

Clara looked at me.

“At first, no.”

“At first.”

She swallowed.

“He found out later.”

“When?”

“Two years before he died.”

I stopped.

“He knew you were alive.”

“Yes.”

“Did he come for you?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

Richard answered:

“We stopped him.”

I looked at him.

“You.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Clara had evidence.”

“Of what?”

Clara looked toward my office.

“Your father’s accounts.”

I almost laughed.

“Everyone has ledgers.”

Richard did not smile.

Clara continued:

“I had copies showing money moved through Langford companies.”

“So Richard helped because he was implicated.”

Richard nodded.

“At first.”

I looked at him.

He accepted the look.

“Then because I wanted her safe.”

Clara stared at him.

He looked away.

Something there.

History.

I asked:

“Why come back now?”

Clara looked at me.

“Because Jolene did.”

I frowned.

“What does that have to do with you?”

Clara answered:

“Her mother contacted me.”

“Evelyn.”

“Yes.”

“They knew each other.”

Richard nodded.

“From protection.”

I stared.

“So the women our families erased found each other.”

“Yes.”

“Convenient.”

Clara said:

“Necessary.”

I looked at Desmond.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was alive?”

He answered immediately.

“Because I promised her.”

I laughed.

“You love promises more than people.”

He flinched.

Good.

Richard stepped forward.

“There is another reason.”

I looked at him.

He handed me a document.

Succession agreement.

Holloway-Langford.

My marriage to Monica.

I scanned it.

Then stopped.

Clause 14.

Any recognized biological child of Grant Holloway born prior to marriage would alter voting rights.

I stared.

“So Elias changes control.”

“Yes.”

“Vincent knew.”

“Yes.”

“Monica knew.”

“No.”

I looked at Richard.

He continued:

“She knew there was an agreement. Not this clause.”

I believed him less than I wanted.

“Why fake Jolene’s death?”

Richard answered:

“To keep Vincent from using the child before birth.”

“And after?”

“Desmond was supposed to move her permanently.”

Clara looked at Desmond.

He looked away.

I understood.

“He didn’t.”

Desmond said:

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because Jolene refused.”

I almost smiled.

Of course she did.

Then Trent called.

“Grant.”

“What?”

“Vincent’s at the motel.”

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My entire body went cold.

I ran.