Chapter 7: The Agreement From Thirty Years Ago
The photograph trembled between my fingers.
My mother.
Eleanor.
A handwritten note on the back.
"The agreement begins when their daughter is old enough.""
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The room felt frozen.
Like time itself had stopped to force me to look at something I had spent my entire life not knowing.
I turned the photograph over again.
Then again.
As if the words would change.
They didn't.
"Dad.""
My voice sounded smaller than I wanted.
My father looked at the photograph.
And for the first time in my life, I saw something I had never seen on his face.
Fear.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Fear.
"You know this?""
I asked.
He didn't answer.
That hurt more than if he had lied.
"Dad.""
He slowly sat down.
"Where did you get that?""
I looked at Dominic.
"He gave it to me.""
My father turned toward him.
Dominic immediately raised his hands.
"I didn't know what it meant.""
"You knew enough to hide it.""
My father’s voice was sharp.
Dominic looked down.
"I found it in my mother's office.""
The room went silent.
Eleanor.
Again.
Every path seemed to lead back to her.
I looked at my father.
"What agreement?""
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked older than I had ever seen him.
"Your mother and Eleanor were friends.""
"Were?""
"They were.""
That word caught my attention.
"What happened?""
My father looked toward the window.
"Thirty years ago, your mother and I built our first company from nothing. Eleanor's family had connections, but they didn't have what we had.""
"What was that?""
"Trust.""
I almost laughed.
Trust.
The word felt almost cruel now.
My father continued.
"Your mother believed partnerships should be built on respect. Eleanor believed everything had a price.""
"And me?""
His eyes returned to mine.
"You were born after a deal was discussed.""
My stomach tightened.
"A deal about me?""
"No.""
He paused.
"At least, that's what I thought.""
I looked at the photograph.
"Then what was it?""
My father hesitated.
And that hesitation destroyed the last bit of comfort I had.
"Your mother wanted to create a foundation that would protect both families' companies.""
I frowned.
"A foundation?""
"Yes.""
He stood and walked to an old cabinet near the wall.
He opened it.
Inside were dozens of files.
Documents.
Letters.
Records.
Things I had never seen.
He pulled out one folder.
"Your mother kept everything.""
He opened it.
Inside was an agreement.
But not a marriage agreement.
A business agreement.
My eyes moved across the page.
The names.
The signatures.
My father's.
My mother's.
And Eleanor's.
The agreement described a partnership between three companies.
Not people.
Not children.
Companies.
"So why did Eleanor write that sentence?""
My father stared at the note.
"Because she changed.""
The room became colder.
"What do you mean?""
"After your mother died, Eleanor tried to take control of everything.""
I froze.
"My mother's death?""
My father nodded slowly.
"She believed the partnership should belong entirely to her family.""
I looked at Dominic.
His face was pale.
"You knew?""
He shook his head.
"No.""
My father continued.
"Your mother fought her.""
"And then?""
His silence answered.
I whispered:
"Then my mother died.""
Nobody moved.
For years, I had been told my mother died in an accident.
A tragic accident.
A random loss.
But now, for the first time, I wondered.
Was it?
My father immediately noticed.
"No.""
His voice was firm.
"Don't go there.""
"But you just said—"
"I said Eleanor changed. I never said she caused anything.""
The distinction mattered.
Because my father had always been careful with truth.
Even when truth hurt.
A knock interrupted us.
My father's assistant entered.
"Mr. Hayes.""
He looked uncomfortable.
"We found the person sending the messages.""
Everyone turned.
"Who?""
The assistant placed a folder down.
"The account belongs to someone inside Bennett Enterprises.""
My heart sank.
"Who?""
He opened the folder.
A picture was inside.
A woman.
Late twenties.
Dark hair.
Cold expression.
I didn't recognize her.
Dominic did.
His face changed instantly.
"No.""
I looked at him.
"Who is she?""
His voice was barely audible.
"Lauren.""
The room went silent.
The woman from the old engagement.
The woman his family wanted him to marry.
The woman who had disappeared from our lives.
My father looked at the photo.
"She knows everything.""
I stared.
"Why would she help me?""
Nobody answered.
Then my phone buzzed.
A new message.
From Lauren.
This time, there was no threat.
May you like
Only one sentence.
"Meet me alone if you want the truth about why your husband chose you.""
