Chapter 3 - What My Father Owned
“My father knew you?”
Michael didn’t answer immediately.
Diane did.
“Your father knew everyone worth knowing.”
The contempt in her voice made me want to throw the laptop over the railing.
Instead, I kept watching.
The old video had no sound.
My mother stood beside my father.
Diane sat across from them.
A thick document lay between them.
Then my father pushed it toward Diane.
She refused to sign.
Mom said something.
Diane’s face twisted.
Then the video ended.
“What was that meeting?” I asked.
Diane crossed her arms.
“Ancient family business.”
“Which family?”
Silence.
Michael sat down.
“Emma, your father’s last name wasn’t Whitmore originally.”
I stared.
“Yes, it was.”
“No.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I found his original birth certificate when I was nineteen.”
He looked toward the ballroom below as if the answer might be easier if he didn’t have to see my face.
“His name was Edward Vale.”
Vale.
Same as Michael’s original surname.
My stomach turned.
“Are we related?”
“No.”
His answer came instantly.
Too instantly.
I demanded proof.
Diane almost smiled.
“Please. Even I wouldn’t allow that.”
Michael glared at her.
Then explained.
Edward Vale was not biologically connected to Diane.
The Vale name came from Diane’s first husband, Charles Vale.
My father had been Charles’s younger half-brother through their mother’s second marriage.
Different fathers.
No biological connection between Michael and me.
Complicated.
But not incest.
I sat down carefully.
“What does this have to do with Bellmont?”
Michael looked at the ceiling.
“Everything.”
The Bellmont Grand had never originally belonged to Diane.
It belonged to Bellmont Hospitality Trust.
Established by Charles Vale’s grandfather.
After Charles died unexpectedly, Diane became trustee because Michael—Daniel then—was still a child.
“But she calls the hotel hers.”
“She’s controlled it for thirty years.”
“Controlled isn’t owned.”
“No.”
That was the first crack.
My father had discovered it too.
According to Michael, Edward Vale challenged Diane’s management before I was born.
He claimed she had diverted trust assets into private companies.
Then Edward disappeared from the business.
Changed his surname to Whitmore.
Moved away.
Started a family with my mother.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Diane.
She did.
Her expression admitted it.
Then Lily stirred against me.
The black key envelope slipped partly from my hand.
Something thin fell from behind the card.
A folded strip of paper.
Michael reached for it.
I got there first.
There were six handwritten words:
FOR EMMA WHEN DIANE CLAIMS LILY.
The handwriting belonged to my father.
I knew it immediately.
Diane’s face collapsed.
She lunged toward me.
Michael blocked her.
“What does that mean?” I demanded.
Diane’s composure shattered.
“That note is fake.”
Michael turned slowly.
“Mom.”
“I said it’s fake!”
He stared at her.
Then asked:
“Why would Edward know Lily’s name?”
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My daughter had been born only ten months earlier.
My father had been dead for twenty-three years.
