Chapter 14 - The Huxley Archive
Trent agreed to disclose the archive through his attorney.
It was hidden beneath an abandoned equipment shed on former Huxley property.
No dramatic treasure chest.
Four waterproof document cases.
Tax records.
Correspondence.
Internal audits.
Photographs.
And Malcolm's journals.
They changed our understanding again.
Malcolm hated Warren Timmons.
North Range had manipulated Malcolm's father into selling mineral rights cheaply.
Malcolm became an accountant specifically to infiltrate the company.
He gathered evidence for years.
Then Nathan Cross independently discovered the same fraud.
Malcolm initially distrusted him.
Later they cooperated.
After Nathan died, Malcolm panicked.
He altered maintenance paperwork because he feared the entire investigation would be blamed for Nathan's unauthorized presence.
Cowardly.
Wrong.
But his motive wasn't protecting North Range.
It was protecting himself and Rebecca.
Then Warren Timmons discovered Malcolm's sabotage.
Their conflict lasted decades.
Caleb eventually joined Malcolm and Rebecca.
Three people who began as enemies became reluctant allies.
Elaine's disappearance was partly their joint plan.
Why, then, did Malcolm later threaten Megan and manipulate Trent?
Because time changed him.
He became consumed by what his family had lost.
He began believing recovered assets belonged to the Huxleys rather than original landowners collectively.
Like Gregory in another generation, a desire for justice became entitlement.
He taught Trent that grievance.
Trent inherited the anger without the original cause.
The journals contained one devastating entry:
Trent found Rebecca.
He thinks Cassidy can get everything back for us.
I told him to leave the girl alone.
He won't.
Malcolm had eventually realized what his son was becoming.
He tried to stop him.
Too late.
Then another entry:
If Trent ever learns Megan and Cassidy are Nathan's daughters, he will believe marrying Cassidy gives him a claim to both estates. Burn the Cross file before he finds it.
He didn't.
Trent found it after Malcolm died.
That began the final three years of obsession.
Cassidy read the journal silently.
Then asked:
“Did he ever love me?”
Nobody could answer that from documents.
Trent later answered himself during a supervised legal interview Cassidy chose not to attend.
He said yes.
He loved Cassidy.
He loved Lydia.
He was excited about Noah.
He also believed the money could fix every humiliation his father taught him to carry.
When Cassidy refused to cooperate, he treated her as an obstacle.
Love that becomes control when denied isn't safety.
Cassidy didn't need us to tell her what decision to make.
She filed for divorce.
Protective orders followed appropriate legal processes.
Custody issues regarding Noah and Lydia would be handled based on their interests, not revenge.
Evan did not demand immediate parental rights over Lydia.
He began with letters and supervised introductions when professionals considered it appropriate.
Brock resigned before the departmental investigation concluded.
That didn't end the review.
He admitted allowing blackmail and family loyalty to affect his judgment.
Caleb faced his own old conduct.
Daniel stayed in Montana long enough to help reconstruct Nathan and Rebecca's records.
Megan returned to Oregon but called Cassidy every Sunday.
Susan and Megan stopped speaking for two months.
Then Megan agreed to counseling with her adoptive mother.
Not forgiveness.
Work.
Cassidy and Noah came home.
Not to Trent's house.
To mine.
Lydia took her old room upstairs.
Noah slept badly.
Cassidy slept worse.
For several weeks, my house sounded alive at every hour.
I didn't mind.
Then one evening Lydia climbed onto my lap.
“Papa?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Daddy bad?”
There are questions adults ruin by answering too quickly.
“Daddy did something that hurt Mommy.”
“Does he love me?”
“I think he does.”
“Then why did he hurt her?”
I looked at her.
“Loving someone doesn't make everything you do okay.”
She thought about that.
Then nodded.
Children sometimes understand boundaries faster than adults.
She ran upstairs.
A minute later, I heard her scream.
Not frightened.
Confused.
“Papa!”
I ran.
She was standing beside her stuffed elephant.
The seam had opened again.
Something had fallen out.
Not the brass key.
A tiny plastic capsule we had somehow missed.
Inside was a rolled photograph.
Elaine.
Young.
Holding Megan as a baby.
Nathan beside her.
And another man.
I recognized him.
Warren Timmons.
On the back:
The four of us agreed. If anything happens to Nathan, Frank gets the girls.
I stared.
Girls.
Plural.
The photograph was dated 1992.
Three years before Cassidy was born.
There had only been one known girl then.
May you like
Megan.
Unless another daughter already existed.
