“Maisie’s father?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
Rebecca’s expression made clear that subject was closed.
Evelyn did not push.
Nora eventually completed an ancestry DNA test.
Nothing significant appeared for almost a year.
Then Margaret Hart submitted one.
Evelyn looked sharply at her mother.
Margaret nodded.
“I was searching.”
The genetic match came back parent-child.
Margaret contacted Nora.
At first, Nora assumed fraud.
Then came records.
Photographs.
A birth certificate.
And finally one childhood photograph of Evelyn at age eight standing beside Daniel Hart.
Nora had stared at it for twenty minutes.
Rebecca knew because she was there.
“She kept saying, ‘That’s my face.’”
Evelyn felt tears slide down her cheeks.
Rebecca continued.
“She wanted to contact you immediately.”
Evelyn looked at Margaret.
Rebecca did too.
“But someone convinced her not to.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“I asked for time.”
“You always ask for time.”
Rebecca’s voice sharpened.
“You took thirty-one years.”
Maisie looked between the adults.
Evelyn raised one hand.
“Not in front of her.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Sorry.”
Evelyn lowered her voice.
“What happened yesterday?”
“Nora decided she was done waiting.”
She packed overnight bags.
She planned to drive to Chicago with Maisie.
Rebecca offered to come.
They left Milwaukee shortly after noon.
Halfway to Chicago, Nora received a phone call.
From an attorney.
“What attorney?”
“Simon Caldwell.”
Margaret looked up sharply.
“My brother?”
Evelyn stared.
“Uncle Simon knows?”
Margaret’s face went pale.
Rebecca laughed bitterly.
“He certainly knows now.”
Simon Caldwell was Margaret’s older brother.
Evelyn’s uncle.
Sixty-four.
Chairman of Caldwell Holdings.
The closest living thing the family had to Arthur Caldwell.
Cold.
Polished.
Extremely wealthy.
Evelyn had never liked him.
“What did he want?”
Rebecca replied, “He told Nora not to contact you.”
“Why?”
“He said there were financial issues.”
Margaret whispered, “Oh God.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“What financial issues?”
Margaret did not answer.
“Mom.”
“My mother’s trust.”
“What about it?”