Chapter 3
CATHERINE BLACKWOOD
Serena laughed when Victor asked whether Catherine was alive.
Not because it was funny.
Because fear sometimes escaped her as cruelty.
“Evelyn is alive and now Mother is alive too?”
Victor stared.
“You already knew Evelyn was alive.”
Serena’s smile vanished.
“Yes.”
“Then answer the question.”
They sat in a private hospital consultation room under police supervision.
Serena’s attorney had arrived.
Victor did not care.
“Is Catherine alive?”
Serena looked at her lawyer.
He said, “You do not have to answer.”
Serena whispered, “Yes.”
Victor stopped breathing.
For twenty years he had visited a grave.
For twenty years he had remembered Catherine’s funeral.
Open casket.
No.
Closed.
He suddenly remembered.
Closed because of “illness-related deterioration.”
Of course.
“What happened?”
Serena folded her hands.
“She left.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“She staged her death.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad found out about the placements.”
Victor leaned forward.
“Us.”
Serena looked at him.
“Yes.”
Neither of them were biological Blackwoods.
At least not through the parents they believed.
Serena explained.
Edward and Catherine Blackwood had struggled with infertility.
Through a private physician, they acquired Victor from a young mother named Elena Marquez.
Two years later, they acquired Serena from another mother.
“Who?” Victor asked.
Serena closed her eyes.
“Catherine.”
Victor stared.
“What?”
“Catherine gave birth to me.”
The room went quiet.
“So you are her biological daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And I am not.”
“Yes.”
“Who is your father?”
Serena looked at him.
“Edward.”
Victor’s mouth went dry.
Catherine had conceived Serena with Edward after adopting Victor.
That meant Serena was a biological Blackwood.
Victor was not.
Everything about their inheritance reversed.
Victor laughed bitterly.
“So you are the real Blackwood.”
Serena’s face twisted.
“That phrase ruined my life.”
“Explain.”
Catherine had discovered Edward planned to leave the company to Victor.
Not because of biology.
Because Victor was older and more suited to management.
Catherine believed Serena should inherit because she was blood.
Edward refused.
The marriage collapsed.
Then Catherine learned the private adoption physician had kept records proving Victor’s placement had been illegal.
Elena Marquez had never consented.
Victor closed his eyes.
Again.
A mother.
A child.
Paperwork.
“They stole me.”
Serena said nothing.
“Did you know?”
“Not until I was twenty-three.”
“And Catherine?”
“She wanted to use it to remove you from the trust.”
Victor laughed.
“By exposing that I was stolen?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Dad threatened to expose Serena’s birth too.”
Victor frowned.
“Why would that hurt you?”
Serena stared at the table.
“Because Catherine had been married to someone else when she conceived me.”
Victor stopped.
“So Edward might not be your father.”
“He is.”
“How do you know?”
“DNA.”
Serena had tested.
Catherine had not known.
Or had refused to believe it.
The family was a maze built from people who valued blood while lying about it constantly.
Victor sat back.
“Why fake her death?”
Serena said Catherine had grown paranoid.
She believed Edward would expose her financial crimes.
She moved money through the family foundation.
Then disappeared to Europe.
Edward told the world she died to avoid scandal.
“Dad helped.”
“Yes.”
“Where is Catherine now?”
“I don’t know.”
Victor stared.
“You just admitted she is alive.”
“I know she was alive six months ago.”
“How?”
“She contacted me.”
“Why?”
“Evelyn.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
Catherine had learned Evelyn was investigating the old placement network.
She contacted Serena with a warning.
Stop Evelyn.
Victor whispered, “And you did.”
Serena’s eyes filled.
“I tried.”
“You had her drugged.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to me that she died.”
“Yes.”
“Why help Evelyn fake it if you wanted her gone?”
Serena looked up.
“I didn’t.”
Victor stopped.
“You said you knew she was alive.”
“I found out after the funeral.”
“When?”
“Two days later.”
“How?”
“Mrs. Lang told me.”
The missing estate manager.
“Why?”
“She wanted leverage.”
Victor stared.
Mrs. Lang had served the family for decades.
“She blackmailed you?”
“She said if I touched Evelyn again, she would tell you everything.”
Victor laughed once.
“That almost sounds noble.”
Serena shook her head.
“It wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted money.”
Of course.
Everyone wanted something.
Then the detective entered.
“We found Mrs. Lang.”
Alive.
At a motel outside Dallas.
She had checked in under a false name.
Police recovered three suitcases of documents.
And one infant passport.
Oliver Blackwood.
Victor went cold.
“Why does she have my son’s passport?”
Cole said, “That is what we are trying to determine.”
Mrs. Lang refused to speak without Victor present.
Against advice, he went.
She looked old in the interview room.
Smaller than the woman who had run the mansion with military precision.
“Victor.”
“Why did you have Oliver’s passport?”
“To get him out.”
“Out where?”
“Canada.”
“Why?”
“Because Catherine came back.”
Victor stared.
“You saw her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Four days ago.”
“Where?”
“Mansion.”
Victor stood.
“Inside my house?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Service elevator.”
“Who let her in?”
Mrs. Lang looked ashamed.
“I did.”
Victor closed his eyes.
“What did she want?”
“Oliver.”
His heart stopped.
“Why?”
“To raise him.”
Victor laughed in disbelief.
Mrs. Lang continued.
“Catherine believes Blackwood blood has been corrupted by outsiders.”
“But Oliver is my biological son.”
“Yes.”
“And I am not a biological Blackwood.”
“No.”
“So why would she want him?”
Mrs. Lang looked at him.
“Because Evelyn is.”
Victor froze.
“What?”
Evelyn had Blackwood blood?
Mrs. Lang nodded.
“Her father, Miguel Reyes, was not her biological father.”
Victor remembered Maria saying Gabriel Reyes.
Names blurred.
“Who was?”
Mrs. Lang whispered:
“Edward Blackwood.”
Victor stopped breathing.
His father.
The man who raised him.
Had fathered Evelyn.
That made Evelyn Victor’s adoptive half-sister.
And Oliver Edward’s biological grandson through Evelyn.
The family obsession with blood had circled into horror.
Victor whispered, “Did Evelyn know?”
“No.”
“Catherine?”
“Yes.”
“Serena?”
Mrs. Lang looked down.
“Yes.”
Victor stared.
That explained hatred.
Not all of it.
Enough.
Serena had watched Victor marry a woman who, biologically, was her half-sister too.
Victor felt sick.
“Why didn’t anyone stop the marriage?”
Mrs. Lang’s eyes filled.
“Because you are not biologically related.”
“That does not make the lie acceptable.”
“No.”
“Did Edward know?”
“He died before Evelyn’s paternity was confirmed.”
Victor sat down.
Catherine wanted Oliver because he was a biological Blackwood descendant.
The first male descendant through Edward’s blood in decades.
Julian—no, Oliver—was not a baby to her.
He was lineage.
Victor asked, “Did Catherine leave the drugged bottle?”
Mrs. Lang shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Then why were you running?”
“Because I heard Catherine say she was taking Oliver before sunrise.”
Victor’s blood went cold.
“You were going to kidnap my son to prevent her kidnapping him.”
Mrs. Lang looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
Victor laughed bitterly.
“This family has exactly one solution to danger.”
Mrs. Lang nodded.
“I know.”
He stood.
The detective entered.
“Victor.”
“What?”
“We recovered Mrs. Lang’s deleted messages.”
One from Catherine.
Tonight.
11:28 p.m.
MAKE SURE MARIA TAKES THE BLAME.
Victor stared.
Mrs. Lang whispered, “No.”
Cole continued.
Another message.
11:35.
DELETE THE VIDEO. LEAVE THE AUDIO.
Victor stopped.
Leave the audio.
Why?
The woman on the recording was Evelyn.
Catherine wanted Victor to hear Evelyn’s voice.
Not merely hide a crime.
Reveal something.
Control the reveal.
Victor looked at Mrs. Lang.
“Why leave the audio?”
She looked terrified.
“I don’t know.”
Then Cole played one more recovered audio fragment from the nursery.
After Evelyn’s message.
After everyone believed the recording ended.
A whisper.
Catherine’s voice.
Older.
Cold.
“Good. Now he knows she’s alive.”
Then:
“Tomorrow, he learns she is his father’s daughter.”
Victor closed his eyes.
Catherine was not merely trying to take Oliver.
She was dismantling Victor’s family one truth at a time.
And she had chosen exactly when each truth would hurt most.
Victor returned to Catherine’s old bedroom that evening.
It had been closed since her supposed death.
Dusty perfume bottles.
Books.
A jewelry box.
He found a childhood drawing he had made at age six.
A stick family.
Catherine.
Edward.
Victor.
Serena.
He had written MOM above Catherine in green crayon.
Victor sat on the floor.
Biology had changed.
The drawing had not.
Catherine had mothered him once.
Then later treated blood as proof that she never truly had.
He decided he would not let her rewrite the child he had been.
That boy had loved his mother.
The adult could hold that truth beside everything else.
Serena’s confession did not make Victor feel closer to her. It made the distance more honest. For years they had called themselves siblings while competing inside a structure neither understood. Now they could at least stop pretending ignorance had been intimacy.
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Serena’s confession did not make Victor feel closer to her. It made the distance more honest. For years they had called themselves siblings while competing inside a structure neither understood. Now they could at least stop pretending ignorance had been intimacy.
Serena’s confession did not make Victor feel closer to her. It made the distance more honest. For years they had called themselves siblings while competing inside a structure neither understood. Now they could at least stop pretending ignorance had been intimacy.
