Chương 7
Daniel laughed so hard he had to sit down.
Rachel leaned against the counter and laughed with him.
The sound felt almost inappropriate.
That made it better.
For five minutes nothing about DNA existed.
Then Daniel’s phone rang.
The display showed ELEANOR.
He let it ring.
Lily saw the name.
“You can answer.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
He turned the phone facedown.
Lily climbed onto her chair.
“Good.”
Three days later, Eleanor’s lawyer sent Daniel a proposed family agreement.
It arrived by courier in a cream envelope so thick it looked ceremonial.
Rachel read the first page over Daniel’s shoulder.
The agreement required all parties to refrain from discussing “private genetic matters,” the gala incident, family trust administration, internal foundation affairs, and any statements made by Eleanor Whitmore before or after the event.
In exchange, Eleanor proposed creating a separate educational trust for Lily.
Rachel stopped reading.
“She put a price on silence.”
Daniel turned the page.
“Five million.”
Rachel stared at him.
“That was not a request for the number.”
“I know.”
“Five million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“For Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Because she broke a tiara and called her illegitimate in public?”
“The agreement doesn’t use that word.”
“I’m beginning to understand why people hate lawyers.”
“Our lawyer hates this too.”
“Good.”
Daniel kept reading.
Rachel watched him.
“You’re not considering it.”
“No.”
“You paused.”
“I was reading.”
“You have a reading face and a considering face.”
“That sounds invented.”
“It isn’t.”
He put the document down.
“I’m not taking it.”
Rachel believed him.
She also saw something else.
The offer had hurt him.
Not because five million dollars tempted him.
Because Eleanor still believed money was a language everyone eventually understood.
“What do you want from her?” Rachel asked.
Daniel sat back.
“The truth.”
“You already have most of it.”
“I have a name.”
“Andrew Bell.”
“And a test.”
“And her admission.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
Rachel watched him.
“You may never know all of it.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean that seriously. Dead people don’t become witnesses because we need closure.”
Daniel looked down.
Rachel immediately thought of Charles.
She moved closer.
“I’m not telling you not to look.”
“I know.”
“I’m telling you to decide what answer is enough before you start.”
The next morning Daniel searched for Andrew Bell.
He did it badly.
He began with the internet, where there were too many Andrew Bells and too little dignity. He found a dentist in Ohio, a retired baseball coach in Arizona, a pastor in Tennessee, and a man arrested in 1998 for stealing copper wire from a construction site.
None had any obvious connection to Eleanor.
Then Peter called.
“I found him.”
Daniel sat straighter.
“Who?”
“Bell.”
“How?”
“I called Virginia.”
Daniel groaned.
Aunt Virginia was Peter’s ex-wife, which had never reduced her access to family information.
“What did she say?”
“That your mother was involved with an Andrew Bell in 1986.”
“Who was he?”
“Architect.”
Daniel waited.
“Is that it?”
“He worked on the renovation of the original Whitmore Grand.”
Daniel looked around his study.
The hotel.
The ballroom.
The place where everything had opened.
Peter continued.
“He died in 2004.”
“How?”
“Heart attack, apparently.”
“Family?”
“Married later. One son.”
Daniel stood.
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m not calling some stranger and telling him we might share a father.”
“I didn’t tell you to.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to tell you not to.”
Daniel sat again.
“Sorry.”
Peter was quiet.
Then he said, “This is going to make you stupid for a while.”
“Helpful.”
“I mean it. Don’t make permanent decisions while you’re trying to answer a question you only learned how to ask last week.”
Daniel looked at the DNA report.
“What if I want another test?”
“With Bell’s family?”
“Yes.”
“Then you ask. You don’t trick anybody. You don’t steal DNA. You don’t do what your mother did.”
Daniel’s hand tightened around the phone.
“No.”
Peter softened.
“Sorry.”
“No. You’re right.”
That became the line Daniel would not cross.
It mattered more than he expected.
Andrew Bell’s son was named Matthew.
Daniel found him easily once he knew the right Andrew. Matthew was forty-three, lived in Baltimore, and worked as a civil engineer. His profile photograph showed a face Daniel studied too long.
Dark hair.
Heavy eyebrows.
Nothing decisive.
Everything suggestive.
Daniel closed the page.
For two days he did nothing.
On the third, he wrote an email.
Then deleted it.
He wrote another.
Deleted that too.
Rachel found him at the kitchen counter after midnight with a glass of water and no lights on.
“You’re haunting our own house.”
“Sorry.”
She turned on the stove light.
“What are you doing?”
“Not emailing a stranger.”
“Going well?”
“I’ve successfully not emailed him for seventy-two hours.”
“Strong work.”
Daniel looked at her.
She opened the refrigerator.
“Do you want cheese?”
“At midnight?”
“That was not the question.”
“Yes.”
She cut two pieces.
They stood beside the counter eating cheddar in silence.
After a while Daniel said, “What if he says no?”
“To a test?”
“To contact.”
“Then he says no.”
“What if he says yes?”
“Then you deal with yes.”
“What if he thinks I want something?”
“You’re wealthier than he is.”
“That has never stopped people from thinking rich people want things.”
“Fair.”
Daniel looked down.
“What if I look at him and know?”
Rachel leaned against the counter.
“You probably won’t.”
“What if I do?”
“You’ll still have to decide what it means.”
He nodded.
Rachel took another piece of cheese.
“You know what I’m angry about now?”
“There are categories?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I’m not angry that you took the test.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I’m angry that you thought you had to become completely certain before you were allowed to tell me you were scared.”
He said nothing.
Rachel waited.
Finally he said, “I didn’t know I was scared.”
“That’s a terrible defense.”
“I know.”
May you like
She touched his hand.
This time he turned his palm upward.
