Chapter 9 - The Secret That Connected Their Families|
Clara stared at the photograph.
Her father.
Thomas Bennett.
The man who had taught her to ride a bicycle.
The man who brought her hot chocolate when she stayed up studying.
The man who died when she was nineteen.
And standing beside him was Adrian DeLuca.
Younger.
Smiling.
A hand resting on Thomas's shoulder.
Clara felt the room tilt.
"How did you know my father?"
Adrian looked down at the photograph.
For the first time since she'd met him, he seemed genuinely shaken.
"Clara..."
She stepped backward.
"Answer me."
He swallowed.
"Your father worked with my company."
Clara stared.
"My father was an accountant."
"Yes."
"He worked for a logistics firm."
"That firm handled contracts for one of my businesses."
Clara shook her head.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Adrian looked at her.
"I didn't know you were his daughter until I heard your full name in the alley."
Her heart raced.
"Then you recognized it."
"Yes."
"And you didn't tell me."
His face tightened.
"I should have."
Clara laughed bitterly.
"Apparently that's something men in my life have in common."
Adrian flinched.
She turned away.
For a moment, she wanted to throw the flowers into the trash.
Wanted to forget the way he'd looked at her.
Wanted to go back to the simple moment when he was just a wounded stranger and she was just a nurse trying to save him.
But there was no going back.
"Did you know my father died in a car accident?"
Adrian nodded.
"Yes."
"Did you know he was driving home from a meeting with your company?"
Adrian's expression changed.
Clara felt cold.
"You did."
He closed his eyes.
"Clara, I need to explain."
"Then start talking."
Adrian looked toward Rocco.
"Give us space."
Rocco nodded.
Clara immediately raised a hand.
"No. We're staying somewhere public."
Adrian turned back.
"Of course."
They moved to a quiet seating area within sight of hospital staff.
Adrian sat across from her.
He looked exhausted.
"Your father was investigating financial discrepancies involving one of my business partners."
Clara stared.
"Northstar?"
"Yes."
Her heart hammered.
"Then this started ten years ago?"
"Some of the questionable arrangements may have."
"Did you know?"
Adrian hesitated.
"I knew your father raised concerns about the contracts. I didn't know the full extent of what he found."
Clara folded her arms.
"What happened to him?"
Adrian looked down.
"He was supposed to meet me the morning he died."
Clara froze.
"What?"
"He called the night before. Said he had evidence someone was stealing money through our supply contracts."
Her chest tightened.
"And?"
"I told him we'd review it."
"And the next day?"
"He died."
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
For ten years, she'd believed her father lost control of his vehicle on a wet highway.
Now she was hearing he'd been preparing to expose financial crimes.
"Was his death an accident?"
Adrian looked at her.
"I don't know."
The answer hurt.
But it was honest.
Clara looked down at her hands.
"Why didn't you investigate?"
"I did."
She looked up.
"What?"
"I hired an investigator. The findings were inconclusive. I later turned the relevant records over to my legal team."
Clara swallowed.
"Then why didn't you tell my family?"
Adrian's expression hardened with regret.
"Because I was advised there was no proof of wrongdoing, and I didn't want to make an unsupported accusation about his death."
Clara shook her head.
"You should have told us he was investigating something."
"Yes."
Silence.
Then Adrian spoke quietly.
"Your father was a good man."
Clara's eyes filled.
"He was."
"He loved his daughters."
She looked up sharply.
"How do you know?"
Adrian gave a sad smile.
"He talked about you constantly."
Clara covered her mouth.
"He did?"
Adrian nodded.
"He told me Clara was going to become a nurse. He said you were stubborn enough to argue with the entire world if you thought someone was being treated unfairly."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Adrian continued.
"He said Emily was the funniest child he'd ever met."
Clara began crying.
For years, she'd wondered whether her father would have been proud of her.
Now a man she'd met only days ago was giving her pieces of him she'd never known existed.
Adrian looked down.
"Clara, I didn't buy the hospital because I knew who your father was. The negotiations had already begun. But after you saved my life, I recognized your name and asked my team to revisit his old files."
She wiped her cheeks.
"And that's when you found Northstar."
"Yes."
Clara looked toward the windows.
The afternoon sun illuminated the hospital garden.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she asked:
"Will you help me find out what happened to my father?"
Adrian met her eyes.
"I'll give investigators every record we have."
Clara nodded.
"That's what I need."
He hesitated.
"And Clara?"
She looked up.
"Yes?"
"I know you have every reason not to trust me yet."
Her throat tightened.
"But I'd like the opportunity to earn that trust."
She studied him.
For the first time, she wasn't imagining a wealthy man rescuing her.
She was looking at someone with power, mistakes, and a past that might be connected to her family's pain.
Someone she'd need to judge by his actions.
Not his promises.
"Then start by telling me the truth," she said.
Adrian nodded.
"I will."
That evening, Clara returned to her hotel.
Emily was waiting.
Her face was pale.
"Clara, there's something you need to see."
Clara frowned.
"What?"
Emily handed her an old envelope.
It had arrived by courier.
Inside was a letter written in their father's handwriting.
Clara froze.
"Dad?"
Emily nodded.
"I found it addressed to both of us."
Clara opened the envelope.
Her hands began shaking.
The first sentence made her sit down.
My beautiful girls,
If you're reading this, it means the people I was investigating have finally returned.
Clara's heart thundered.
She kept reading.
I discovered that the missing money was only part of the operation.
The most dangerous secret wasn't what they were stealing.
It was who they were keeping alive.
Clara looked at Emily.
"What does that mean?"
Emily shook her head.
"I don't know."
Clara turned the page.
Then she saw a photograph.
It showed their father standing beside a hospital bed.
A man lay beneath a white blanket.
His face was partially obscured.
On the back were four words.
Adrian DeLuca's real father.
Clara stared.
May you like
Adrian had told her his father died twenty years earlier.
But the photograph was dated ten years ago.
