Chapter 4 - The Paper Trail
That night, Eleanor moved me into the estate's master guest suite. For the first time in my life, I slept on Egyptian cotton sheets, but sleep was impossible. The gravity of what was happening washed over me in waves. My whole life, I had felt invisible, an orphan without a past. Now, I was in the middle of a war for an empire worth hundreds of millions of dollars. The next morning, Eleanor introduced me to Marcus Sterling, a sharp, legendary private investigator and former federal agent who had been Eleanor’s trusted confidant for over a decade.
Sitting in Eleanor’s private study, Marcus laid out a series of old files on the glass table. "If Julian faked your death, he needed three things: a crooked doctor to sign a fake death certificate, a quiet way to remove you from the city, and a motive," Marcus said, tapping a pen on the folder. "The motive is obvious: under Arthur Whitmore’s original will, his full fortune and controlling shares of Whitmore Enterprises were to pass directly to his living children upon his death. If Eleanor had no surviving children, controlling interest defaulted to Julian upon Arthur’s passing."
May you like
"And the doctor?" I asked, leaning forward. "Dr. Aris Thorne," Marcus revealed, turning over a photograph of an elderly man with thin wire glasses. "He was the chief of pediatrics at St. Jude’s Hospital twenty-six years ago. He signed your death certificate citing severe trauma. Three months after your 'death,' Dr. Thorne suddenly retired, bought a luxury villa in Miami, and closed his practice. He was paid off."
Marcus then looked at Eleanor with a grave expression. "We ran an initial DNA comparison using a brush from Eleanor’s vanity and a hair sample from Hannah's coat last night. The preliminary results are in." Eleanor held her breath, her hands clasped in prayer. Marcus smiled softly. "It's a 99.9% match. You are mother and daughter." Eleanor burst into tears, wrapping her arms around me, holding me tight as if trying to make up for twenty-six lost years. But Marcus’s phone suddenly buzzed, interrupting our moment. He looked at the screen, his face instantly turning dark. "We have a problem," Marcus said grimly. "Dr. Aris Thorne was just admitted to an emergency room in Miami. Someone tried to poison him two hours ago."
