Chapter 6 - The Family That Stole Me
Richard Sterling denied knowing Grant.
He denied discussing me.
He denied knowing anything about the hospital.
His attorney delivered all three denials before breakfast.
By lunch, Lucas had found seven calls between Richard and Grant during the previous month.
“People really need to stop lying when phone records exist,” Lucas muttered.
Evelyn did not smile.
We sat inside her library.
For the first time, I had entered the main house.
Portraits of Sterlings covered the walls.
Generations of wealth staring down at me.
I stopped beneath a large painting.
An older man with hard eyes.
“That’s him?”
Evelyn nodded.
“My father.”
William Sterling.
The man who may have ordered his granddaughter taken.
I felt nothing looking at him.
No connection.
No grief.
Just anger.
“Why?”
“I’ve asked myself that question every hour since Vanessa spoke.”
Evelyn walked toward the fireplace.
“My father believed family reputation mattered more than happiness.”
“He gave away a baby to protect his reputation?”
“He was capable of cruelty.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
She faced me.
“I think Daniel discovered financial misconduct inside Sterling Development.”
“My father’s company?”
“Yes.”
“Did he report it?”
“He threatened to.”
I understood.
“So your father hated him for more than being poor.”
“Yes.”
Daniel Mercer had discovered falsified inspection reports on buildings constructed by Sterling companies.
Some involved structural defects.
William wanted him silent.
Daniel refused.
Then I was born.
“Your father thought Daniel would use me against him?”
“Or that removing you would force Daniel and me apart.”
Evelyn’s voice cracked.
“It worked.”
Police eventually found the retired nurse’s death to be natural.
A heart attack.
But her home had been searched.
Boxes were missing.
Someone had taken records.
Samuel obtained a warrant request through investigators working with authorities.
Meanwhile, my divorce case exploded.
The judge ordered Grant’s company records preserved.
Federal financial investigators began asking questions about offshore accounts.
Grant stopped posting on social media.
Lorraine did not.
Her statement was vicious.
Claire has always been manipulative. Grant supported her for years while she contributed nothing. It is tragic that she is now using a wealthy woman’s grief for financial advantage.
I read it once.
Then deleted the app.
“Good,” Evelyn said.
“Good what?”
“Stop reading what people who hate you say.”
“Do you?”
She gave me a tired smile.
“I own newspapers.”
“That did not answer the question.”
“No. I never read the comments.”
I laughed.
It felt good.
Then my phone rang.
Doctor.
My blood pressure had been elevated during my last appointment.
They wanted me monitored.
Evelyn immediately stood.
“I’m driving.”
“I can drive.”
“You are eight months pregnant and under enough stress to power a small country.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I know.”
She grabbed her keys.
“But mothers are annoying.”
The word mothers hung between us.
She noticed.
“So I’ve heard,” she added softly.
I allowed her to drive.
At the clinic, the baby’s heartbeat was strong.
I cried when I heard it.
Evelyn cried harder.
The nurse looked between us.
“First grandchild?”
Evelyn froze.
I expected her to explain.
Instead, I said, “Yes.”
Her eyes met mine.
Neither of us spoke.
Afterward we stopped for lunch.
No security visible.
No boardrooms.
No lawyers.
Just two women trying to understand something impossible.
“Did you ever have other children?” I asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
She looked out the window.
“After losing you, I became very good at working.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It was.”
“Were you married?”
“Twice.”
“Badly?”
“Spectacularly.”
I smiled.
Then she laughed.
For a few minutes, everything felt almost normal.
Until Lucas called.
“We found something.”
“What?”
“A payment from a Sterling family trust to St. Anne’s Hospital.”
Evelyn’s hand tightened around her cup.
“When?”
“The week Claire disappeared.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
In 1993, that was enormous.
“Who authorized it?” I asked.
Silence.
Then Lucas said, “William Sterling.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“The trust records include a memo.”
“What does it say?”
Lucas hesitated.
“Confidential neonatal placement.”
My stomach turned.
I felt the baby move.
Evelyn looked like someone had struck her.
“He sold me,” I whispered.
“No.”
She shook her head violently.
“He stole you.”
The distinction mattered to her.
I wasn’t sure it mattered to me.
Lucas continued.
“We found the receiving organization.”
A private adoption agency in Missouri.
Closed in 2001.
But its archived records had recently been digitized.
My pulse jumped.
“Can we access them?”
“Samuel is working on a court order.”
“When?”
“Hopefully tomorrow.”
Tomorrow became five days.
During those five days, Grant’s lawyers attacked the forensic findings.
Richard temporarily stepped down from the Sterling board.
Reporters camped outside the gates.
And I learned how to breathe through panic without letting my son feel it.
On Friday morning, Samuel walked into the library carrying a sealed envelope.
Nobody spoke.
He placed it in front of me.
“The adoption file.”
My hands shook.
Evelyn sat beside me.
“Do you want me to leave?”
I looked at her.
“No.”
I opened it.
Inside were forms.
Dates.
Signatures.
A photograph of Ruth holding me as an infant.
I touched it.
Then I found the letter.
Unsigned.
Typed.
The baby’s biological mother is deceased. There are no surviving family members. Placement should remain permanently sealed.
Evelyn began crying beside me.
But I kept reading.
At the bottom was a handwritten instruction.
Destroy original hospital transfer records after placement.
Initials:
W.S.
William Sterling.
My grandfather.
There was another page.
A receipt.
Ruth had paid nothing.
She had not bought me.
She had believed the agency.
Relief hit me so hard I had to close my eyes.
Then Samuel turned over the final sheet.
“This was attached.”
A visitor log from the adoption agency.
One month after Ruth took me home.
William Sterling had visited.
But he had not gone alone.
Beside his name was another.
Charles Sterling.
Evelyn’s brother.
Richard’s father.
I looked at Evelyn.
“Your brother knew.”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
“And Richard?”
Before she could answer, Samuel’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then looked at us.
“Richard Sterling just called a press conference.”
“What is he going to say?” I asked.
Samuel’s expression was grim.
“He claims Claire is not Evelyn’s daughter.”
I stared at him.
“We have DNA.”
May you like
“He says he has DNA too.”
And suddenly the story of who I was was about to become a public war.
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