Chapter 10 - The Secret Blythe Had Been Selling
Blythe Sorrell had built her career controlling stories.
She knew how to transform a scandal into a misunderstanding.
How to make a ruthless businessman sound like a devoted philanthropist.
How to place flattering photographs where reporters would find them.
How to bury inconvenient questions beneath charitable announcements.
For ten months, she had used those skills to conceal an affair.
Now she was beginning to discover what happened when the truth refused to stay hidden.
---
Investigators examining St. Agnes House found payments from a public relations firm to several archival intermediaries.
The firm was connected to Blythe.
At first, the transactions looked like ordinary consulting fees.
But the dates were troubling.
They corresponded to requests for old patient records and property files.
One payment occurred shortly before my mother's tower room was searched without my knowledge.
Another coincided with Dorian's attempt to transfer Briarwood House.
Naomi reviewed the records.
"Audra, it appears Blythe commissioned research into the trust and St. Agnes."
I nodded.
"She told us she was looking for her mother."
"That may be true. But we need to understand how the research was used."
I looked down.
There was always another layer.
Another reason.
Another motive hiding beneath the obvious betrayal.
---
Blythe agreed to meet with investigators after obtaining independent counsel.
Her attorney informed Naomi that Blythe wanted to provide additional information relevant to the trust litigation.
I didn't attend the interview.
I didn't need to.
But I received a summary through the proper legal process.
Blythe admitted she had gathered sensitive information about Vale Heritage's property holdings.
Some research was motivated by her search for Marianne.
Other information had been provided to Dorian in exchange for financial support and promises of a permanent relationship.
She also described payments from Malcolm Kincaid's former associates.
Her father had been part of the original St. Agnes financial network.
After his death, she discovered evidence that he had benefited from improper property transfers.
She feared the information could implicate her family.
So she tried to control it.
It was a familiar pattern.
Fear.
Secrecy.
Self-preservation.
And innocent people paying the price.
---
When I finally spoke with Blythe, she looked nothing like the woman I'd found in my bedroom.
Her hair was tied back.
There were dark circles beneath her eyes.
She wore no jewelry.
Her newborn daughter was being cared for by a relative while we met.
We sat in Naomi's conference room.
Blythe looked at me.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me."
"Good."
She nodded.
"I want you to know I gave investigators the original files."
I watched her.
"All of them?"
"Everything I kept."
"Why?"
She took a shaky breath.
"Because I went to see my mother."
My expression changed.
Marianne had been identified and contacted through the appropriate support process.
She was alive.
Her health was fragile.
And she had spent decades under a name she hadn't chosen.
Blythe's eyes filled.
"She remembered me."
I said nothing.
"Not every detail. Some days she's confused. But when I told her who I was, she said she used to sing to me."
Her voice broke.
"She remembered our song."
I felt my throat tighten.
Blythe continued.
"I spent my whole life imagining somebody stole her from me. Then I became someone who helped steal things from you."
I looked away.
She wiped her cheeks.
"I'm ashamed."
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then I said, "Shame only matters if it changes what you do."
Blythe nodded.
"That's why I'm cooperating."
I studied her.
"I hope you continue."
She looked up.
"Thank you."
I wasn't ready to forgive her.
Perhaps I never would be.
But I wanted her daughter to grow up with a mother who understood that truth mattered more than appearances.
---
Later that evening, Dorian received a notice that Blythe had provided financial records.
He stood alone in his office.
The windows overlooked a city that had once seemed to belong to him.
His phone rang.
A business associate.
Then another.
Then a third.
He ignored them.
For years, Dorian had believed loyalty could be purchased.
He gave people jobs.
Money.
Apartments.
Cars.
Expensive gifts.
And in return, he expected silence.
But silence was expensive to maintain.
Eventually, people grew tired of paying for it.
He opened a drawer.
Inside was a photograph of Audra holding a newborn-sized blanket in the hospital.
It had been taken before they knew the baby wouldn't survive.
Audra's face was exhausted.
But she was smiling.
Dorian stared.
He remembered the day.
The doctor explaining the complications.
The monitors.
The terrible silence afterward.
He remembered holding Audra while she screamed.
He remembered promising he would never let anything hurt her again.
Then he looked around his office.
At the papers.
The deals.
The photographs.
And for the first time, he understood that the person who had hurt Audra most was him.
He closed the drawer.
Then called his attorney.
"I want to know what I can do to make this right."
His attorney paused.
"Mr. Kincaid, that begins with telling the truth."
Dorian looked toward the window.
May you like
For a moment, he seemed frightened.
Then he whispered, "I don't know if I remember how."
