Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH MY MOTHER NEVER SHOWED ME
I stared at the photograph until Mia gently took it from my hands.
“Claire, that's your mom.”
“I know.”
“And that's Ethan's father.”
“I know.”
“Did they know each other?”
I shook my head.
“Not that I remember.”
My mother had worked as a bookkeeper before opening a small gardening business. She was practical, careful with money, and deeply suspicious of anyone who used the phrase trust me too frequently.
She had never mentioned Charles Whitmore.
Not once.
That evening, I searched through the boxes of her belongings I'd kept in storage above Wild June.
Tax returns.
Old photographs.
Recipe cards.
A collection of gardening magazines.
Then I found a folder labeled:
WHITMORE FOUNDATION — 2013.
Inside were invoices for floral arrangements at charity events.
My mother had supplied flowers to the foundation.
I almost laughed from relief.
That explained the photograph.
Until I found a second document.
A letter addressed to my mother.
Signed by Charles Whitmore.
Your concerns have been reviewed. There is no basis for further investigation. I strongly advise you to refrain from discussing this matter with outside parties.
No explanation.
No reference number.
Just a warning disguised as professional courtesy.
I read it three times.
Then my phone rang.
Ethan.
I answered.
“Claire?”
“Did your father know my mother?”
Silence.
“What?”
“Charles Whitmore. Did he know June Summers?”
“I don't know.”
“Are you sure?”
“Claire, what's happened?”
I looked at the letter.
“Victoria gave me a photograph.”
His voice changed.
“Don't go anywhere. I'm coming.”
Ethan arrived twenty minutes later.
He read the letter.
Then read it again.
“This is my father's signature.”
I watched him.
“Why would he threaten my mother?”
“I don't know.”
“Ethan.”
He looked up.
“I genuinely don't know.”
I believed him.
That frightened me more than a lie would have.
We spent the evening searching through old foundation records.
Ethan called his grandfather's former attorney, a retired woman named Margaret Shaw.
When he mentioned my mother's name, Margaret went silent.
Then she said:
“Ethan, where did you hear that name?”
He looked at me.
“My wife is June Summers's daughter.”
A long pause.
Then Margaret whispered:
“Oh, dear God.”
Margaret agreed to meet us the following morning.
Before ending the call, she asked Ethan a strange question.
“Has your father tried to accelerate the Bellamy merger?”
Ethan went still.
“Yes.”
Margaret inhaled sharply.
“Then you need to come before anyone knows you're investigating.”
After the call, Ethan and I sat in silence.
Finally, I asked:
“Why didn't you tell me your family was involved with mine?”
He looked devastated.
“Because I didn't know.”
I nodded.
Then he reached for my hand.
“Claire, whatever this is, we're going to face it together.”
I looked at him.
For the first time since Victoria returned, I wanted to believe that our marriage might be stronger than the secrets surrounding it.
May you like
But then Margaret sent a message.
Bring the original photograph. And whatever you do, don't let Charles know you found June's letter.
