Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
The air inside Arthur’s private study was thick with the scent of old mahogany, leather, and fresh ozone. Ethan stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the wall of photographs illuminated by the soft light of the desk lamp.
"What is this?" Ethan demanded, his voice barely a breath. He stepped closer, reaching out to touch a photograph of Vanessa as a teenager, standing alongside my husband, Arthur, on a yacht in Monaco. "Mother... why was Vanessa with Dad? She told me she had never met him before we started dating two years ago."
I pulled my wet shawl tighter around my shoulders, stepping toward the ledger pinned at the center of the photos. "Because her real name isn't Vanessa Mitchell. And George Mitchell isn't just a rival investor. He is Gregory Vance—your father's former business partner who faked his identity after embezzling twenty million dollars from Carter Global two decades ago."
Ethan turned to me, his jaw clenched, confusion and betrayal warring in his eyes. "If George is Gregory Vance... then Vanessa..."
"Is Gregory's daughter," I said quietly. "She didn't meet you by chance at that gallery opening in New York, Ethan. She was sent to ruin you. To take back what her father believed Arthur stole from them."
Heavy footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor outside the study. We turned as George Mitchell—or Gregory Vance—walked into the room, flanked by two burly men in dark suits. Vanessa followed closely behind him, her designer dress now stained with mud at the hem, her eyes frantic.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Eleanor," George said coldly, dropping all pretense of the polite country-club father. "I thought playing the frail, grieving widow would keep you out of the office. But here you are, crawling through the dirt to save your precious son."
" Dad, what are you talking about?" Vanessa hissed, grabbing her father's arm. "You said we were just securing the Carter Global assets through the marriage! What are these photos? Why is he in them?" She pointed a trembling finger at Arthur’s portrait.
George shoved her hand away with callous disregard. "Be quiet, Vanessa. You did your job. You got him to the altar. Or at least, you almost did until you let your pathetic cruelty get the better of you on the lawn."
Vanessa flinched as if struck. "I did what you told me to do! You said she was an imposter trying to ruin the party!"
"I told you to keep her away from the house," George snapped. "Not to make a spectacle that would draw Ethan outside!"
"Enough!" Ethan stepped between George and me, his fists clenched at his sides. "The police are already on their way, George. Or Vance, or whatever the hell your name is. The missing funds, the forged signatures—it's all over."
George laughed—a dry, chilling sound. "The police? Do you really think I didn't plan for this, Ethan? Look at that ledger on the wall. Read the date on the adoption decree right beneath it."
I felt the room tilt. I rushed past Ethan and pulled a yellowed paper from the hidden compartment. My eyes scanned the official seal, the signatures, and the names typed across the line.
The adoption decree was dated twenty-four years ago. It stated that the child born to Gregory Vance and his late wife had been legally surrendered—and adopted by Arthur Carter.
My hands began to shake violently. I looked up at Ethan, then at the document, my breath catching in my throat.
"No..." I whispered. "This isn't possible. Arthur and I..."
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"Arthur and you adopted Ethan because you couldn't have children," George sneered, stepping closer. "What Arthur never told you, Eleanor, was where he got the boy. He bought Ethan from me to cover my initial gambling debts before our fallout. Ethan isn't a Carter. He's my biological son."
Vanessa gasped, taking a sharp step back as she stared at Ethan. "He's... my brother?"
