“Marry Me and I’ll Help Raise Your Daughters” — Billionaire to Single Dad, His Daughter Said…
Chapter 5
Victoria didn’t sleep that night.
Neither did I.
We spent hours researching her mother’s death.
Officially, Margaret Sterling had died from complications after surgery.
She had been forty-two.
There had been no investigation.
No suspicious activity.
Nothing unusual.
At least, not publicly.
Then we found the hospital records.
One page was missing.
The surgeon’s report.
Victoria stared at the screen.
“Why would it disappear?”
“Someone removed it.”
“Who?”
We didn’t know.
The next morning, Victoria asked her family’s attorney.
He became nervous.
That alone told us something.
“My mother’s death was sixteen years ago,” she said.
“I understand.”
“Why is the surgical report missing?”
He hesitated.
“I’ll have to check.”
“Check now.”
He stood.
“I’ll make the call.”
He left.
Victoria looked at me.
“He knows.”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Then something arrived.
An old hospital badge.
No name.
Just a number.
The same number appeared in her mother’s file.
We traced it to a nurse.
Eleanor Brooks.
She had retired twelve years earlier.
We found her living near the coast.
When Victoria showed her the badge, Eleanor started crying.
“I knew this day would come.”
Victoria sat beside her.
“What happened to my mother?”
Eleanor took a long breath.
“She didn’t die from the surgery.”
Silence.
“Then what?”
“She survived.”
Victoria’s face went white.
“What?”
“Your mother woke up.”
I felt Victoria’s hand grip mine.
Eleanor continued.
“She told me someone had tried to poison her.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Why hide it?”
“Because the hospital administration received a payment.”
“From whom?”
“Sterling Global.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
“My father.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Your father came to the hospital.”
“What did he say?”
“That Margaret had to remain officially dead.”
Victoria looked horrified.
“Why?”
“Because he said it was the only way to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
Eleanor looked toward the window.
“Your uncle.”
Victoria’s breathing stopped.
Her father’s younger brother had been the man we assumed wanted control of the company.
But he had been dangerous for years.
He had wanted Margaret’s shares.
He wanted Victoria gone.
He had threatened her mother.
Her father created a false death to hide Margaret.
But then what happened?
Eleanor looked at Victoria.
“Your mother was moved.”
“Where?”
“She disappeared.”
We found no records.
But Eleanor gave us one final clue.
“A charity home in Vermont.”
Victoria stared.
“Which one?”
Eleanor whispered a name.
St. Anne’s House.
We searched.
The organization no longer existed.
But its founder did.
A woman named Margaret Hale.
Victoria stared at the photograph.
Her mother.
Older.
Alive.
I looked at Victoria.
She couldn’t breathe.
“We have to find her.”
We drove six hours.
The old charity home stood behind a church.
An elderly woman opened the door.
She looked at Victoria.
And froze.
“You look just like her.”
Victoria started crying.
“Where is my mother?”
The woman hesitated.
Then stepped aside.
“She left here two years ago.”
“Where?”
“She said she was finally ready to come home.”
Victoria’s hands shook.
“To where?”
The woman gave her an address.
New York.
An apartment only ten minutes from my own.
We drove there.
No one answered.
The apartment was empty.
But inside was a photograph.
Margaret Sterling.
Standing beside Rachel.
My wife.
Victoria stared at it.
“Why are they together?”
I looked closer.
Rachel was pregnant.
She was holding a newborn baby.
Sophie.
Victoria looked at me.
“Your wife knew my mother.”
I nodded.
Then she whispered the words neither of us expected.
“Your daughter may be the reason my mother disappeared.”
