Chapter 2: The Secret They Buried
The first thing I did after Emmett Carbone asked about my son was reach for the door handle.
Not because I thought I could escape.
Not because I believed I could outrun anyone anymore.
But because every instinct inside me screamed that I had made the wrong choice.
I had jumped into the car of a man my husband's family considered an enemy.
I had trusted a stranger.
And now that stranger knew about Cody.
"Stop the car.""
My voice came out sharper than I expected.
The driver glanced at the mirror.
Emmett didn't move.
"Jillian—"
"Stop the car.""
This time, I turned toward him.
"You know about my son.""
The silence that followed felt heavier than the darkness outside.
Rain began tapping against the windows, soft at first, then harder. The city lights blurred across the glass, stretching into golden lines that disappeared behind us.
Emmett watched me carefully.
"I know about Cody.""
My stomach dropped.
"You know his name.""
"Yes.""
"How?""
He didn't answer immediately.
That was enough.
Because silence could be an answer too.
My hand moved toward the door again.
The man beside the driver noticed.
"Mrs. Bannon, you really don't want to—"
I looked at him.
"Don't call me that.""
The words surprised even me.
I had spent seven years answering to that name.
At dinners.
At charity events.
On invitations.
Mrs. Patrick Bannon.
Like I was an accessory attached to him.
Like my identity had become something I borrowed.
The man looked away.
Emmett leaned forward slightly.
"You think I took you from the Bannons because I wanted leverage.""
"Didn't you?""
"No.""
"Then tell me why you know my son.""
His expression changed.
Not much.
But enough.
A crack in the armor.
"Because your father asked me to protect him.""
Everything inside me stopped.
"My father?""
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was impossible.
"My father hated you.""
Emmett's eyes narrowed.
"Did he?""
I swallowed.
"Everyone knew.""
"Everyone knew what they were told.""
The rain grew louder.
I stared at him.
For years, I had believed my father and the Carbones were enemies. I had believed that was simply a fact of life, something older than me.
Something I was born into.
But now this man was sitting across from me, calmly telling me that the foundation of my entire understanding of my family was built on a lie.
"My father died six years ago," I whispered.
"I know.""
"Then how could he ask you anything?""
Emmett looked away.
And for the first time that night, he seemed older.
Not weaker.
Just tired.
"He knew he was running out of time.""
My heart tightened.
I remembered the last months of my father's life.
The hospital rooms.
The smell of antiseptic.
The way he would stare at the ceiling whenever Patrick visited.
Back then, I thought he was just sick.
I thought he was afraid of dying.
Now I wondered if he had been afraid of something else.
"What did he ask you to do?""
Emmett didn't answer.
The man in the front seat cleared his throat.
"Mr. Carbone, we need to keep moving.""
Emmett ignored him.
"What did your husband tell you tonight?""
The question caught me off guard.
"What?""
"Why did you run?""
I looked down.
At my hands.
At the faint mark where my wedding ring had been.
Because that was the part I didn't want to say out loud.
The part that made everything real.
"I found documents.""
"What kind?""
"Financial records.""
Emmett's face remained unreadable.
"Whose?""
I hesitated.
Then whispered:
"My father's.""
The car became completely silent.
Even the rain seemed distant.
"I was looking for old insurance papers," I said.
"Something for Cody. Something I could put away in case anything happened to me.""
My voice shook.
"But I found a file hidden in Patrick's study.""
Emmett's jaw tightened.
"What file?""
I looked at him.
"A file with my father's name on it.""
The words felt poisonous.
"Inside were copies of contracts. Transfers. Payments.""
I took a breath.
"And every single document had one thing in common.""
Nobody spoke.
"Patrick's name.""
The man beside the driver turned around slightly.
"Mr. Carbone—"
"I heard him," Emmett said.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"What else?""
I looked at him.
"I found messages.""
My throat tightened.
"Between Patrick and Malcolm.""
Malcolm Bannon.
Patrick's uncle.
The man who controlled everything in the Bannon family.
The man who always smiled when he shook my hand.
The man who called me daughter.
"They were talking about my father.""
Emmett's expression darkened.
"What did they say?""
I closed my eyes.
I could still see the screen.
Still hear Patrick's voice from earlier.
Still feel the way the world had cracked beneath my feet.
"They said the problem was that I was starting to remember.""
Emmett went completely still.
"Remember what?""
I looked at him.
"I don't know.""
That was the worst part.
I didn't know.
I had spent hours searching through memories, trying to find the missing piece.
My childhood.
My father's warnings.
The strange way he always changed the subject when I asked about the Bannons.
The way Patrick became uncomfortable whenever my father's name came up.
"I think they know something about my father's death.""
Emmett's eyes hardened.
"They do.""
The certainty in his voice made my skin crawl.
"You know?""
"I know they lied about it.""
I stared at him.
"How?""
He looked out the window.
"Because I was there the night your father died.""
My breath caught.
"What?""
The car seemed suddenly too small.
"You were there?""
"Yes.""
"Then why didn't you tell me?""
A muscle moved in his jaw.
"Because your father made me promise.""
I shook my head.
"No.""
The word came out broken.
"No, that doesn't make sense.""
"It will.""
"When?""
"When you understand what your husband married you for.""
The sentence hit harder than anything else.
I felt cold.
"What does that mean?""
Emmett looked directly at me.
"Patrick Bannon did not marry you because he loved you.""
My chest tightened.
"Don't.""
"I know that is difficult to hear.""
"You don't know anything about my marriage.""
"No.""
His voice lowered.
"But I know Patrick.""
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to defend the man who had held me through nightmares.
The man who sang to Cody when he was a baby.
The man who kissed my forehead every morning.
But then I remembered the locked doors.
The lies.
The messages.
The way his family chased me instead of asking if I was okay.
"Tell me," I whispered.
Emmett studied me.
"Your father left something behind.""
"What?""
"Something the Bannons spent years trying to find.""
My heart began racing.
"What something?""
Before he could answer, his phone rang.
The sound cut through the car.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed instantly.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Anger.
He answered.
"Yes.""
A pause.
Then his face became colder.
"How long?""
Another pause.
I watched him carefully.
The man who had been calm through everything suddenly looked like someone had confirmed his worst suspicion.
He ended the call.
"What happened?""
He didn't respond.
"Emmett.""
It was the first time I used his name.
His eyes lifted to mine.
"Cody's grandmother's house was found empty.""
The world tilted.
I couldn't breathe.
"No.""
"They arrived fifteen minutes ago.""
"No.""
"Jillian—"
"No.""
I grabbed his coat.
My fingers shook.
"She had him. She had my son.""
Emmett didn't pull away.
He let me hold onto him.
Then he said the words that made my blood run cold.
"Your mother-in-law never had Cody.""
I froze.
"What?""
He looked at me with a grim expression.
"Because someone got there before us.""
My lips parted.
"Who?""
Emmett stared out at the dark road ahead.
And quietly said:
"The person your father spent his last years trying to protect you from.""
A second later, the car phone rang again.
This time, the driver answered.
Then immediately handed it to Emmett.
"Mr. Carbone.""
Emmett placed the phone to his ear.
A voice came through.
A voice I recognized.
A voice I never expected to hear again.
"Hello, Jillian.""
My entire body went numb.
Because it was Patrick.
May you like
And he was laughing.
"I think we need to talk about what your father really left behind.""
