Chapter 7: The Man Who Knew Too Much
I rode home faster than I ever had before.
The wind cut against my face, but I barely felt it.
Richard Hale’s words followed me all the way back.
*The person your mother spent twelve years hiding from the world.*
Me.
He was talking about me.
But why?
What did Thomas’s family know?
What had everyone kept from me?
When I reached the farmhouse, Thomas’s horse was tied near the fence.
My heart stopped.
He was there.
For a moment, I felt relieved.
Then angry.
Because maybe he knew.
Maybe everyone knew except me.
I walked inside.
Thomas stood in the kitchen speaking with my father.
Both men turned.
“Eliza.””
Thomas immediately noticed something was wrong.
“What happened?””
I held up the letter.
“You tell me.””
His expression changed.
“What is it?””
“You tell me.””
My voice cracked.
“You knew my name was Whitmore?””
Silence.
Thomas looked at my father.
Then back at me.
“No.””
I searched his face.
“You’re lying.””
“I’m not.””
“Richard Hale said—”
Thomas froze.
“Hale?””
The reaction told me everything.
“You know him.””
Thomas stepped forward.
“Yes.””
“How?””
He took a breath.
“Because my father spent years fighting him.””
“Over what?””
Thomas looked at the documents.
Then at me.
“Over this land.””
I felt betrayed.
“You knew there was a fight over my inheritance?””
“No.””
His voice was firm.
“I knew my father had disputes. I didn’t know your name was connected.””
I wanted to believe him.
But there were too many secrets.
Too many people deciding what I could handle.
“I’m tired of being the last person to know my own life.””
Thomas’s expression softened.
“I understand.””
“No, you don’t.””
I shook my head.
“You have always known who you are.””
That silenced him.
Because it was true.
Thomas had a family name.
A place.
A history.
I had spent my life trying to earn the right to exist.
He came closer.
“Eliza.””
I looked at him.
“My father made mistakes.””
“Did he hide things too?””
Thomas hesitated.
That hesitation hurt.
“What?””
He looked away.
“There was one thing.””
My stomach dropped.
“What thing?””
Thomas walked to the desk and removed an old journal.
“My father’s journal.””
He opened it.
“I found this after he died.””
I stared.
“Why didn’t you show me?””
“Because I didn’t understand it.””
He turned the pages.
Near the back was a familiar name.
Mine.
I stepped closer.
The entry was dated years before I was born.
Thomas read quietly.
“‘The child will inherit what was taken from her mother. But only if the truth survives.’”
I looked up.
“What was taken?””
Thomas closed the journal.
“I don’t know.””
“You don’t know?””
“No.””
For the first time, Thomas looked uncertain.
And that scared me.
Because he was the one person I thought had answers.
That night, we searched through the documents together.
Not as strangers.
Not as two people connected by secrets.
But as two people trying to uncover the same truth.
Near midnight, Thomas found something.
A hidden page attached to the original agreement.
“Eliza.””
I moved closer.
The page contained a second signature.
My birth mother’s.
And another name.
Richard Hale.
I stared.
“Why is his name here?””
Thomas read the document.
“He was a witness.””
“A witness to what?””
Thomas’s face changed.
“To a transfer of ownership.””
I looked at him.
“What transfer?””
He pointed to the final sentence.
“This land was not given to you.””
I felt confused.
“Then what?””
Thomas looked at me.
“It was returned.””
The room went silent.
Returned.
Not inherited.
Returned.
“Returned from who?””
Thomas didn’t answer.
Because he already knew.
And then the door slammed open.
My father stood there, pale and terrified.
“I need to tell you both something.””
Thomas stood.
“What?””
My father looked at me.
“I wasn’t your real father.””
The world stopped.
I couldn’t breathe.
I had spent one night discovering my mother wasn’t my birth mother.
Now this?
My father lowered his head.
“I knew about your inheritance.””
My voice shook.
“How?””
“Because I was there.””
Thomas stepped forward.
“There when what happened?””
My father looked at the documents.
“When your birth mother was forced to give up the land.””
My blood ran cold.
“Forced?””
May you like
He nodded.
“And Richard Hale was the man who forced her.””
