“She died?” I asked.
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Three weeks before Ethan’s accident.”
I gripped the folder. “And no one thought to mention that before marrying me to him?”
“Would you have agreed?”
“I didn’t agree. Not really.”
Vivian’s expression tightened, and for the first time, I thought maybe the word struck something inside her.
She looked away.
“I did what was necessary to protect Ethan.”
“From Jason?”
“From whoever tried to erase the first Claire Bennett and failed to finish erasing Ethan.”
A chill moved through me.
I looked back at the photograph. The other Claire smiled from a company ID badge, unaware that years later another woman with her name and nearly her face would stand in this library holding proof of her existence.
“How did you find me?”
“Your father applied for emergency debt relief through a private lender. The lender flagged your name during routine review. My office was alerted.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“Most traps do.”
I looked sharply at her. “A trap for whom?”
Before Vivian could answer, the library door opened.
My father stepped inside.
He looked smaller in the Thornton mansion than he had in our rental kitchen. His best suit hung loosely from his shoulders, and his eyes darted between Vivian and me with nervous hope.
“Claire,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I stared at him.
Suddenly, the debt, the hurried marriage, the way he had refused to meet my eyes in the chapel—all of it rearranged itself beneath Jason’s words.
“How long did you know?” I asked.
His face faltered. “Know what?”
“About the other Claire Bennett.”
The blood drained from his face.
Vivian’s cane struck the floor once.
A quiet sound.
A warning.
My father opened his mouth, then closed it.
That was answer enough.
I felt something inside me tear—not loudly, not in anger, but with the soft finality of fabric giving way.
“You knew,” I whispered.
“Sweetheart, I was trying to protect you.”
“No.”
He flinched.
“No more of that word,” I said. “Not from you. Protection doesn’t look like selling me into a family secret.”
His eyes filled. “I had no choice.”
“You had me.”
He looked stricken.
Good.
For once, he should have to look at the cost of his helplessness.
Vivian spoke coldly. “Daniel Bennett, you were paid to disclose everything you knew before the wedding.”
“I did,” he said quickly.
“Apparently not.”
“I told your people about the name match.”
I stared at him. “Name match?”
His shoulders slumped.
“Your mother,” he said, and the room seemed to still around the word.
My heart lurched.
“My mother is dead.”
“Yes.” His voice broke. “She is.”
“What about her?”
He rubbed both hands over his face. “Before she married me, she worked for Thornton Biotech. Not in research. Administration. Filing. Records. She knew the first Claire Bennett.”
The photograph trembled in my hand.
“What?”
“She used to joke about it,” he said weakly. “Same name as our daughter. Same birthday month. Same stubborn chin. I didn’t think it mattered.”
Vivian’s eyes sharpened. “Your wife worked for Thornton Biotech?”
My father looked confused. “You didn’t know?”
“No,” Vivian said.
The temperature of the room seemed to drop.
My father looked from her to me, suddenly understanding that whatever he had confessed was not the thing she expected.
Vivian stepped closer. “What was your wife’s position?”
“Records coordinator. Then executive archive assistant. Years ago.”
“Which archive?”
“I don’t know. Medical trials, maybe. Internal licensing. She never talked much about work.”
Vivian’s face had gone pale beneath her composed makeup.
I had never seen her frightened before.