When I told him he owned an auto repair shop, Charles smiled.
“Honest work.”
His voice suggested otherwise.
“What does your mother have to do with Camille?” I asked.
“Everything.”
Ethan picked up the envelope and flipped over the café photograph.
“Taken three weeks ago.”
“My mother hired someone to follow me.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because she learned I was investigating Dad’s estate.”
He paused.
That pause hurt more than the photographs themselves.
“You told me your father left everything to your mother.”
“He did.”
“So what were you looking for?”
My stomach tightened.
“What trust?”
Ethan leaned back and rubbed his face.
“Six months ago, a law firm in Vermont contacted me at work. They represented a woman named Camille, who believed Charles was her biological father.”
I waited.
“You took a DNA test?”
“Not immediately.”
“Then how did she have proof?”
“She matched with one of my cousins.”
He looked at me.
Camille’s mother, Evelyn, had worked for one of the Bennett companies nearly thirty years earlier.
According to Camille, she and Charles had carried on a relationship for several years.
Camille had been born eleven months before Ethan.
“Did your mother know?” I asked.
“She knew about the affair.”
“She told me she didn’t.”
“You talked to her about this?”
His eyes drifted toward our wedding photo in the hallway.
“That’s exactly what she hoped you wouldn’t tell me.”
A cold weight settled in my chest.
“No. I’ve been waiting for her to make a move.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ethan lowered his eyes.
“Because Camille asked me not to.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
