Chapter 8 - The Woman Named Helena Ward
Thomas’s tape ended thirty seconds later.
It revealed no name.
Only instructions.
“Find Helena Ward.”
Clara had heard the name earlier.
Charles Mercer’s mother.
According to Julian, Helena vanished when Charles was seven.
Daniel began searching immediately.
Federal agents expanded the investigation.
By the time Clara left the Paris airport under escort, international headlines were already reporting the Mercer Meridian raid.
Julian Mercer’s company shares were suspended from trading.
Board members resigned.
Banks froze credit lines.
And Serena Hale’s photograph appeared online beside stories calling her a consultant linked to suspicious transactions.
The affair had become public.
Clara expected humiliation.
Instead she felt strangely numb.
Her marriage was already dead.
The world had simply noticed.
Agent Cole arranged separate hotel accommodations.
Julian requested to speak with Clara privately.
She refused.
At 2:00 a.m. Paris time, Daniel called.
“We found Helena.”
Clara sat upright.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Until three weeks ago, Portugal.”
“Until?”
“She disappeared.”
“Of course.”
“She lived under the name Lena Wardell.”
“Family?”
“No known spouse.”
“Children?”
“One.”
Clara’s breath caught.
“Charles?”
“No.”
Silence.
“What do you mean no?”
“Official birth records show Helena gave birth to a daughter nine years after Charles.”
“What daughter?”
“Name changed after adoption.”
“Who adopted her?”
Daniel paused.
“Thomas and Evelyn Ellison.”
Clara stopped breathing.
Her parents.
“No.”
“Clara.”
“No.”
“I verified it.”
“That’s impossible.”
“You were adopted at eight months old.”
Clara stood from the bed.
“I have a birth certificate.”
“Amended after adoption.”
“My mother carried me.”
“Clara…”
“She had pregnancy photographs.”
“We found metadata inconsistencies.”
“No.”
“Your mother may have created a story to protect you.”
Clara paced.
“This is insane.”
“I know.”
“My mother died when I was nineteen. She never said anything.”
“Maybe she couldn’t.”
“My father would have told me.”
“Maybe he planned to.”
Clara remembered the tape.
When they discover who actually inherited it, they will come for my daughter.
The words changed meaning instantly.
Not merely because Clara was Thomas Ellison’s daughter.
Because she was Helena Ward’s daughter.
Charles Mercer’s half-sister.
Clara sat slowly.
“So Charles is my brother.”
“Half-brother, biologically.”
“And Julian?”
“No biological relation.”
Clara almost laughed at the absurdity.
Her husband’s secret half-brother was also her own half-brother through a different parent.
A family tree designed by a criminal accountant.
“Why did my parents adopt me?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why did Helena give me away?”
“We don’t know.”
“And what did I inherit?”
“That might be the eighty million.”
Clara shook her head.
“No. Julian said the old Mercer money could be much larger.”
“It is.”
“How much?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Potentially over six hundred million in present value.”
Clara stared into the dark hotel room.
“Six hundred…”
“It may not all still exist.”
“And my father discovered it belonged to Helena?”
“Or Helena’s descendants.”
“Charles would inherit too.”
“Unless something excluded him.”
“What?”
“We need the ledger.”
Clara thought about the key from the safe.
“Any idea what the key opens?”
“We traced the manufacturer.”
“And?”
“Swiss safe-deposit system.”
Clara stood.
“Switzerland.”
“Yes.”
“Which bank?”
“Old company. Acquired twice.”
“Can we identify the box?”
“We’re working on it.”
A knock sounded at Clara’s hotel door.
She froze.
Daniel heard it.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
“Don’t open it.”
Another knock.
Clara called hotel security.
They approached from the hallway.
The person outside was Captain Michael Grant.
Clara opened the door once security confirmed.
Michael entered holding an envelope.
“This was left for you at reception.”
“By who?”
“No idea.”
Clara took it carefully.
Inside was a photograph.
A young woman.
Dark hair.
Holding a baby.
On the back:
HELENA AND CLARA, 1991.
Clara’s knees weakened.
The woman’s eyes resembled hers.
Same shape.
Same expression.
Another item fell from the envelope.
A hotel key card.
No hotel name.
Only a handwritten room number.
604.
Michael frowned.
“What is this?”
Clara turned the card over.
One line was written in blue ink.
ASK JULIAN WHY HE VISITED HELENA THREE WEEKS AGO.
Clara stared.
Daniel had said Helena disappeared three weeks earlier.
Julian had gone to Portugal three weeks earlier.
He told Clara it was for a renewable-energy acquisition.
Clara called him.
He answered on the first ring.
“Clara.”
“Where is Helena?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
“Who told you?”
“So you did see her.”
Julian exhaled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she contacted me.”
“What did she want?”
“To warn me.”
“About Charles?”
“No.”
Clara’s grip tightened around the phone.
“Then what?”
“About you.”
“Me?”
Julian’s voice changed.
“Clara, Helena said Charles isn’t trying to steal the eighty million.”
“What is he doing?”
“He’s trying to get it back to you.”
Clara frowned.
“Why would he frame me at the same time?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Then who is moving money into Crescent?”
Julian went silent.
Clara understood.
“You know.”
“I have a theory.”
“Say it.”
“Marcus.”
Julian’s missing assistant.
Clara stared at the photograph of Helena.
“What does Marcus have to do with my father?”
“More than I realized.”
“Explain.”
“Marcus Reed isn’t his real name.”
Clara closed her eyes.
Of course it wasn’t.
“What is?”
May you like
Julian said:
“Marcus Pike.”
