Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Trevor.
**MOTHER, I FOUND DAD’S ORIGINAL WILL.**
My heartbeat quickened.
Another message arrived.
**MALCOLM TOLD ME WHY HE REALLY WANTED CEDARLINE.**
I looked at Detective Grant.
My hands were trembling.
Then Trevor sent a photograph.
It showed an old family portrait.
Henry.
Me.
Baby Trevor.
And standing behind us was a young woman.
She looked exactly like me.
Eleanor.
My twin sister.
I stared at the photograph.
Then another message arrived.
**MOTHER, I DON’T THINK THE WOMAN WHO RAISED ME IS THE WOMAN WHO GAVE BIRTH TO ME.**
The room went silent.
I couldn’t breathe.
Then Trevor called.
I answered.
“Mother?”
His voice was shaking.
“Trevor?”
He began crying.
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
Then he whispered:
“Malcolm told me Eleanor is my biological mother.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
Trevor continued.
“And he says Henry knew.”
I gripped the table.
For forty-four years, I’d believed Trevor was my son.
