“You knew she was my mother?”
Charles pressed the elevator button.
The doors did not open.
Vivian had already signaled security to lock the executive level.
Charles looked toward the nearest guard.
“I am a member of the board. Open the elevator.”
No one moved.
Adrian’s voice became quieter.
“Answer me.”
Charles adjusted his tie.
“This is an emotional situation. You should not make accusations based on the claims of an employee with an uncertain medical history.”
Martha flinched.
Adrian noticed.
“What medical history?”
Charles looked at her.
“You were treated for delusions after the fire.”
“I was sedated.”
“You spent years in psychiatric facilities.”
“Because your brother told them I was dangerous.”
Charles spread his hands.
“You see? This is exactly why we need independent verification.”
Martha reached inside her uniform again.
She removed a thick envelope.
Inside was a hospital record.
A forged death certificate bearing her birth name.
Bank documents showing that someone received five million dollars to keep Adrian and his mother separated.
The payment came from a family trust created for Adrian by his biological grandfather.
Adrian studied the transfer.
The receiving company was Whitmore Transit Holdings.
The same company Graham and Charles later used to purchase their first freight depot.
The same depot that eventually became Cole Meridian’s first warehouse.
“My inheritance funded your company,” Adrian said.
Charles lifted his chin.
“Your adoptive father turned an unmanaged trust into something valuable.”
“It belonged to my mother and me.”
“You were four.”
“And she was alive.”
Charles looked around the lobby.
Investors had raised their phones.
Employees were recording.
“Not everything can be explained in public,” he said.
“Then explain it privately to federal investigators.”
Charles’s confidence cracked.
Martha touched Adrian’s arm.
“There’s more.”
She handed him another envelope.
It contained thirty-two years of letters.
Every one was addressed to Adrian.
Some were written in careful handwriting.
Others were dictated to nurses because Martha’s scarred fingers could not hold a pen.
None had ever been delivered.
Adrian opened the oldest.
My sweet boy,
They tell me you died after they took you from the fire. I do not believe them. A mother knows when her child is still in this world.
He opened another.
Adrian, today you would be ten. I hope someone lets you have chocolate cake. You always hated vanilla.
Another.
I saw a boy in the newspaper who looked like your father. His name was Adrian Cole. I wrote to the school, but the letter came back.
Another.
If you are alive, please know I never stopped looking.