Chapter 3 - Claire’s Red NotebookPierce arrived home forty-three minutes later.
It felt like forty-three years.
Two sheriff’s vehicles were parked near the circular drive.
The black transport van was gone.
Pierce barely shut his SUV door before Rowan ran from the porch.
“Dad!”
Pierce dropped to his knees.
Rowan hit him hard enough to nearly knock him backward.
Pierce wrapped both arms around him.
His son smelled like shampoo, wet cotton, and the faint lavender detergent Henrietta used.
Pierce felt Rowan shaking.
“I’m here.”
“You didn’t send me?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
Pierce pulled back and held his face.
“I swear to you.”
Rowan’s eyes were swollen.
A faint mark showed near his upper arm where Henrietta had gripped him.
Pierce’s anger surged.
He swallowed it.
Not now.
“You didn’t sign the school papers?”
“No.”
“You don’t think I’m bad?”
Pierce’s heart cracked.
“No.”
“Grandma said—”
“I know.”
Pierce hugged him again.
“Grandma lied.”
The sentence was difficult.
Henrietta was his mother.
Children were taught grandparents were safe.
Pierce could not protect that illusion anymore.
A deputy approached.
“Mr. Cole?”
Pierce stood while keeping one hand on Rowan’s shoulder.
Deputy Maya Reynolds introduced herself.
Henrietta was inside giving a statement.
Luis had provided the video.
The transport workers had shown their paperwork.
“We need to talk about those documents.”
Pierce’s jaw tightened.
“Did she forge my signature?”
“It appears likely.”
“Where is she?”
“In the sitting room.”
“I want her out.”
“We can discuss protective options. Because she resides here part-time, it may require procedure depending on ownership and residency.”
“The house is mine.”
“That helps.”
Pierce looked toward Rowan.
“I don’t want her near him tonight.”
“She won’t be.”
That was enough for the moment.
Luis approached from the side lawn.
Pierce turned.
For several seconds he could not speak.
Then he hugged him.
Luis stiffened in surprise.
“Thank you.”
“You would have done the same.”
Pierce shook his head.
“I wasn’t here.”
Luis understood the guilt hiding inside those words.
“You know now.”
Pierce looked at him.
“That matters.”
Rowan clutched the red notebook.
Pierce noticed.
“Buddy.”
Rowan looked down.
“Can I see it?”
His son hesitated.
“Will Grandma take it?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Rowan handed it over.
Pierce recognized it immediately.
Claire’s.
She used red leather journals constantly.
Lists.
Recipes.
Travel notes.
Random thoughts.
After her death, Pierce boxed them without reading most of them.
Grief made even handwriting unbearable.
“This was in storage.”
Rowan nodded.
“I found it.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“In Mom’s blue box.”
Pierce frowned.
“What blue box?”
“The one Grandma moved.”
His pulse changed.
“What do you mean moved?”
“She took boxes from the attic.”
“Where?”
“Garage.”
Pierce stared.
Henrietta had claimed she was helping organize storage.
Pierce had thanked her.
“What happened when you found the notebook?”
“I was looking for Mom’s picture.”
“What picture?”
“The lake one.”
Pierce knew it.
Claire sitting on the dock at Lake Winfield with three-year-old Rowan wrapped in a towel.
His favorite photograph of them.
“I saw the book.”
“Did you read it?”
“Some.”
“What part?”
Rowan looked toward the house.
Then whispered:
“My name.”
Pierce opened the notebook.
Many pages were dated six years earlier.
Before Rowan was born.
He flipped slowly.
Then found his son’s name.
ROWAN.
Underline.
His breathing tightened.
Claire had written:
Henrietta asked again if Pierce is certain.
I cannot believe she keeps doing this.
Pierce stared.
Doing what?
Next line:
She said the baby could be anybody’s because Pierce travels.
I told her she is never to speak about my child that way again.
Pierce’s stomach turned.
He knew his mother had disliked Claire.
He had never known this.
He read further.
H says she will prove it.
Says no “outsider’s child” will inherit Franklin’s property.
Pierce stopped.
Franklin.
His father.
Rowan’s grandfather.
Pierce looked toward the sitting room.
Henrietta sat beyond the closed doors.
Another entry.
Three weeks later.
She brought a DNA report.
Negative.
I nearly threw up.
Pierce believes her because the report looks real.
I know there is no possibility.
There has never been anyone else.
Pierce felt his knees weaken.
He remembered the worst fight of his marriage.
Claire crying.
Pierce holding a laboratory report.
His mother sitting quietly in the kitchen while their marriage nearly broke apart.
The report had said the probability of paternity was effectively zero.
Pierce had believed it for twelve hours.
Then Claire demanded another test.
He agreed.
The second test confirmed Pierce was Rowan’s father.
99.99 percent.
Pierce and Claire had decided the first laboratory must have made an error.
Henrietta blamed clerical incompetence.
They moved on.
Or Pierce thought they had.
He turned another page.
Claire had written:
I found out the first lab never tested Pierce.
Pierce stopped breathing.
Below it:
Henrietta submitted someone else’s sample.
I have proof.
Pierce stared.
His fingers began trembling.
Claire had known.
Why had she never told him?
He flipped forward.
Several pages had been torn out.
Not carefully.
Ripped.
Rowan pointed.
“Grandma did that.”
Pierce looked at him.
“You saw her?”
“She took the book from me.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Then how do you have it?”
“I took it back.”
Pierce stared.
Rowan whispered:
“She put it in my suitcase.”
“Why?”
“She said the school could throw it away.”
Pierce’s blood ran cold.
Henrietta had not simply planned to remove Rowan.
She planned to remove evidence with him.
Deputy Reynolds entered.
“Mr. Cole?”
Pierce turned.
“We found something in your mother’s bag.”
She held up a clear evidence sleeve.
Inside was a property document.
Pierce recognized the address immediately.
42 Winfield Shore Road.
The family lake house.
His father Franklin had left it directly to Rowan through a trust.
Pierce frowned.
“What is this?”
Reynolds answered:
“A purchase agreement.”
Pierce stared at the price.
$640,000.
The house was worth at least $2 million.
“Who’s buying it?”
Reynolds pointed toward the buyer.
HRC Holdings LLC.
Pierce did not recognize the company.
Then he saw the signature authorizing sale on Rowan’s behalf.
Pierce Cole.
His name.
Again.
Forged.
And suddenly the residential school, the suitcase, Claire’s notebook, and Henrietta’s hatred of Rowan began moving toward the same terrifying question.
May you like
Was his mother trying to send his son away because she believed Rowan did not belong in the family?
Or because Rowan owned something Henrietta desperately wanted?
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