Chapter 13
Chapter 13 – The Secret Heir
I sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa, the porcelain teacup rattling against its saucer. Oliver stood near the doorway, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk, recording every detail.
"Albert didn't start Montgomery Enterprises alone, Catherine," Eleanor began, her eyes staring into the dark amber liquid of her tea, traveling back into a past I had been completely excluded from. "I know the corporate history says he built it with Henry Bennett in a garage. That's the story the PR firms bought. But the creative genius? The actual technique? That belonged to my daughter, Clara."
"Clara..." I breathed the name. It felt foreign, dangerous.
"They were partners," Eleanor said softly. "Before he met you, before he had the capital, they were everything to each other. In business, and for a short, passionate summer, in life. But Clara wasn't corporate material. She was an artist. She didn't care about trademarks or voting shares. When Albert met your family—when he saw the social connections and the trust fund your father possessed—he saw a ladder. He loved you, Catherine. Make no mistake. But Albert was an ambitious man. He married you for the future, but he left his past in this house."
"If she was his partner, why is she not on the charter?" Oliver interrupted, his legal mind piercing through the emotion.
"Because she died," a sharp, clear voice echoed from the staircase.
I turned around. Descending the stairs was the girl from the security camera. Up close, the resemblance was undeniable, almost terrifying. She had Albert’s high cheekbones, his intense, unwavering grey eyes, and the slight, determined set of his jaw.
"She died giving birth to me," the girl said, stepping into the parlor light. "My name is Maya. Clara was my mother. And Albert Montgomery was my father."
The room spun. Thirty-two years of marriage. Thirty-two years of sharing a bed, a breakfast table, a life. And yet, there was a whole human being, made of his blood, hidden in the woods of New York.
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"Albert was devastated when Clara passed," Eleanor continued, her voice catching. "But he was also terrified. If a child born out of wedlock became public back then, your father would have pulled your family trust money, and Montgomery Enterprises would have died in its infancy. So we made a deal. Albert funded this estate. He built the Elaine Foundation to pay for Maya’s life, her education, her privacy. In exchange, I kept her away from Manhattan. Away from you."
"I didn't want your life, Catherine," Maya said, her voice dropping into a cold, hard register that reminded me painfully of my husband. "I never wanted the Montgomery name. I grew up knowing my father only as a monthly check and a collection of sketches. But three weeks ago, a man came to this house. A man named Henry Bennett."
