My Mother Lied About My Father For 34 Years — Then A Dead Man Sent Me The Proof
Part 2
I stared at the flashing screen for a long time before hitting ignore.
Then I turned off my phone completely and slipped it into my purse.
Martin folded his hands on the polished table.
“I need to tell you one more thing.”
“Mr. Hayes also left you a property deed, a small parcel of land in northern Delaware.”
“It was purchased in 1990 and held in trust under his name.”
“According to his will, it was always intended for you.”
“But he couldn’t transfer it while he was alive without raising questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.”
“Why?”
“Because your family believed they had legal control over any assets connected to your birth.”
“And he knew if he tried to give this to you directly, they would intervene.”
I stared at him.
“How did he know that?”
He leaned back slightly.
“Because thirty-four years ago, your family asked him to help them bury this, and he did.”
“And he’s regretted it ever since.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“He knew they’d come after me.”
Martin nodded slowly.
“He knew.”
I sat in my car in the parking garage for twenty minutes after leaving the office, staring at the folder in my passenger seat.
When I finally turned my phone back on, I had eleven missed calls.
Six from my mother.
Three from my father.
Two from Heather.
I didn’t call any of them back.
Instead, I drove to my best friend’s house.
She worked from home, and I knew she’d be there.
When she opened the door and saw my face, she stepped aside without asking questions.
We sat at her kitchen table.
I spread everything out in front of her.
The birth certificate.
The photograph.
The note in my mother’s handwriting.
The hospital record.
The property deed.
My friend read through it all slowly.
Then she looked up at me.
“Megan, do you understand what this means?”
I shook my head.
She pointed to the birth certificate.
“This says your father isn’t Greg.”
“It’s someone named Daniel Pierce.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“And this note.”
She picked up the folded paper.
“This is your mother saying to lie about it.”
“I know.”
She set it down.
“So Arthur Hayes kept all of this for thirty-four years.”
“Why?”
“According to the lawyer, my family asked him to help cover it up, and he did, but he kept copies.”
She stared at me.
“That’s not just covering something up, Megan.”
“That’s burying it with paperwork.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“What am I supposed to do?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Then she said, “You call them.”
“And you ask them directly, and you don’t let them talk their way out of it.”
I nodded, but I didn’t call them that night.
I went home, put Lily to bed, and sat on my couch staring at the documents until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore.
The next morning, I was making breakfast when someone pounded on my front door.
I opened it, and there was my mother, dressed perfectly, gripping her purse with white knuckles.
If my mother was willing to lie about who my father was for my entire life, what else was she hiding about the man who bought that land for me?
