Chapter 5 - The Ledger of Sins
I stood frozen in the center of my mahogany-paneled office, feeling as if the entire framework of my reality had been dismantled brick by brick.
"You knew?" I looked at my mother, my voice laced with sharp betrayal. "How long have you known who she was?"
"From the day she stepped into this house six months ago," Eleanor confessed, letting her head fall back against the headrest of her wheelchair. "The moment I saw her face, Bennett... she has Marcus’s eyes. She has his sharp chin. I looked into her background, found Sarah’s death certificate, and realized who she was."
"And you said nothing to me?" I asked, taking a step toward her. "You allowed a blood relative—an illegitimate child of my father—to work as a servant in our home while keeping me in the dark?"
"Because I knew how you would react!" Eleanor shouted, her weak voice straining with sudden fury. "You would have seen her as a security risk! You would have seen her as a threat to the Hale estate, a potential blackmailer! You would have paid her off or had your syndicate enforcers run her out of the state!"
The truth of her words stung, because she was right. If I had discovered Clara six months ago, before I saw her holding my mother’s hand, before I saw her crying beside her in the quiet bedroom, I would have treated her as a hostile threat. I would have used every legal and illegal mechanism at my disposal to eliminate her presence from our lives.
"I kept her close because I was ashamed, Bennett," Eleanor said softly, tears finally overflowing her sunken eyes. "I was ashamed that your father had abandoned a child. I was ashamed that I had spent twenty years pretending Marcus was a saint. And in these last six months, watching this girl care for me with more genuine tenderness than all the high-priced doctors in the world, I realized that God gave me a second chance to fix my family's sins before I die."
Clara stood up slowly, smoothing down her grey apron. She turned to my mother and placed her hands gently over Eleanor’s shoulders.
"I should go, Mrs. Hale," Clara said softly. "I've caused enough pain here."
"No," Eleanor commanded, reaching up to grip Clara’s wrist with surprising strength. "You are not leaving this house. Bennett, tell her."
I looked at Clara Reed—my half-sister. A girl raised in poverty while I was educated at European boarding schools. A girl who had cleaned my floors while carrying the blood of the Hale dynasty in her veins.
"You stay," I said, my voice raspy, unfamiliar even to my own ears. "You move your things out of the staff quarters in the basement immediately. You will occupy the guest suite on the second floor."
May you like
Clara shook her head quickly. "No, Mr. Hale. I don't want your charity. I don't want your luxury."
"It isn't charity," I said, stepping closer to her, looking down into the eyes that were undeniably identical to my father's. "It's an accounting of debts. And the Hale family always pays its debts."
