Chapter 3 - Lydia's Last Promise
Gideon ordered the ballroom cleared. A few guests protested. He didn't care. Within ten minutes, the chandeliers lit only the piano, a handful of staff, and five people standing beneath a portrait of Lydia.
Nora placed an old phone on the piano lid.
“Lydia gave me this two days before the crash. She made me promise I wouldn't bring Ivy here until she was old enough to speak for herself.”
Gideon looked at the little girl. Same narrow chin. Same steady stare he'd once mistaken for stubbornness in his daughter.
“Why hide her from me?”
Nora's expression tightened. “Because Lydia was scared of someone close to you.”
Celeste laughed once. “How convenient.”
Nora tapped Play.
A woman's voice filled the room, thin with static but clear enough to break Gideon's heart.
“Dad, if you hear this, I need you to believe Nora. Ivy is my daughter. I wanted to tell you myself. I tried. Please don't let them tell her I didn't love her.”
The recording stopped.
Gideon reached toward the phone, then lowered his hand. He had waited a decade to hear Lydia say his name again. He couldn't bear that she'd sounded afraid.
“That's not proof of anything,” Celeste said.
“No,” Nora replied. “But this is.”
She took a worn envelope from her shoe and slid out a birth certificate, a hospital photograph, and a signed temporary guardianship form. The certificate named Lydia Whitcomb as Ivy's mother. The father field was blank.
“Lydia asked me to care for Ivy while she reported a theft,” Nora explained. “I worked nights in the maternity unit. I watched her sign every page.”
“Reported a theft to whom?” Gideon asked.
“To your foundation's auditors.”
Celeste's phone buzzed. She silenced it without looking.
Nora noticed.
“Lydia found scholarship money disappearing into consulting firms. She copied the records. The morning she planned to show you, she received a message saying Ivy would be taken away if she spoke.”
Gideon turned toward the portrait. He remembered that morning. Lydia had called twice. He'd been angry with her about an argument over the foundation and let both calls go to voicemail.
“Why didn't you go to the police?” he asked.
“I did. Somebody told them I was unstable and had stolen a baby. I spent ten years keeping Ivy away from whoever had that kind of power.”
Celeste stepped backward.
Gideon noticed a pale scar across Nora's wrist. “Who made that?”
Nora stared at Celeste. “The person who tried to take Ivy outside the hospital.”
From the hallway came a man's voice.
“Gideon. We need to discuss the crash report.”
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Malcolm Pierce, the foundation's chief financial officer, stood in the doorway holding a thin black folder.
On its cover was Gideon's own signature.
