Chapter 56 - The Tape in the Cottage
Forensics saved us from another forged mother.
The video looked authentic for the first twelve seconds. Lydia sat in a chair near the Redfield Cottage fireplace, pregnant with Noah, hands folded over her stomach. The lighting matched other recordings. Her voice sounded right. Her face was right. Then the technician froze the image. “Synthetic reconstruction.” Grant stared. “Deepfake?” “Partially. Someone used real footage and rebuilt sections of speech.” The technology had improved over the years, but the file itself was recent. Created within the last six months.
Abigail looked physically sick.
Eden’s response was colder.
“Play what they wanted us to hear.”
The technician warned against emotional exposure.
Both girls insisted.
Their advocates agreed after reviewing the transcript first.
The false Lydia spoke directly to “my girls.”
She said the separation had been necessary because one daughter was “strong enough for the truth” while the other needed “an ordinary mother.”
Abigail’s jaw tightened.
Eden stopped breathing.
Then the fabricated Lydia said, “If you are watching this, one of you must choose where Noah belongs.”
Grant stood.
“Turn it off.”
Eden said, “No.”
Grant looked at her.
“I need to know what they wanted.”
He sat down.
The fake recording instructed the twins to distrust Grant’s control over Lydia’s estate. It suggested Noah’s place in the trust had been manipulated after Lydia’s death. It encouraged Abigail and Eden to petition together for exclusive control.
Money.
Again.
But the cruelty was more sophisticated now. Someone had built a weapon that required the twins to fight Noah while believing Lydia had asked them to do it.
When the video ended, Abigail whispered, “They wanted us to hate a two-year-old.”
Noah was older now than at the original assault, but in Abigail’s mind he remained the little brother whose existence adults repeatedly turned into financial language.
Eden’s face hardened.
“I don’t.”
Abigail looked at her.
“I don’t hate him.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to say it like you’re surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
And there it was.
The first true twin fight.
Not about Marcus.
Not Lydia.
Not June.
Them.
Abigail said, “You’ve known about us for three years.”
Eden snapped, “I knew there was another girl somewhere. I didn’t know your life.”
“You could have tried.”
“So could Mom.”
“That isn’t my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You act like I got everything.”
“You got Lydia.”
“Not every day!”
“You got more than I did!”
“You got June every day!”
The room went silent.
Both girls immediately knew they had found the other’s deepest wound.
Eden’s eyes filled.
“At least June wanted me.”
Abigail recoiled as if slapped.
I stepped forward.
Grant caught my wrist lightly.
Not to restrain me.
To remind me.
Let them have the feeling before adults repaired it.
Abigail’s voice broke.
“You think Eleanor didn’t want me?”
“I think everybody kept choosing when we were allowed to belong.”
“That includes you.”
Eden stood.
“What does that mean?”
“You knew I existed.”
“I was eight!”
“And I was eight too!”
Silence.
The symmetry ended the fight more effectively than any adult could.
Two eight-year-old girls.
Both carrying secrets they did not create.
Eden sat down.
Abigail wiped her face angrily.
“I’m sorry about June.”
“I’m sorry about Lydia.”
They did not hug.
They sat three feet apart.
That was enough.
Forensics traced the deepfake development environment to an outsourced media lab used by Creed’s intelligence network. Creed denied ordering it. His ledger contained no obvious payment for the video.
Rachel watched the technical report and whispered, “There was another client.”
Ruiz asked who.
Rachel pointed to a project code inside the recovered metadata.
CROW-2.
Eli searched Creed’s old billing records.
One entry appeared eighteen months earlier.
CROW-2 / succession contingency.
Paid through a trust company in Delaware.
Beneficial owner hidden.
Dawson obtained a court order.
The ownership chain ended at a Wren family vehicle.
But not Marcus.
Charles Wren.
The brother who had just given us the waiver.
The man presenting himself as the one Wren willing to expose Marcus.
Grant stared at the payment record.
“Why would Charles create a fake video turning Lydia’s daughters against Noah?”
Nobody knew.
Until Marianne heard the project code.
She closed her eyes.
“CROW wasn’t Charles.”
Ruiz looked at her.
“Then who?”
Marianne swallowed.
“CROW was what the brothers called their mother.”
The client was not Marcus.
Not Charles.
May you like
Their mother, Cordelia Wren, was eighty-three years old.
And everyone had somehow forgotten she was still alive.
