The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 188

Mia's POV

The package arrived on an ordinary Tuesday morning. No return address, just my name and address printed in neat block letters that bore no distinguishing characteristics. The delivery man had already disappeared down the hallway by the time I opened the door, summoned by the soft knock.

"Who was that?" Mom called.

"Delivery," I replied, turning the padded manila envelope over in my hands.

"What did you order?" She appeared in the doorway, a dish towel slung over one shoulder.

"Nothing." I held up the package. I carefully tore along the sealed edge.

A leather-bound journal, its cover worn at the corners, the pages slightly yellowed with age. The leather was soft, as if it had been handled often, and a delicate ribbon marker protruded from between the pages. There was no note accompanying it, nothing to indicate who had sent it or why.

"What is it?" Mom asked, peering over my shoulder.

I opened the cover carefully, looking for an inscription or any identifying information. On the first page, in elegant script that spoke of a careful hand, was a simple date: March 15, 1996. Below it, in the same handwriting: Diana Porter.

"Mom," I said softly, "I think someone just sent me Diana Porter's journal."

"How is that possible? The news said her diaries were just discovered."

I flipped through the pages, scanning entries filled with the same elegant script.

Why indeed. I settled onto the sofa. "Let's find out," I said, turning to the first entry.

March 15, 1996

I've decided to start keeping a record, though I pray I'm being paranoid. Alexander's reaction to my questions about the Santiago mine was... unsettling. He's never spoken to me that way before, as if I'd crossed some invisible line by merely asking about the financial reports. When I pressed further, mentioning the discrepancies I'd noticed, he shut down entirely. "Business concerns aren't yours to question," he said. The look in his eyes was cold. I had never seen this side of him in our eighteen months together.

Perhaps he is right about my tendency to overthink matters.

I looked up at Mom, who had settled into the armchair across from me. "She was investigating Alexander Branson's business," I said.

March 20, 1996

Alex came by the office today, ostensibly to discuss the merger, but I could tell he was checking on me. He warned me again about "stirring up trouble." The way he said it felt more like a threat than concern.

The entries continued in similar fashion, growing increasingly alarmed as Diana documented her suspicions about financial improprieties involving the Santiago mining operation. She described heated arguments with Alexander, tense conversations with Edward, and her own determined research into what appeared to be systematic embezzlement and possible environmental violations.

April 8, 1996

I found something today. The shell company Alexander has been using to siphon funds isn't just hiding money. The environmental reports have been falsified. The water contamination levels at Santiago are catastrophic, and they've been paying off officials to keep it quiet.

When I confronted Alexander with the evidence, he didn't even deny it. He simply asked how I'd gotten the information, his voice dangerously calm. "You don't understand what you're dealing with," he said. "Some people would go to great lengths to keep this quiet."

I told him I wouldn't be part of a cover-up, that people were dying because of that mine. His response chilled me: "Then you'll need to be very careful, Diana. Accidents happen to people who aren't careful."

I've made copies of everything. If anything happens to me, the truth won't die with me.

I shivered despite the apartment's warmth. "Alexander Branson threatened her," I said to Mom. "Barely a month before she died."

"And now someone wants you to know about it," Mom replied, her expression grave. "The question is why?"

I continued reading, the entries growing more frantic as April turned to May. Diana described increasing isolation as Alexander cancelled their public appearances together and meetings with her were repeatedly rescheduled.

Then, a shift in tone in late May:

I stared at the final entry, my heart pounding in my chest. Diana Porter had a daughter.

"Mom, do you think this is real? That Diana Porter actually had a child before she died?"

"This doesn't feel like fiction, Mia."

"But why send it to me?"

"Someone believes you need this information. Someone who knew about Diana's journal and was able to obtain it before it became public knowledge."

I didn't have an answer, but something nagged at the edges of my awareness.

"What if...What if Diana Porter's daughter is connected to me somehow? What if the reason someone sent me the journal is because they think I should know who she is?"

Mom frowned. "That seems unlikely, Mia. You were just a child yourself when Diana died."

"I know, but..." I struggled to articulate the nebulous connections forming in my mind. My phone rang, startling us both. An unknown number flashed on the screen. I hesitated, then answered.

"Ms. Williams?" A voice I didn't recognize, male, official-sounding. "This is Lieutenant Walsh with the Manhattan Correctional Center. I'm calling regarding your father, Richard Williams."

"What about him?"

"There's been an incident. Your father has been taken to Mount Sinai Hospital in critical condition. I've been instructed to inform you and suggest you might want to get there as soon as possible."

"What happened?" I demanded.

"I'm not at liberty to share details over the phone, ma'am. I suggest you speak with the hospital staff when you arrive."