She didn't wait for a response, just turned and walked toward a door marked "Staff Only." Portia followed her mother like a ghost. Dylan looked at me, his expression unreadable, then came around the bar to follow his family.
I trailed after them, the envelope burning against my palms.
Inside a private room that was clearly used for business meetings, Jessica stood at the head of the table, rigid with barely controlled fury.
"What's in that envelope?" she demanded.
My hands shook as I opened it. Inside was a handwritten letter, several pages long, and a photograph. I pulled out the photo first.
A man in his twenties smiled up at me from the faded image. He looked remarkably like Dylan, the same strong jawline and warm eyes. On the back, written in neat script:Boyd Biggs.
The real Boyd Biggs.
I set the photo on the table and unfolded the letter, my voice barely steady as I began to read aloud.
"'Dear Bernadette, I'm writing this in case the truth ever comes out, which I suppose it now has. My name is James Biggs, not Boyd. Boyd was my older brother—two years older, infinitely better in every way that mattered.'"
Dylan made a choked sound. I forced myself to continue.
"'Boyd was everything I wasn't. Successful, respected, loved by everyone who knew him. I couldn't live up to his reputation, so I took the opposite path. I got into trouble—petty crime at first, then drugs. Eventually I landed myself in Federal prison in Manchester, Kentucky. Six years.'"
"This is insane," Portia whispered.
"'Boyd was the only person who visited me. The only one who wrote letters. He told me everything about his life—his work in bourbon distribution, his dreams of owning his own distillery someday, his relationships. Including the one with your mother, Ginger Waters.'"
Jessica inhaled sharply.
"'Boyd and Ginger had a brief relationship, and Boyd genuinely cared for her. But he realized that Ginger was struggling with emotional issues. He didn't want to get serious with someone in that state.'"
My voice cracked. I knew my mother's struggles intimately, but hearing them described so clinically by a stranger hurt in unexpected ways.
"'When Ginger told Boyd she was pregnant, he didn't believe her at first. She'd been erratic, sometimes manipulative. But then she left town without a word. Boyd asked around and eventually learned through mutual friends that she'd had a baby girl. He tracked Ginger down to Texas.'"
I paused, my heart pounding. This was it—the moment I'd been searching for since July.
"'Boyd drove to Texas to meet you. But Ginger denied you were his child. She told him to stay away, that she didn't need his help or his money. Boyd said he had to leave to take care of a family matter, but he promised he'd come back.'"
My hands trembled so badly I almost couldn't hold the paper.
"'What Ginger didn't know was that Boyd left to pick me up from prison. During our drive back to Lexington, he told me everything—about Ginger, about the baby girl he'd seen, about how Ginger had pushed him away. He said Ginger was clearly unstable, but he'd been enchanted by you, Bernadette. He said you had her eyes but his smile, and he couldn't stop thinking about you.'"
Tears blurred my vision. I blinked them away.
"'We drove through a terrible storm. The rain was so heavy we could barely see the road. The car hydroplaned.'"
Dylan stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. He walked to the window, his shoulders rigid.
"'We went off the road into the Kentucky River. The current was so strong. I managed to surface, but Boyd didn't. I kept diving down to search, but the current had already taken the car downstream.'"
Jessica's hand covered her mouth.
"'I was desperate. I'd just gotten out of prison. I had no job, no prospects, no money. And suddenly I had the opportunity to become someone else—someone successful and respected.Boyd and I looked enough alike to be twins. I knew everything about his life from his letters—his job, his contacts, his plans. It seemed almost meant to be. So I did it. I became Boyd Biggs.'"
My voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
"'I contacted Ginger and said I was Boyd. I told her I wasn't interested in being a father or a husband. It was cowardly and cruel. But I was building a new life, and I couldn't have complications from the past threatening it.'
"'As Boyd, I excelled in the bourbon industry. I met Jessica. We married, had children. I helped her to grow Goldenrod Distillery. I became the man Boyd would have been. But I was haunted by what I'd done—to my brother, to Ginger, to you, Bernadette. And to the family I built on a foundation of lies.'"
