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“We identified the plastic as being a part of an aspirin bottle.” He frowned. “Liv, I confirmed Lt. Shane passed Michael Wheaton a tomato can in front of you. When our lab people requested a copy of their report, there was no record of the evidence.”
Liv's words gagged in her throat. “Could Michael truly be behind all of this?”
As Brad continued to speak, Molly's analytical mind kicked into overdrive. “Sinclair Waverly is blood type B negative,” she noted, her voice filled with quiet intensity. “And, Jackson, we know from the sample you gave me, you are also B negative. I can check Michael Wheaton’s records for his blood type.”
Brad frowned. “His personnel records show he’s blood type B negative too.”
Jackson blew out a harsh breath. Each revelation uncovered a dozen more questions.
“We need Rainey Ashcroft's DNA,” Molly insisted, her eyes shining. “I believe she gave birth to Jackson. But is she an Ashcroft? And we need to get Michael Wheaton's and his mother's DNA too. There could be more to this than meets the eye.”
“How did this start?” Liv asked. “Why did he start killing the council?”
Brad's frown deepened at Liv's questions. “We need to find him,” he replied, his voice laced with determination. “And we need to stop him before anyone else gets hurt.”
Twenty-Nine
Conversation swirled as Jackson sat in the hospital room, trying to deal with the revelation that he was Sinclair Waverly's son. Was he really prepared for this?
He thought back to his childhood, to the memories of growing up in Waverly Junction, He was happy and loved. He couldn’t have wanted more.
When Molly revealed the DNA match between him and Sinclair Waverly, everything he thought he knew about himself was turned upside down in an instant, but amidst the uncertainty, one thought filled his mind—this news changed nothing for him. His mind cleared, and he joined the conversation.
“Molly, do we exhume now? We need to get more DNA samples for comparison,” Liv asked.
Brad cleared his throat. “We need to take Michael into custody. I am waiting on a warrant. My boss is in contact with the chief of Waverly County PD.”
* * *
Michael sat in the kitchen of the home he should have grown up in, his hands icy cold as he clutched his dead mother's diary tightly in his grasp. The weight of the truth bore down on him like a suffocating blanket, leaving him gasping for air as he pored over the pages, his mind swirling with anger and resentment.
“Jackson Reynolds... you deceitful thief. You think you can just waltz into my life, into my family, and steal everything that rightfully belongs to me? Oh, but you won't get away with it. No. I won't let you,” Michael's voice trembled with rage as he paced back and forth beside the walls adorned with photographs of Jackson at various stages of his life.
“I was supposed to be the one. The heir to the throne, the golden child. But you... you had to come along and ruin everything. You took it all away from me, didn't you? And you think you can just live your life, pretending to be something you're not.”
His eyes narrowed with malice as he stared at the images of Jackson, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “But I see you, Jackson. I see through your façade. You may have everyone else fooled, but not me. I know the truth. I know what you did, and I won't rest until I've claimed what's rightfully mine.”
With a sinister grin, Michael reached out and traced a finger over Jackson's face in one of the photographs, his gaze burning with twisted evil.
“You may have stolen my birthright, Jackson Reynolds, but mark my words... I'll make you pay for it. And when I'm through with you, you'll wish we never crossed paths.”
In his delusions, his imagined truth became painfully clear. Jackson Reynolds was not the only villain in this story. He was merely a pawn in a much larger game of chess.
His fingers traced the faded ink on the page, his eyes scanning the words with a mixture of disbelief and rage. “I am the rightful Waverly heir,” Michael muttered, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “I am the son of Sinclair Waverly and Emily Moore.”
Emily Moore was a name that had been erased from the annals of Waverly Junction's history. She was a woman whose memory had been tarnished by the cruel judgment of the town's elite council. She had served on the council, given her blood, sweat, and tears to the town she loved, only to be cast aside like a pariah when she fell pregnant out of wedlock. Then she died, unaware of who she was.
Her diary and the memory of his mother's suffering ignited a fire within Michael. As he turned the pages, the truth of what happened all those years ago became painfully clear.
Sinclair Waverly, the patriarch of the Waverly family, had forced himself upon Emily, leaving her broken and alone to raise a child she never asked for. And in the wake of her death from brain cancer, Michael was left alone to pick up the pieces of a shattered life.
Michael made a decision—one that would change the course of Waverly Junction's history forever. He would become the instrument of his mother's vengeance, the avenging angel who would bring retribution to those who wronged her.
“The town council, oh how they loved to hide behind their fancy titles and polished façades,” Michael muttered to himself, his eyes burning with a fierce rage as he stared at the documents spread out before him.
“Their precious rubber stamps and empty promises—they think they can dictate the fate of this town with their petty politics and backroom deals. But not anymore. Not while I still draw breath.”
With a bitter scoff, Michael's hand clenched into a fist, crumpling the papers beneath his touch. “They destroyed my mother, tore down everything she worked so hard to build. Well, I won't let them get away with it. I will destroy Christopher Waverly’s legacy.”
