Oliver was silent as he let himself into his abandoned former home, the mansion that he had grown up in, the one he had spent the majority of his teenage years sneaking out of. Now though he found himself sneaking in, although there was technically nothing stopping him from entering the building. It was still, technically, his and Thea's house, although neither of them had been inside for months.

Due to the house's abandoned state Oliver had made the decision to cut off the electricity connection for the house, which made him grateful for the flashlight he'd brought along. He didn't need it as he worked through the house, the sun not yet having completely set beneath the horizon, but he clicked it on when he reached his mother's office, still pretty much untouched, except for the Queen Consolidated paperwork that Oliver had gotten rid of when he'd sold the company to Ray Palmer.

What Oliver was looking for, however, was far more personal. When his mother had first died Oliver had found large envelopes addressed for both he and Thea with Moira's will. Neither he nor Thea had looked at the contents of the envelopes yet. Thea had told him to keep her envelope away from her until she had begun to come to terms with the reality behind the bombshell that Robert Queen wasn't her biological father. Oliver had understood, Thea was still angry at her mother about the secret, and didn't want to do something to the envelope that she would probably regret later on. Oliver had decided to do the same, but now the possibility of the envelope addressed to him containing some hint about Roy's paternity made him want to see what his mother had to say.

It took him a few minutes to locate the envelopes, tucked away securely where they couldn't be found by looters or those who wanted to dig up more Queen family secrets. Oliver carefully put Thea's back away, ready for the time when Thea would be prepared to read what her mother had to say, and retreated out of his mother's office, leaving it just as he found it, save for the envelope he clutched tightly in his hand.

Making his way upstairs, Oliver made his way to his old bedroom, retrieving the Swiss army knife that his father had given him when he'd turned 13 from the bedside drawers, before he sat on the rug that covered his bedroom floor, the torch sitting on the floor next to him as he used the Swiss Army knife to slit the envelope open.

The envelope was so packed with stuff that it took Oliver a little bit of effort to carefully wiggle the contents of the envelope free and out onto his bedroom floor. He picked up the torch and held it so it illuminated the contents of the stack of paper in front of him.

Oliver began skimming through the documents. The more recent pieces of paper seemed to be on the top of the while, all of them dating from before the Queen's Gambit went down. There were four letters to him from his mother that were dated from after he'd returned to Starling City, one of the only a week before his mother's death, as if she'd known that she wasn't going to survive much longer, as well as a couple that had been written after Oliver had supposedly died on the Queen's Gambit, but before he'd returned to life in Starling City. After skimming over them Oliver set them aside for reading more in depth at a later time. They didn't hold any of the information he was after, although Oliver was deeply moved by a few of the letters his mother had written him after his supposed death on the Queen's Gambit. Stiles was even mentioned in one of them.

As he got further into the pile of letters and other bits and pieces, there were more things written and contributed by his father, as well as by his mother. Both of them contributed a letter each year on his birthday, and there were other letters that were dated at other, more random times.

It was the letter, written by his father on Oliver's 18th birthday that Oliver paused at. There was another envelope paper clipped to it, smaller than the larger envelope that had held everything, and Oliver bit his lip as he pulled the envelope free of the paperclip, reading his name in his father's handwriting on the front of the envelope, before he turned it over and, again using the Swiss army knife, slit the envelop open, pulling free the contents.

It was immediately apparent that the envelope hadn't been sealed when its contents had first been written, judging from the fact that, in addition to a second letter written to Oliver on his 18th birthday by his father, there was another one written by his mother that was dated only a few weeks before she died. What captured Oliver's attention, however, was the newspaper clipping that had been in the envelope too. It only took one glance for Oliver to confirm that this was probably what he was looking for, as the clipping was of an article that was about the accident that claimed the lives of Jackson's mother and her husband.

Despite the fact that his father's letter had been written earlier, Oliver turned his full attention to his mother's letter first, trusting that it would provide more detail than a letter written with 18 year old Oliver in mind.

'Dear Oliver' his mother had written in her elegant handwriting,

'At the risk of sounding cliché, if you are reading this than I am dead. I am sorry that I have left you and Thea in this cold, uncertain world, and I wish, with all my heart, that you have, or will soon, find happiness.

At the time of my writing this you and Thea have just recently discovered the truth regarding the identity of Thea's father. Please keep in mind that I kept this secret in order to protect you both from the truth. I know how manipulative Malcolm could be and I didn't want him to be able to use his identity as Thea's father against either of you, nor did I want either of you to be exposed to the ridicule from the press that any open declaration of Thea's parentage would bring.

I am not sure if you have read your father's letter that is enclosed with this one, but in the case that you haven't I will go through the details here. I am not sure how in depth your father went, as the letter he wrote for you was intended for your eyes only and I respect him enough to let what is written be solely between you and him, but at the time you were only 18 years old, legally of age, but still very much a child in many ways (as I am sure the man you are now would agree). He may have skipped over details, and although I will tell you as much as I know, I am only reporting what I was told at the time.

As I am sure you remember, your father had affairs in your youth, probably right up until his death. One of his mistresses was a woman by the name of Margaret Miller, the wife of a business associate of ours named Gordan Miller. In early December 1989, when I was about eight months pregnant with Thea, Margaret Miller came to Robert and told him that she was pregnant…and that he was the father. Gordan Miller was infertile, he and Margaret had both been tested previously as they had wanted a child of their own and they hadn't conceived, so there was no reason to suspect that she was lying. Your father never denied that he and Margaret had an affair.

Despite the baby his wife was carrying not being his Gordon was very good about it. He promised to be an involved father…the only father the baby would ever need, the same way that Robert had done for Thea, although he knew that she wasn't his. Gordon and Margaret decided to leave Starling City, and they headed back south to northern California, closer to where Margaret had grown up, although she had no family left. Robert and I both felt that we couldn't stand by and do nothing, and said as much to Margaret and Gordon. We set up a large life insurance policy in the names of both Margaret and Gordon, should something happen to them, so that Robert's child would at least have something.

By that point Thea had been born, and your father doted on her. Sometimes I saw him whispering to her about how much he loved her, just like he loved you, and he loved the child that he had fathered out of wedlock. He was saddened by the fact that he would never get to meet the child that he fathered, that he wouldn't see the baby grow up like he would go on to see both you and Thea grow up. It had been the Miller's idea that Robert should stay away, and I, perhaps selfishly, agreed with them. I think, deep down, I didn't want Robert to fuss over another woman's child like he fussed over mine, despite the fact that Thea wasn't biologically his, and Margaret's child was. In hindsight it sounds selfish and stupid, but it is the truth.

On the 14th of June, 1990 at about ten thirty in the evening Gordon and Margaret Miller were in a car accident with another vehicle. Gordon Miller died on impact, Margaret was rushed to the local hospital, but she was seriously injured. It was a miracle that she lasted long enough to get to the hospital. It was obvious to the doctors that she wouldn't make it, but there was hope for her unborn child…Robert's baby.

At about twelve fifteen in the morning on the 15th of June the doctors delivered Margaret Miller's baby…a boy, your little half brother, by caesarian. At his time of birth Margaret was already clinically dead.

The minute Robert heard the news, that very morning, he wanted to go to Beacon Hills hospital, but I stopped him. Both Gordon and Margaret had told us that they didn't want the baby to grow up with his or her every move followed by the media, like you and Thea would…and if Robert took in the baby he would be under the spotlight even more than you and Thea would be…even if it was just put out there that Robert and I adopted him, and that he wasn't biologically Robert's son. He had the life insurance payout, which he would receive in its entirety, plus interest, when he turned 18. Let him have his private, normal childhood. If Robert still wanted to get involved once the baby was 18, well, that was his call.

At least, that's what I told Robert. Reluctantly, Robert agreed, although I don't think our marriage ever fully recovered. There were too many lies and secrets and betrayals between us.

The baby was adopted by another family, who named him Jackson Whittemore. David and Louise Whittemore is the name of the couple who adopted Jackson. David is a lawyer, with a good reputation, while his wife engaged in mostly charity work. They had no children of their own, and Jackson would be their only child. I know that Robert kept an eye on them, and Jackson, for the rest of his life.

I know that Robert never forgot about Jackson. Sometimes he told me that he wished that things were different. He wondered what Jackson was like, what sort a person he was. I believe that there were times when your father regretted going along with my requests to leave Jackson be, that he wished he had brought Jackson back to Starling City with him. I do not doubt, for even a second, even after all these years, the fact that Robert loved Jackson, just like he loved you and Thea, and that he loved all three of you equally right up until the moment of his death.

A few months before Robert's death the Whittemore family moved to England, and after the news broke of the Queen's Gambit sinking, and of the death of everyone on board Jackson returned to Beacon Hills. In a twist of irony Jackson had grown up alongside Stiles Stilinski, whose name you have never mentioned since your return, but who died alongside Robert in the sinking. I often found myself wondering if Robert made the connection between the boy who stowed away, and the town where his biological son had grown up.

A week or so after the sinking I went to Beacon Hills to meet with Stiles' father, and while there I glimpsed Jackson Whittemore, then 17 years old. I didn't spend much time with him however, my focus was on Stiles' father, a widower who had just lost his only child, but I couldn't help but notice that in some ways he reminded me of both you, at that age, and of Robert. He got most of his looks from his mother, though if you wanted an idea of what your brother looked like he did look a lot like Thea's boyfriend Roy. I was often privately amused by the fact that my daughter found companionship with a boy that resembled, quite strongly, in hindsight, Robert's son.

At this point I must plead with you not to get your hopes up about ever meeting Jackson. Less than a month after I visited Beacon Hills a missing person's report was filed by David Whittemore. According to his friends Jackson set out on a road trip, alone, not long after my visit. A few weeks later Jackson's car was found, abandoned, on the side of a remote road in rural Wisconsin. The keys were still in the ignition, his belongings were left untouched. Nobody has seen or heard from him since. He is assumed to be dead, having met with foul play, although they've never found a body.

He never lived to inherit the life insurance fund that Robert set up for him, nor would he live to see you return from the grave. I am sorry that we kept this information from you for so long. Initially we planned to tell you and Thea when Jackson turned 18 (unless we were both dead by then), but by the time Jackson's 18th birthday arrived Robert was dead and you were gone, and afterwards, once you had returned, with Jackson's disappearance and assumed death, I thought it would be too painful for you to face after your ordeal during the years of your absence from Starling City.

As far as I know David and Louise Whittemore never knew the truth about who the father of Jackson was, there was certainly nothing on his birth certificate that indicated Robert's involvement. If you want to you may reach out and get in contact with them, maybe learn something about Jackson. The only other person who knows the truth is Walter, as Robert revealed the truth to him some years before his death.

You may do what you like with this information. Thea knows nothing of it, as both your father and I felt that this would be best coming from you…especially now, with how the news about Malcolm came out.

I wish you the very best, and I am sorry that I did not have the courage to tell you this information myself.

Your loving mother,

Moira Queen

Oliver lowered the letter, his stomach churning as he processed what he had just read. It was real…Roy was his brother…his baby half brother. Everything fitted together, although Oliver had to admit that he was a bit surprised that his mother, who was no idiot, didn't put things together regarding Jackson and Roy being the same person. It wasn't as if Roy had done a lot to alter his looks after coming to Starling City.

Oliver shifted his weight and looked over his father's letter, although there wasn't much in the way of new information there, although in numerous places Robert reinforced the fact that although he'd had affairs with other women, and fathered a child with one of them, it didn't mean that he loved Oliver or Thea any less. At no point in the letter did Oliver's father mention the fact the Thea wasn't biologically his daughter, as though he had intended for Oliver to not know this bit of information.

What hurt the most, however, was the final paragraph, where Oliver's father had described how hopeful he was about meeting Jackson when he turned 18, and of the possibility of Jackson, Oliver and Thea meeting one another. It hurt because it would never happen, that because of Malcolm Merlyn Oliver's father had never had the chance to meet Jackson, the son that he'd always seemed to care about and love, even if it was from a distance. He would never see his children interacting with one another.

Oliver winced as he remembered the last few moments of his father's life. He'd been sitting beside his father in the life boat, Stiles sitting across from them. Oliver wondered what thoughts had gone through his father's mind as he'd leveled the gun at Stiles, the sole surviving crew member already dead thanks to the gun Robert held. Oliver had felt sick, even back then, as Stiles had calmly told Oliver's father to kill him, to end it so that Robert and Oliver would have a better chance of surviving. At that moment, Oliver wondered if his father was imagining another boy that grew up in Beacon Hills in Stiles' place, and if it was the thought of killing a boy that had possibly been friends with his son, who had been at the same school as him, was what made Robert Queen decide to shoot himself instead of Stiles.

Closing his eyes, Oliver remembered those last few moments, as he'd looked at shock as his father had pointed the gun at Stiles, and Stiles had wearily looked at the gun, before he'd looked up at Robert's face, meeting the older man's gaze without flinching.

"Go ahead," Stiles had choked out, his voice hoarse from lack of water and lack of use, "shoot me. You guys deserve the chance at surviving this way more than I do. I should have died weeks ago…I deserved to die weeks ago, so don't feel guilty about doing it. You would be doing me a favor."

Stiles had closed his eyes, visibly bracing himself for the impact of getting shot, completely accepting the fact that he was about to be killed. Oliver had been in shock, not knowing what to say, he'd looked at Stiles in horror, unable to believe that a sixteen year old kid would do something like that, before he'd turned his eyes to his father. He saw the conflict in his father's eyes, moments before it hardened into resolve.

"You're right, kid; only two people on this boat deserve to survive. There are some choices we make in life that we can't ever forgive ourselves for."

With that Robert Queen had lifted the gun to his own head and fired.

And, in his childhood bedroom, surrounded be letters and documents left for him by his mother and father, Oliver Queen broke down and cried.