Chapter 7 - ZERO PERCENT
Grant received the report at 8:42 on a Monday morning.
He read it standing in his study.
Peter Royce was beside the fireplace.
Margaret sat on the sofa.
Sienna was upstairs with the babies.
The first page contained laboratory language.
Markers.
Probability.
Exclusions.
Numbers.
Grant understood none of them until he reached the conclusion.
The tested male is excluded as the biological father of both Child A and Child B.
He read the sentence again.
Then again.
“This is wrong.”
Peter said nothing.
Grant looked up.
“It’s wrong.”
“The laboratory repeated the test.”
“Then the laboratory repeated the mistake.”
“Grant.”
“Do not say my name like that.”
Margaret stood.
“The testing was supervised.”
“I know how it was done.”
“Then.”
“I said it’s wrong.”
Peter removed his glasses.
“We can commission a second independent analysis.”
“We will.”
“Of course.”
“Today.”
“Yes.”
“Different lab.”
“Yes.”
“Different samples.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone stays in the room.”
Peter nodded.
Grant looked toward the ceiling.
The nursery was directly above them.
Nathan.
Ava.
His son.
His daughter.
He had held them.
Fed them.
Changed one terrible diaper and called his assistant afterward because he genuinely believed the nanny schedule required restructuring.
He had pictured teaching Nathan to sail.
He had imagined Ava at Yale.
He had already opened investment accounts.
He had ordered engraved silver cups with their initials.
He had told the world fatherhood had finally made him understand what mattered.
Now a piece of paper claimed none of it belonged to him.
“Where is Sienna?”
Margaret answered carefully.
“Upstairs.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No.”
Grant walked toward the door.
Peter stepped in front of him.
“Do not confront her while you’re angry.”
Grant stared at him.
“Move.”
“Not until you listen.”
“You work for my family.”
“I work for the trust.”
Peter’s voice was calm.
“And right now my job is preventing you from doing something stupid.”
Grant laughed.
“You think I’m going to hurt her?”
“I think you have received life-changing information five minutes ago.”
“Move.”
Margaret said, “Peter.”
He stepped aside.
Grant went upstairs.
Sienna was sitting beside the window feeding Ava.
Nathan slept nearby.
She looked up.
One glance at Grant’s face told her everything.
Her shoulders dropped.
“You got it.”
Grant stopped.
Not What happened?
Not What does it say?
You got it.
He stared at her.
“You knew.”
Sienna looked down at Ava.
“Grant.”
“You knew.”
“I can explain.”
His face emptied.
That was more frightening than shouting.
“How long?”
She did not answer.
“How long have you known these babies are not mine?”
“Keep your voice down.”
He laughed once.
“You are concerned about volume?”
“They’re sleeping.”
“My children?”
Sienna flinched.
Grant walked closer.
“Are they my children?”
Her eyes filled.
“Grant.”
“Answer.”
“No.”
The word barely existed.
Still, it detonated.
Grant stepped backward.
His shoulder hit the dresser.
He looked at Nathan.
Then Ava.
Then Sienna.
“No.”
“You asked me.”
“No.”
His voice was not angry anymore.
It was broken.
“You’re lying now.”
“I’m not.”
“You told me.”
“I know.”
“You told me they were mine.”
“I know.”
“You let me.”
“I know.”
“You moved into Eleanor’s home.”
Sienna’s face tightened.
“You invited me.”
“You stood in her foyer holding them.”
“I didn’t make you throw your wife away.”
The room went silent.
Grant stared at her.
For one dangerous second, Sienna seemed to realize she had said too much.
Then Grant whispered, “Whose are they?”
She held Ava closer.
“Sienna.”
“Please.”
“Whose?”
“Owen’s.”
The name from the photograph.
The man outside the clinic.
Grant closed his eyes.
“When?”
“We were doing IVF.”
“You and him.”
“Yes.”
“While you were seeing me?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie again.”
“I met you after the transfer.”
Grant’s eyes opened.
“What?”
Sienna began crying.
“The embryos were transferred before we slept together.”
He stared at her as though language itself had failed.
“You were already pregnant.”
“I didn’t know yet.”
“When you met me?”
“No.”
“When you first kissed me?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You remember.”
She looked away.
“Fine.”
“Yes.”
Grant moved backward again.
“You knew there was a chance.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“The blood test came back positive.”
“When?”
She gave him the date.
Grant did the arithmetic.
His expression changed.
“You knew before we slept together.”
Sienna covered her face.
“Yes.”
He turned away.
For several seconds, he could not speak.
Then he laughed.
A strange, empty sound.
“She gave me what you couldn’t.”
Sienna looked up.
“What?”
“That’s what I told Eleanor.”
His voice cracked.
“I sat across from my wife and told her you gave me what she couldn’t.”
Sienna said nothing.
“I paid her eighteen million dollars.”
“That was your decision.”
He turned.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew when I told you I was ending my marriage.”
“Yes.”
“You knew when I said I finally had heirs.”
“Yes.”
“You knew when I put my name on their birth certificates.”
Sienna began crying harder.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing everything.”
“You mean losing me.”
“No.”
That stopped him.
Sienna looked at the baby in her arms.
“I mean losing them.”
Grant stared.
“Owen would have wanted control.”
“He is their biological father.”
“You don’t know him.”
“You were going to marry him.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“He wanted a small life.”
Grant almost smiled from disbelief.
“A small life.”
“He wanted Vermont.”
“He wanted me to quit traveling.”
“He wanted us to buy some old house and grow vegetables.”
Her voice sharpened.
“I had spent my entire life trying not to disappear.”
“So you found me.”
Sienna looked at him.
“Yes.”
Honesty finally arrived.
Too late.
Grant sat down.
“Did you target me?”
Sienna did not answer.
He looked up.
“Did you know who I was before we met?”
“Yes.”
“Did you research me?”
Her silence answered.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“My marriage?”
“Yes.”
“My fertility problems?”
Sienna froze.
Grant stood.
“How did you know about that?”
She immediately looked away.
His entire body changed.
“Sienna.”
“I read interviews.”
“No.”
“Grant.”
“I never discussed fertility details publicly.”
“You talked about wanting children.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She held Ava tighter.
“How did you know Eleanor and I were struggling medically?”
Sienna said nothing.
Grant approached.
“Did my father tell you?”
Her face gave her away.
He stopped.
The room became deathly quiet.
“My father knew you.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He met Owen.”
“I know that.”
“What else?”
“He investigated me.”
“And?”
“He confronted me.”
“With what?”
“My debts.”
“Your intentions.”
“Your relationship with Owen.”
Sienna swallowed.
Grant’s voice dropped.
“What did you know about him?”
“Charles?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the door.
“Nothing that matters now.”
He laughed softly.
“That sentence has become very popular in my family.”
“Grant, I need to take care of Ava.”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
He stared at her.
Then down at the baby.
That was when everything inside him changed again.
Whatever Sienna had done, Ava was not responsible.
Nathan was not responsible.
Grant understood this.
He hated that he understood it.
Because love did not vanish as efficiently as pride.
He walked toward the bassinet.
Nathan slept with his mouth slightly open.
Grant touched the blanket.
The baby moved.
His tiny fingers closed around Grant’s index finger.
Grant almost broke.
He pulled his hand away.
Then left the room.
Margaret was waiting downstairs.
She took one look at him.
“She admitted it.”
Grant poured scotch.
At ten in the morning.
Margaret did not comment.
“Who is Owen Mercer?”
“Her former fiancé.”
“I know that now.”
Grant drank.
“My father investigated her.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Some of it.”
“How much?”
“Not enough.”
He turned.
“She knew about my fertility problems.”
Margaret went still.
Grant saw it.
“There.”
He pointed at her.
“That face.”
“Grant.”
“What did my father tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Margaret looked toward Peter.
He quietly left the room.
When they were alone, she said, “Your father discovered Sienna had researched you before your relationship began.”
“You already told Eleanor.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed.
“You went to her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles’s letter instructed me to.”
“Of course it did.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Everyone in this family has a private archive except me.”
Margaret stared at him.
“You had a private medical report.”
Silence.
Grant’s face hardened.
“She told you.”
“Charles did.”
His eyes shifted.
For the first time, shame entered.
Margaret stepped closer.
“You knew your fertility was compromised.”
“It wasn’t definitive.”
“You knew enough.”
“Do not do this.”
“You let Eleanor believe.”
“Stop.”
“You let her blame herself.”
“I said stop.”
Margaret’s voice became cold.
“Why?”
He slammed the glass down.
“Because I could not fix it.”
The words exploded out of him.
Margaret stopped.
Grant’s chest rose and fell.
“I could fix everything else.”
“Companies.”
“Lawsuits.”
“Money.”
“Problems.”
“But not that.”
His voice dropped.
“And every time Eleanor looked at me after a miscarriage, I saw the possibility that it was me.”
“So you made sure she saw herself instead.”
Grant closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The admission seemed to age him.
Margaret did not comfort him.
“You lost a good woman because you were ashamed of being human.”
“Do not turn this into a sermon.”
“It is not a sermon.”
“It is an obituary.”
“For what?”
“The man you keep pretending you are.”
He looked at her.
They stood in silence.
Then the doorbell rang.
A staff member answered.
A moment later she entered the study carrying an envelope.
“Mr. Whitfield.”
“What?”
“This was delivered by courier.”
Grant took it.
The return address belonged to a law firm in Burlington, Vermont.
He opened it.
Read the first page.
His face changed.
Margaret knew before he spoke.
“Owen?”
Grant handed her the document.
A formal demand for preservation of records and notice of intended paternity proceedings.
Owen Mercer knew.
Grant looked toward the ceiling again.
Upstairs, Nathan began to cry.
Then Ava.
Grant’s eyes filled with something Margaret had not seen since he was a boy.
Fear.
“He’s coming for them.”
Margaret folded the document.
“He is coming to learn the truth.”
Grant looked at her.
“They call me Daddy.”
The words nearly broke her.
“I know.”
“What am I supposed to be now?”
Margaret had no answer.
His phone rang.
Eleanor.
For one wild second, Grant hoped she had called because she somehow knew.
Because she still cared.
Because maybe there was one person on earth who understood what it felt like to lose children who were still alive.
He answered.
“Eleanor.”
But it was Lydia Chen’s voice.
“Grant.”
His hope died.
“What?”
“I’m calling on Eleanor’s behalf.”
“Why?”
“Because before this becomes uglier, there is something you need to understand about the eighteen million dollars.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“What about it?”
“You are not getting it back.”
He stared at the legal notice in Margaret’s hand.
“I never asked for it.”
“Not yet.”
Lydia’s voice was cool.
“But your attorney did.”
Grant slowly closed his eyes.
Peter.
The family office.
Someone had already moved.
Then Lydia added the sentence that pushed the day from disaster into war.
“And if you attempt to invalidate the settlement by claiming Eleanor knew the twins weren’t yours, we will introduce the fertility report you concealed from her for eight years.”
Grant stopped breathing.
Because losing Sienna was one thing.
Losing the twins was another.
But if Eleanor forced that report into the open, Grant would have to face the truth he had avoided longer than any paternity test.
May you like
The first person who had lied about children in his marriage had not been Sienna.
It had been him.
