Chapter 3 - The DNA Result
Ryan wanted to fly to Florida that afternoon.
I refused.
“You’re not confronting anyone until we know what we’re dealing with.”
He paced across my office.
I had made the mistake of allowing him inside Parker Environmental Systems, the company I had built after leaving New York.
He had spent the first ten minutes staring at the laboratory through the glass wall.
That had been satisfying.
Ryan had expected me to disappear after the divorce.
Instead, I had built something without him.
Something valuable.
Something mine.
“I know exactly what I’m dealing with,” he said.
“You know two people from our past are connected.”
“My assistant intercepted your letters.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She signed for one.”
“That proves she received it.”
“And then went to work for Richard.”
“Yes.”
“And now she lives with the doctor whose messages were used to destroy our marriage.”
“Yes.”
Ryan stopped pacing.
“So explain what part of that sounds innocent.”
“None.”
“Thank you.”
“But angry billionaires charging into houses rarely improve investigations.”
His mouth tightened.
“I’m not going to hurt anyone.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied you have the emotional control of a gasoline fire when you think someone betrayed you.”
He stared at me.
“That was deserved.”
“Very.”
The office door opened.
My assistant, Maya Bennett, stepped inside.
She looked at Ryan.
Then at me.
Then back at Ryan.
Maya had known me for four years.
She was one of the few people who knew the complete story.
Her expression said she had several opinions and was temporarily choosing professionalism.
“The physician is ready.”
Ryan looked confused.
“What physician?”
I picked up my purse.
“The DNA test.”
He stared at me.
“You arranged one?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“You thought I’d ask?”
“I knew you would.”
His face shifted.
“I wasn’t going to accuse you.”
“You were going to need certainty.”
“They look exactly like me.”
“That isn’t legally useful.”
Ryan studied me.
“Legally?”
“Yes.”
Something sharpened in his eyes.
“There’s one thing we need to establish now.”
“I’m listening.”
“You do not file for custody.”
He became very still.
“I haven’t.”
“You will think about it.”
“I want to know my sons.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“I know.”
“They have a stable home.”
“I’m not trying to take them from you.”
“They have school here.”
“Emily.”
“They have doctors here.”
“I said I’m not trying to take them.”
“They have routines.”
His voice rose.
“I heard you.”
I stopped.
Ryan lowered his tone.
“I deserve that suspicion.”
“Yes.”
“But I’m not going to rip them away from you.”
“How can I trust that?”
“You can’t.”
The answer caught me off guard.
He stepped closer.
“Not yet.”
There was no arrogance in his face.
“I spent five years believing something about you without giving you the chance to prove me wrong.”
He swallowed.
“I’m not asking you to make the same mistake with me.”
That sentence followed me all the way to the clinic.
The test itself was simple.
A private physician collected cheek swabs from Ryan and the boys.
Lucas thought it was hilarious.
Noah demanded two stickers.
Ethan watched Ryan closely.
Ryan had never been nervous in front of investors.
He had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions without blinking.
But when Ethan walked over and stood in front of him, Ryan looked almost terrified.
“You’re Ryan,” Ethan said.
“Yes.”
“Our mom says you’re our dad.”
Ryan glanced at me.
I said nothing.
He crouched.
“I think I am.”
“You don’t know?”
“We’re doing this test to make sure.”
Ethan considered that.
“I look like you.”
Ryan smiled faintly.
“You do.”
“So does Noah.”
“Yes.”
“Lucas has Mom’s nose.”
Lucas shouted from across the room.
“I heard that.”
For the first time all day, Ryan laughed.
It was brief.
Uncontrolled.
Real.
I hadn’t heard that laugh in years.
Something tightened inside my chest.
I hated it.
Memories were dangerous when they arrived wearing familiar sounds.
The physician promised results by evening.
Ryan wanted to remain with us.
I allowed lunch.
Nothing more.
We ate at a quiet Italian restaurant near Lincoln Park.
Ryan sat across from the boys.
For almost twenty minutes, he barely touched his food.
He listened.
Lucas explained dinosaurs.
Noah explained why firefighters needed helicopters.
Ethan explained that he planned to become an engineer, a pilot, and possibly a magician.
Ryan absorbed every word.
At one point, Noah dropped his fork.
Ryan immediately bent to pick it up.
Their heads nearly collided.
Noah giggled.
Ryan froze for half a second.
I knew why.
Noah’s laugh sounded like Ryan’s father.
Thomas Harrison had died two years after our divorce.
Despite everything that happened, I had loved Thomas.
He was quieter than the rest of the Harrison family.
He had never cared about society pages.
He preferred old cars and terrible jazz records.
He had treated me like a daughter.
I had mailed him a letter too.
It had also gone unanswered.
Ryan straightened.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded.
“My dad would have loved them.”
The words were almost too soft to hear.
“Yes.”
“Did you ever tell him?”
“I tried.”
Ryan looked at me sharply.
“What?”
“I sent him a letter.”
“When?”
“Three months after they were born.”
Ryan set down his glass.
“He never mentioned it.”
“He never responded.”
“Dad would have responded.”
“I thought so too.”
“Where did you send it?”
“To his house in Greenwich.”
Ryan’s face tightened.
“My mother was still living there.”
“I know.”
We looked at each other.
Another unanswered letter.
Another Harrison address.
Another possibility I did not want to consider.
Ryan took out his phone.
“Don’t.”
“I’m calling her.”
“Not in front of the boys.”
His thumb stopped.
He put the phone away.
“You’re right.”
After lunch, Ryan walked us to the car.
Lucas surprised everyone by hugging him.
Ryan didn’t move at first.
Then slowly, almost carefully, he placed both arms around the little boy.
Lucas pulled away.
“You smell expensive.”
I covered my mouth.
Noah laughed.
Ryan stared at me.
“You taught him that?”
“I swear I did not.”
For a few seconds, it was almost normal.
That was the frightening part.
Because normal had once been the thing Ryan and I wanted most.
Then my phone rang.
The clinic.
I answered.
Ryan watched me.
“Yes.”
I listened.
My eyes moved toward him.
“Thank you.”
I hung up.
“Well?” he asked.
I looked at my sons.
Then back at Ryan.
“The probability of paternity is greater than 99.99 percent.”
Ryan’s entire body seemed to go still.
Lucas clapped.
“I knew it.”
Nobody had explained percentages to Lucas.
I almost laughed.
Ryan didn’t.
He stared at the boys.
His sons.
Not potentially.
Not probably.
His.
I watched reality settle onto his shoulders.
Four birthdays missed.
Four Christmas mornings.
First steps.
First words.
Hospital visits.
Preschool photographs.
Hundreds of bedtime stories.
Everything he could never get back.
His eyes filled.
He looked away immediately.
That old pride.
Still there.
But weaker now.
“Ryan.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t get to fall apart.”
The words surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because you already did the hard part.”
He looked at me.
“You raised them.”
His voice broke slightly.
“You raised three sons while I was living six hundred miles away thinking I was the injured one.”
I felt my anger soften.
Only slightly.
“I made mistakes too.”
“You didn’t invent those messages.”
“No.”
“You didn’t intercept the letters.”
“No.”
“You didn’t forge that patent transfer.”
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“Someone did.”
The boys climbed into the Bentley.
Ryan waited until the door closed.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“I’m calling my mother.”
This time I didn’t stop him.
He pressed the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then Victoria Harrison answered.
Ryan didn’t bother with greetings.
“Mom, did Emily ever send Dad a letter after our divorce?”
Silence.
I could hear Victoria’s voice faintly through the speaker.
“What are you talking about?”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed.
“A letter.”
Another pause.
“From Emily.”
Longer silence.
Ryan looked at me.
“Mom.”
Victoria finally answered.
Ryan’s face changed.
“What do you mean, you don’t remember?”
He listened.
Then his expression went cold.
“No.”
Another pause.
“No, you’re going to answer me.”
His jaw clenched.
“Did you know Emily was pregnant?”
I stopped breathing.
Victoria said something.
Ryan went pale.
“What?”
He pulled the phone away and stared at the screen.
“She hung up.”
My stomach tightened.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Ryan looked at me.
“She said one sentence before she did.”
“What?”
His voice dropped.
“She said, ‘Richard told me the children were better off without you.’”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A text.
You should stop asking questions about five years ago.
A second message appeared.
You have three children to protect now.
I showed Ryan.
The grief disappeared from his face.
Something far colder replaced it.
For the first time since O’Hare, I saw the billionaire the rest of the world feared.
Ryan read the threat twice.
Then looked toward the Bentley carrying our sons.
May you like
And said only four words.
“Now they made it personal.”
