Chapter 6 - THE TEST
I wanted to fly back to Chicago immediately.
Evelyn stopped me with one sentence.
“Before you go chasing enemies, find out whether you're actually their father.”
She was right.
For once in my life, power had to wait.
Nathaniel arranged a private DNA collection through the hospital where he worked.
No drama.
No lawyers.
Just a cheek swab from me and two from children who thought we were playing a strange game with cotton sticks.
Grace laughed.
Noah didn't.
He studied me with dark, serious eyes.
Then held up a toy car.
“Race?”
I nearly forgot how to speak.
“Sure.”
We pushed cars across the rug for ten minutes.
Ten minutes.
It felt cruel that something so ordinary could mean so much.
When Noah's car hit the sofa, he looked at me and smiled.
I saw myself.
Not the feared man.
Not the boss.
The boy I had been before my father taught me that tenderness made men weak.
Evelyn watched from the doorway.
Later, while the twins napped, she brought me coffee.
“You were good with him.”
“I don't know what I'm doing.”
“Most parents don't.”
Parents.
The word hung between us.
“I should've been there.”
“Yes.”
No comfort.
No pretending.
That was Evelyn.
“I can't give those years back.”
“No.”
“But if they're mine—”
She interrupted gently.
“They aren't property, Adrian.”
I flinched.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked toward the stairs.
“I want the chance to learn.”
For the first time since I arrived, her expression softened.
Then Nathaniel's assistant called.
The expedited result was ready.
Evelyn and I sat across from each other while Nathaniel opened the secure report.
Probability of paternity: 99.9998%.
Nobody spoke.
I read it again.
Grace and Noah Moretti-Carter were my children.
My daughter.
My son.
I covered my mouth with one hand.
Evelyn looked away, eyes shining.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
She nodded, but tears slipped down her face.
Then Nathaniel's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“What?”
He turned toward me.
“There was an attempted break-in at the children's daycare records office.”
I stood.
“Who?”
“They caught someone on camera.”
He opened the image.
A woman in a baseball cap stood near the records cabinet.
Marcus enlarged it.
Evelyn gasped.
I knew her too.
Her name was Helen Price.
For twenty-seven years, Helen had been my mother's personal assistant.
But that wasn't the real shock.
When police searched the bag Helen abandoned behind the building, they found copies of Grace and Noah's birth certificates.
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Along with two unsigned legal guardianship petitions.
The proposed guardian on both documents was Victoria Moretti.
