Chapter 9
“I know.”
“Rachel, you're a doctor. You know that better than anyone.”
“I do. That's why I didn't say anything.”
I waited.
She continued.
“But last month, one of my patients transferred from a fertility practice in Manhattan. I was reviewing some older conference materials and recognized Vanessa.”
I froze.
“Recognized her from what?”
“An event photograph. She was standing with a reproductive endocrinologist named Dr. Adrian Keller.”
I almost laughed.
“That's your evidence?”
“No.”
Rachel's voice became more careful.
“I recognized him because I saw him with Vanessa years ago.”
“Where?”
“Your engagement party.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
Rachel continued.
“He wasn't introduced as a doctor. He came with someone from Whitmore Capital.”
“Rachel.”
“I am not telling you those children aren't Julian's. I'm telling you there is something odd.”
“That is a huge accusation.”
“I know.”
“Based on photographs.”
“Yes.”
I put down the knife.
The children were still arguing behind me.
I watched them.
Noah had climbed onto the rug with Grace's train.
Grace slapped his hand.
Ethan came over and solemnly returned the train to her.
Lily applauded.
My entire world was happening three feet away.
“I don't care who Vanessa's children belong to.”
“I know.”
“I'm serious.”
“I know.”
“Then why send me this?”
Rachel was quiet.
“Because the wedding announcement also says Charles is reorganizing the Whitmore family trust before Julian marries her.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Money.
Inheritance.
Heirs.
The same machinery that had pushed me out two years earlier was now moving again.
Only this time, four children who shared Julian's DNA existed outside the equation.
I hated the thought that anyone could interpret my next decision as greed.
So I waited.
For three weeks.
Then I contacted a family attorney in New York.
Her name was Rebecca Sloan.
I gave her every document.
The divorce agreement.
Medical records confirming gestational age.
Birth certificates.
The certified DNA test.
Financial statements proving I had barely touched the settlement money.
Rebecca spent two hours reading before she removed her glasses.
“You're not asking for money.”
“No.”
“You're not asking to reopen the divorce.”
“No.”
“You're not requesting custody support.”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
I looked through her office window toward Lexington Avenue.
“My children's existence recognized.”
“Legally?”
“Eventually.”
“And immediately?”
I thought of Charles Whitmore saying three boys.
I thought of Margaret smiling.
I thought of Julian silently watching me sign.