Chapter 6 - The Paternity Test
I did not want to believe him.
That was exactly why I ordered the test.
Noah was six months old.
I had been there when he was born.
I had cut the cord.
I had slept in a chair beside Isabella’s hospital bed for three nights.
When Noah smiled for the first time, I was holding him.
Biology should not have changed what I felt.
But Julian had not thrown those words into the boardroom by accident.
He wanted to hurt me.
Or distract me.
Or expose something.
Rebecca arranged a legally documented paternity test.
The results would take time.
While we waited, Detective Ruiz searched Isabella’s financial records.
She found payments.
Large ones.
Every month for almost two years.
From Bellweather Capital to a consulting company called IHC Strategies.
The initials stood for Isabella Hart Cole.
I had never heard of the company.
The first payment arrived four months before Isabella met me.
Rebecca traced the funds.
“Julian was paying her before you started dating.”
I stared at the statement.
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand a month.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Total?”
“Just under five hundred thousand.”
So the woman I thought I met accidentally at a hospital fundraiser had already been receiving money from my CFO.
The relationship began before our relationship.
Which meant my marriage had been arranged.
Marcus recovered Isabella’s deleted calendar backups.
The entries were coded.
N.H. Charity Gala.
N.H. Follow-up.
N.H. Preferred restaurants.
N.H. Travel schedule.
I was N.H.
A target.
She had studied me.
My schedule.
My favorite restaurants.
My grief after my first wife died.
Maya’s school.
Even the books I read.
Our first date had felt effortless because she had designed it to feel that way.
That evening, Maya asked where Isabella was.
“With her lawyer.”
“Is she coming back?”
“No.”
Maya studied my face.
“Ever?”
I took her hand.
“Not while I can stop it.”
She nodded.
Then she surprised me.
“What about Noah?”
“What about him?”
“If Isabella is bad, is Noah bad too?”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
“Even if he’s hers?”
“He’s a baby.”
She thought about that.
Then she leaned against me.
“He can stay with us.”
I kissed the top of her head.
“Thank you.”
Three days later, the paternity results arrived.
Rebecca sat across from me.
“You don’t have to open this now.”
“Yes, I do.”
I opened the envelope.
Probability of paternity.
0.00 percent.
I read the number once.
Then again.
Noah was not biologically mine.
For several seconds, I felt nothing.
Then I heard him crying from the nursery down the hall.
My body reacted before my mind.
I stood automatically.
Rebecca watched me.
“You’re going to him?”
“He’s crying.”
“Nathan.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“If Isabella contests custody, biology will matter.”
I looked toward the nursery.
“Not to him.”
Noah cried again.
I walked down the hall.
When I picked him up, he grabbed my shirt.
That was when my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
One photograph.
Isabella holding newborn Noah.
Beside her stood Julian.
His hand was resting on the baby’s chest.
Under the photo were six words.
May you like
A father should know his son.
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