Chapter 5 - THE PATERNITY ACCUSATION
Victoria chose humiliation as her next weapon.
By noon, a gossip site published a story claiming my marriage was collapsing because Grant had discovered the twins might not be his.
There were no named sources.
There did not need to be.
I recognized Victoria’s language instantly.
She had used the same words while I stood in the foyer holding my sons.
No Ashford man would produce children that looked like those.
They were ten days old.
Yet she had already turned two newborn babies into ammunition.
Grant called me.
“I didn’t authorize that story.”
“You allowed the accusation in your home.”
“I was angry.”
“You questioned whether your sons were yours.”
“My mother kept saying—”
I interrupted him.
“Your mother did not marry me.”
Silence.
“You did.”
I ended the call.
Then I called Rachel.
“Arrange the test.”
She understood immediately.
I did not need a paternity test for myself.
I knew who their father was.
But I wanted to eliminate the lie permanently.
Forty-eight hours later, samples were collected under independent legal supervision.
Grant agreed.
Victoria objected.
That alone was interesting.
“Why does she care?”
Rachel asked.
“She doesn’t care about the answer.”
I looked toward the nursery in the temporary penthouse where the twins and I were staying.
“She cares about having the question.”
A question could poison a marriage.
A question could damage custody proceedings.
A question could make strangers doubt a woman they had never met.
But an answer ended the game.
The results came back at 99.99 percent.
Grant was the biological father.
Rachel sent the report to his attorney.
I sent nothing to the press.
Grant arrived at my building that evening.
Marcus called from downstairs.
“He wants to see the boys.”
“No.”
There was a long pause.
“Ms. Vale, he says he only wants five minutes.”
“He had five minutes in the foyer.”
Marcus understood.
Grant remained downstairs for nearly an hour.
Before leaving, he gave Marcus an envelope.
Inside was a handwritten note.
Evelyn, I was wrong.
I read those four words twice.
Then I turned the page.
There was more.
My mother lied to me about the loan.
She lied about your signature.
I think she is terrified of Malcolm.
I stopped reading.
Not working with Malcolm.
Terrified of him.
That changed the shape of the problem.
Then my secure phone rang.
Rachel’s voice was urgent.
“We found Malcolm.”
“Where?”
“At JFK.”
“Leaving?”
“Trying to.”
“Where was he going?”
“Switzerland.”
I looked at Grant’s note again.
Rachel continued.
“And he had something in his luggage.”
“What?”
“Copies of your private trust records.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
Those files had never been stored at Ashford Strategic.
May you like
Which meant Malcolm had not stolen them from Grant.
He had gotten them from somewhere much closer to me.
