Chapter 4 - “ARE YOU OUR DAD?”
I had argued billion-dollar contracts without losing my composure.
I had once addressed a federal judge after discovering, thirty seconds before speaking, that our star witness had changed his testimony.
Nothing in my professional life had prepared me for four five-year-olds walking across a sidewalk toward my car.
Elena caught up with them quickly.
“Kids, wait.”
They stopped.
I climbed out.
For a second, none of us spoke.
Owen studied me suspiciously.
Lucas stared openly.
Grace held Elena’s hand.
Sophie looked from my face to something behind me.
My reflection in the car window.
She was comparing us.
I could see it happening.
Then Lucas touched his cheek.
His dimple.
My dimple.
“Are you Alex?” he asked.
My throat closed.
“Yes.”
Owen frowned.
“Mom calls you Alexander when she’s mad.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Despite everything, a laugh nearly escaped me.
“That sounds like your mother.”
Elena gave me a look.
I deserved it.
Sophie tilted her head.
“Are you our dad?”
There it was.
Five words.
No courtroom language.
No strategic preparation.
No safe answer.
I crouched so I wouldn’t tower over them.
“I’m your biological father.”
Lucas looked confused.
“That means dad.”
“Elena—”
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
I looked at the children.
“Yes.”
Grace moved closer to Elena.
Owen asked the question I feared most.
“Where were you?”
The world narrowed.
I could have softened it.
Blamed distance.
Blamed confusion.
Blamed Beatrice.
I didn’t.
“I made a very bad decision before I knew your mom was going to have you.”
“What decision?” Owen asked.
“I left.”
Lucas frowned.
“Why?”
Elena stepped forward.
“Guys, we don’t have to discuss everything right now.”
But I shook my head.
“They deserve something.”
I returned my attention to Owen.
“I was scared about things adults sometimes get scared about. And instead of talking to your mom, I left.”
“Did you know us?”
“No.”
“Did you know about us?”
“No.”
Sophie’s eyes narrowed.
“Mom tried to tell you.”
My heart broke a little more.
“Yes,” I said. “She did.”
“Then why didn’t you know?”
Elena inhaled.
Too complicated.
Too ugly.
Not for the sidewalk.
“Because somebody stopped her message from reaching me.”
All four children absorbed that with the solemn intensity only young children could manage.
Then Lucas asked:
“Was it a bad guy?”
I almost laughed.
“No guns or masks.”
“So like a sneaky bad guy?”
“That’s enough,” Elena said gently.
Lucas nodded.
Apparently this classification satisfied him.
Grace still hadn’t spoken.
She had Elena’s mouth.
I noticed that immediately.
Softly, she asked:
“Do you have other kids?”
“No.”
“Just us?”
“Just you.”
“Four is a lot.”
That time I did laugh.
“So I’m discovering.”
Grace smiled.
And there it was.
Mine.
God help me.
Mine.
Elena checked her watch.
“We need to go.”
Panic rose instantly.
“Can I see them again?”
She hesitated.
Four little faces looked toward her.
Lucas spoke first.
“I want pizza.”
Owen rolled his eyes.
“You always want pizza.”
“I mean with him.”
Silence.
I looked at Elena.
“Pizza,” I said. “Public place. One hour. You stay. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
She studied me.
Then looked at the children.
“Saturday.”
Every muscle in my body loosened.
“Saturday.”
“Five o’clock.”
“I’ll be there at four fifty.”
“Don’t.”
I blinked.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t turn this into an Alex Vance production. No private room. No gifts. No driver. No photographer. No ridiculous restaurant.”
“I wasn’t planning a photographer.”
“You once hired a violin quartet for my birthday.”
“You liked it.”
“I was trying to eat pancakes.”
Lucas whispered to Sophie, “He sounds weird.”
Sophie whispered back, “Rich people are weird.”
I covered a smile.
Elena heard them too.
Her mouth twitched.
For one second, we were us again.
Then reality returned.
Elena gathered the children.
As they walked away, Grace turned and waved.
I waved back.
Lucas waved too.
Sophie gave me a smaller wave.
Owen looked at me for several seconds before lifting one hand.
Four different reactions.
Four different personalities.
Four lives I had missed.
My phone buzzed.
Daniel Mercer.
I had forgotten him entirely.
Twenty minutes later, I entered the coffee shop.
Daniel was easy to identify.
Early forties.
Dark hair beginning to gray.
Expensive coat but no tie.
He stood when I approached.
“You’re Alex.”
“You’re Daniel.”
We didn’t shake hands.
I sat.
“Tell me why you called.”
He looked at me carefully.
“I met Elena six years ago at Massachusetts General.”
My body tightened.
“During the pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My wife was receiving cancer treatment.”
That changed the air between us.
“I’m sorry.”
“She died eight months later.”
Daniel looked down at his coffee.
“Elena was in the hospital constantly. Quadruplet pregnancy. High risk. She was terrified.”
I imagined her alone under fluorescent hospital lights.
No husband.
No hand to hold.
My guilt turned physical.
Daniel continued.
“One night she was crying in the cafeteria. I asked if she needed help.”
“And you helped her.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
His gaze hardened.
“If you’re asking whether we had an affair—”
“I’m asking what your relationship was.”
“Friendship.”
“Only?”
“Yes.”
Something inside me relaxed.
I hated myself for it.
Daniel noticed.
“You don’t have the right to be jealous.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He leaned back.
“Good.”
“What about Little Nests?”
“My wife left me a foundation. Before she died, we had been talking about investing in early childhood programs.”
“And Elena?”
“She had an idea.”
“For daycare?”
“For childcare centers designed around parents who work irregular hours. Nurses. Firefighters. Restaurant workers. Single parents.”
“That became Little Nests.”
“Yes.”
“You funded it.”
“I invested.”
“How much?”
“That’s between Elena and me.”
My jaw tightened.
“Why call me?”
Daniel was silent.
Then he said:
“Because your mother approached me.”
I went cold.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“What did she want?”
“She wanted evidence Elena was an unfit parent.”
I clenched the edge of the table.
“Did you give her anything?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“She offered to buy my entire investment in Little Nests.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“To create financial leverage.”
Of course.
Beatrice didn’t simply want custody.
She wanted control.
Daniel slid a folder across the table.
“I had my attorneys document everything.”
Inside were copies of emails.
Offers.
Messages.
One line made my stomach turn.
Once Ms. Marlowe’s financial independence is reduced, Mr. Vance will have stronger negotiating power regarding the minors.
“My mother wrote this?”
“Her attorney did.”
“I never authorized it.”
“I believed that after watching television today.”
He pointed toward the screen above the counter.
A news segment was running.
My mother’s photograph appeared beside mine.
The caption beneath it:
VANCE FAMILY HEIR MYSTERY
My stomach dropped.
A reporter stood outside Little Nests.
Daniel reached for the remote and raised the volume.
“…sources close to the Vance family confirm businessman Alex Vance may be the biological father of childcare entrepreneur Elena Marlowe’s four children…”
“No.”
I stood.
“Who leaked it?”
Daniel’s expression told me he already had a suspect.
My phone exploded with calls.
Then Elena’s name appeared.
I answered instantly.
“Elena—”
“What did you do?”
Her voice was shaking.
“Nothing.”
“They’re outside my house.”
“I didn’t leak anything.”
“Reporters are outside the children’s school.”
My blood ran cold.
“I’m coming.”
“No. More cameras will follow you.”
“Elena—”
Then I heard a crash through the phone.
A child screamed.
“Elena?”
Another sound.
Glass.
Her voice changed.
“Kids, upstairs. Now.”
“What happened?”
“Someone threw something through the window.”
I was already moving.
May you like
“Elena!”
Then the line went dead.
