Chapter 3 - The Boy With My Husband's Eyes
The boy in the photograph looked so much like Alexander that my first thought was almost unbearable.
My husband had a son.
A son he had hidden from me.
I sat at the kitchen island until dawn, studying the image.
The boy appeared sixteen or seventeen. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the same sharply defined jaw as Alexander.
Even his posture was familiar.
He stood with one hand in his pocket, shoulders squared, watching the camera with an expression that suggested he had already learned not to trust people.
Daniel arrived at seven.
I pushed the photograph toward him.
“Find him.”
He examined it.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone sent it anonymously.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“Only that Alexander was paying Olivia to keep something buried.”
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
“Claire, don't assume the boy is his.”
“Look at him.”
“Resemblance isn't proof.”
“Then find proof.”
By noon, we had a name.
Ethan Hayes.
Seventeen years old.
Enrolled at a private school outside Chicago.
His legal guardian was Olivia Hayes.
But Olivia was only twenty-eight.
She would have been eleven when Ethan was born.
That ruled out one explanation.
And raised a dozen others.
Daniel leaned against his desk.
“According to public records, Ethan is Olivia's younger brother.”
“Who are his parents?”
“His mother died when he was six. His father's identity isn't listed on the accessible records.”
“Could Alexander be his father?”
“It's possible. But we have no evidence.”
I stared out at the city.
“Then why is my husband paying for his education?”
Daniel looked surprised.
“How do you know that?”
“Because Alexander once mentioned sponsoring a student through the Moretti Foundation. I remember the school.”
Daniel sat down.
“Claire, there's something else.”
He opened a financial report.
“Over the last eighteen months, twelve million dollars moved from accounts connected to your family's investment trust into a company called Halcyon Medical Research.”
My pulse quickened.
“What does that have to do with Ethan?”
“We don't know yet. But the company's registered mailing address matches a property owned by a trust associated with Olivia.”
“Twelve million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Without my permission?”
“That's what we need to establish.”
I felt suddenly cold.
For five years, I had trusted Alexander with more than my heart.
I had trusted him with my family's legacy.
That afternoon, I received another message.
If you want the truth, come to St. Catherine's Hospital at four. Ask for Dr. Evelyn Ross.
I showed Daniel.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because anonymous messages aren't invitations you should follow blindly.”
“Then come with me.”
He hesitated.
I raised an eyebrow.
“I'm not asking permission.”
At 3:55, Daniel and I entered St. Catherine's through a private entrance.
Dr. Evelyn Ross was waiting in a small consultation room.
She was in her late fifties, with silver-streaked hair and exhausted eyes.
When she saw me, she stood.
“Mrs. Moretti.”
“You contacted me?”
She nodded.
“I'm sorry for the secrecy.”
“Who is Ethan Hayes?”
Her expression changed.
“Did someone send you his photograph?”
“Yes.”
She sat slowly.
“Then this is worse than I thought.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Doctor, before you disclose anything, we need to establish what you're legally permitted to discuss.”
Dr. Ross nodded.
“I can't disclose Ethan's medical records without authorization. But I can tell Mrs. Moretti why I contacted her.”
She looked directly at me.
“Three weeks ago, someone attempted to obtain information about your pregnancy through this hospital's records system.”
My hand moved instinctively to my stomach.
“What information?”
“Your blood type, prenatal testing history, and certain genetic screening results.”
“Who?”
“The access attempt came through credentials connected to a medical consulting firm.”
“Halcyon Medical Research?” Daniel asked.
Dr. Ross went pale.
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Why would anyone want my baby's medical records?”
Dr. Ross folded her hands.
“I believe someone is trying to determine whether your child could be a compatible donor for a patient.”
My mouth went dry.
“Which patient?”
She hesitated.
Then said quietly, “I believe the patient is Ethan Hayes.”
I stared at her.
“Are you telling me someone wants to use my unborn child?”
“I'm telling you that someone attempted to obtain confidential medical information without your consent. Compatibility cannot be established from assumptions, and no legitimate transplant process can bypass consent.”
Daniel's voice hardened.
“Have you reported the breach?”
“Yes. To hospital compliance and the appropriate authorities.”
I struggled to breathe.
“Does Alexander know?”
Dr. Ross looked away.
“I don't know.”
At that moment, the consultation-room door opened.
Alexander stood in the doorway.
His eyes moved from Daniel to Dr. Ross.
Then to me.
“Claire,” he said, his face draining of color. “You weren't supposed to find out this way.”
I stood.
“Then tell me.”
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“Is Ethan Hayes your son?”
Alexander closed his eyes.
And whispered, “No.”
May you like
Then he looked at Dr. Ross.
“He's my brother.”
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