TEN YEARS AFTER HE THREW HER AWAY, THE BILLIONAIRE DISCOVERED HE HAD TWO CHILDREN

Ethan did not sleep that night.

He spent the first three hours in his office, calling former attorneys, retired executives, and anyone who might have been involved in the divorce. Every answer led to another locked door.

At six in the morning, he found himself outside the hotel suite where Claire and the twins were staying.

He had brought breakfast.

It was an embarrassingly small gesture for a man who had just discovered he had missed ten birthdays, countless school mornings, and every ordinary moment that made a childhood.

Claire opened the door but didn't invite him inside.

"You shouldn't be here without calling."

"I know."

"Then why are you here?"

He held up the paper bags.

"I didn't know what they liked."

Claire looked at the bags.

"Pancakes for Sophie. Plain eggs for Noah. Coffee for you."

He blinked.

"You remembered?"

"Some things survive divorce."

She stepped aside.

The twins were already awake. Sophie was braiding a ribbon into her hair while Noah sat at the desk reviewing an online article about Sullivan Group.

"You're trending," Noah informed Ethan.

"I noticed."

"Your stock fell four percent in premarket trading."

Claire looked at him.

"Noah."

"What? I'm monitoring the situation."

Ethan pulled out a chair.

"Can I sit with you?"

Noah shrugged.

"It's a free country."

Ethan sat.

For the next twenty minutes, he answered questions.

What did he do at work? Why was his company worth so much? Did he have a favorite color? Had he ever been afraid?

That last question stopped him.

"Yes," he said. "More times than I can count."

"Of what?" Sophie asked.

"Failing. Losing people. Discovering that something I believed was true wasn't true at all."

Sophie looked at Claire.

"That sounds lonely."

"It can be."

She thought about that.

"Maybe you should get a dog."

Noah nodded. "A dog would be less complicated than this family."

Ethan laughed before he could stop himself.

The sound startled all three of them.

For one brief moment, they looked like a family having breakfast on a Saturday morning.

Then Claire's phone rang.

It was Lucas.

"Someone accessed the hospital's archived records overnight," he said. "The request came through a shell company linked to the foundation."

"Margaret?"

"Possibly. But there's something else. I found the original birth registration for the twins. Their records were never altered in the way the message suggested."

Claire exhaled.

"Then why send it?"

"To make us believe they were."

Ethan took the phone.

"Lucas, identify the sender."

"I'm trying. The number was routed through several services. Whoever did it knows how to avoid being traced."

"Could it be someone trying to help?"

"Could be. Could also be someone trying to pull you into a trap."

Ethan ended the call.

Claire watched him.

"You're still going to the station."

"I need to know what happened."

"And if this person is dangerous?"

"Then I'll bring security."

"The message said alone."

"I'm not walking into an unknown situation without precautions."

"That's new," Claire said bitterly.

He accepted the criticism.

"I deserved that."

At eleven that night, Ethan arrived at Old Union Station.

He had parked two blocks away and left his security team nearby, instructed not to approach unless he called. The station's abandoned east wing was dark except for a single maintenance light.

A woman stood beside a row of locked offices.

She was in her late fifties, with silver hair, a worn coat, and a scar that disappeared beneath her left ear.

"Ethan Sullivan?"

"Who are you?"

"My name is Rebecca Shaw. I was the records supervisor at St. Catherine's Hospital ten years ago."

His pulse quickened.

"Did you alter my children's records?"

"No. But I watched someone try."

She handed him an envelope.

Inside were photocopies of a hospital incident report and a list of payments made to a private medical records contractor.

One payment had been authorized by Margaret Sullivan's foundation.

Another came from a company owned by Sullivan Group.

Ethan stared at the second entry.

"Why would my company pay for this?"

"Because your company paid for nearly everything connected to that divorce," Rebecca said. "The apartment your wife was moved into. The legal fees. The medical bills. The money she was told came from your mother."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It will when you see the ledger."

She produced a small flash drive.

"Your mother didn't want the children harmed. She wanted them hidden. She believed Claire would eventually disappear from your life, and that you would marry someone she considered suitable."

"Then why did she let Claire believe I wanted nothing to do with her?"

Rebecca's expression softened.

"Because that was the only way she knew to control you."

Ethan felt anger rise through him.

"Where is the original agreement?"

"With someone who was paid to keep it safe."

"Who?"

Before Rebecca could answer, headlights swept across the station windows.

She grabbed Ethan's sleeve.

"Listen to me. There are people who believe that agreement is worth far more than your mother's reputation. It contains information about a business transaction that happened before your divorce."

"What transaction?"

"The one that made Sullivan Group what it is today."

A car door slammed outside.

Rebecca went pale.

"You need to leave."

"Not until you tell me—"

"Your father didn't die in an accident, Ethan."

The words hit him like a physical blow.

His father, Robert Sullivan, had died in a single-car crash when Ethan was twenty-four. The police had called it a tragic accident. Margaret had insisted that discussing it would only prolong the family's grief.

Rebecca pushed the flash drive into his hand.

"Your father discovered something about the company. He planned to tell you."

Footsteps approached.

Rebecca stepped backward into the shadows.

"Don't trust your mother. And don't trust the man who replaced your father as chairman."

"Who?"

But Rebecca had already disappeared through a side door.

Ethan ran toward the exit.

A black SUV accelerated away from the curb.

He barely had time to read the license plate before it vanished into traffic.

When he returned to his car, his phone rang.

It was Claire.