Chapter 3: The Doctor's Name
The man in the dark suit kept his voice low, but Gabriel's reaction was impossible to miss.
Every muscle in his body went rigid.
He turned to me slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was so controlled it frightened me more than shouting would have.
"Did you use Dr.
Raymond Holt for your prenatal care?"
I stared at him.
"How do you know that name?"
"Answer me, Claire."
"Yes.
He was recommended by the clinic.
Why?"
Gabriel looked at the man in the suit again.
Something passed between them — a confirmation, a decision — and then Gabriel turned back to Serena.
"Did you arrange that referral?"
Serena's chin lifted.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Raymond Holt has been on my payroll for eleven years." Gabriel's voice dropped even further.
"He reports to me.
He has always reported to me.
And three months after my divorce was finalized, he filed a report that my ex-wife had delivered a single child — a girl — who did not survive."
The room tilted.
I grabbed the back of a nearby chair.
"That's not — there was no report like that.
I have three healthy sons standing right here—"
"I know." Gabriel looked at me.
"I know that now."
My youngest pressed himself against my hip.
I put my hand on his shoulder without thinking.
"Someone paid Holt to file a false report," Gabriel said.
"To make sure I never looked for you.
Never looked for a child."
He turned back to Serena.
She was already shaking her head.
"You can't prove—"
"I haven't asked you anything yet."
The silence that followed was the loudest thing I had ever heard.
A woman nearby pretended to study the centerpiece on the table beside her.
Two men in tuxedos had stopped their conversation entirely.
The gala continued around us — waiters circling with champagne, a string quartet playing something delicate near the windows — but this small circle had gone absolutely still.
My middle son tugged my sleeve.
"Mom, can we sit down?"
"In a minute, sweetheart."
Gabriel looked at the boys for a long moment.
Something moved across his face that I couldn't name.
Then he crouched down to their level — not kneeling this time, just lowering himself so he wasn't towering over them.
"What are your names?"
My oldest answered first.
"Eli."
"Noah," said the middle one.
My youngest buried his face against my hip and said nothing.
"That's Luca," Eli offered helpfully.
"He's shy."
Gabriel looked at Luca for a moment.
Then he said, very quietly, "That's all right."
He stood back up.
His expression had changed again — harder now, set.
"I need to make a call," he said to the man in the suit.
"Get Marcus.
Get the Holt file.
And find out who authorized the payment."
The man nodded and moved away without a word.
Gabriel looked at me.
"Will you stay?
I'm not asking you to forgive anything tonight.
I'm asking you to stay in this building for thirty minutes while I make two calls."
I looked at my sons.
Eli was watching Gabriel with open curiosity.
Noah was leaning against me.
Luca still hadn't looked up.
"Thirty minutes," I said.
Serena stepped forward.
"Gabriel, you're making a mistake.
You don't know what she—"
"Serena." He didn't look at her.
"Stop talking."
May you like
She stopped.
But her hand moved to her evening bag, and her fingers closed around it, and I noticed that she did not let go.
