Chapter 6: What Serena Had in the Bag
Diane Chen called at eleven forty-seven p.m.
I was in the hotel suite with the boys asleep in the second bedroom, the door open, a lamp on low.
Gabriel sat across from me at the small dining table with a cup of coffee he hadn't touched.
He put the call on speaker.
"The Ledger won't delay," Diane said.
Her voice was crisp, no apology in it.
"They say the photographs were taken in a public venue and the children's faces are partially obscured in the ones they plan to use.
They're technically covered."
"Can we get an injunction?"
"Not by six a.m.
Not without a judge willing to take a middle-of-the-night call, and the ones I'd trust on this aren't available." A pause.
"Gabriel, the story isn't as damaging as it could be.
Their angle is the reunion — the human interest.
They're not going after the children."
"What are they going after?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Serena gave them a statement."
Gabriel's hand went flat on the table.
"She told them," Diane continued, "that she had personally informed you of the pregnancy at the time of the divorce.
That you chose to proceed with the divorce regardless.
That Claire — Ms.
Navarre — left voluntarily and refused all contact."
The room was very quiet.
"She's flipping it," I said.
"Yes," Diane said.
"Her version makes Gabriel the one who walked away from his children.
It makes you the one who isolated them from their father.
And it makes her the loyal partner who tried to help."
I looked at Gabriel.
His expression hadn't changed.
But his coffee cup was in his hand now, and he was holding it too tightly.
"What do we do?" I asked.
"You have two options," Diane said.
"Stay silent and let her version become the first public record.
Or you give me something tonight that I can use to counter it before six a.m."
"The payment to Holt," Gabriel said.
"That's a start.
Do you have documentation?"
"Marcus pulled the transfer records an hour ago."
"Send them to me now.
I'll contact the Ledger's legal desk and make clear that their source has a documented financial interest in falsifying this story.
That may not stop publication, but it will change what they're willing to print." She paused.
"There's one more thing."
"Say it."
"Serena also told them she has a recording."
Gabriel set the cup down.
"A recording of what?"
"She says it's a conversation between herself and Ms.
Navarre.
From approximately five years ago.
She claims Ms.
Navarre explicitly stated she did not intend to inform you of the pregnancy."
I sat very still.
Because I remembered that conversation.
I remembered exactly where I was — a coffee shop on Amsterdam Avenue, three weeks after the divorce, six weeks after the positive test.
Serena had found me.
She'd said she wanted to clear the air.
She'd been warm, almost gentle.
She'd asked me questions and I had answered them because I was exhausted and alone and I hadn't yet understood what she was.
I had said things in that conversation that could be cut and shaped into almost anything.
"Claire." Gabriel was watching me.
"What did you say to her?"
"I said I hadn't decided yet whether to tell you." My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"I said I needed time.
I said I was afraid of what you'd do."
"Afraid of what I'd do."
"You ran a criminal organization, Gabriel.
I was pregnant and alone and I didn't know if bringing you back into my life was safe for three children." I looked at him directly.
"That's what I said.
In a coffee shop.
To a woman who was apparently recording me without my knowledge."
The silence stretched.
Then Gabriel said, "Diane.
The Holt records.
Send them now, Marcus." He stood.
"And find out who else Serena has spoken to tonight.
She didn't just call one journalist."
"Already on it," Marcus said from the doorway.
I hadn't heard him come in.
Gabriel looked at me.
"I believe you."
"I know you do.
That's not what I'm worried about."
"What are you worried about?"
I looked toward the bedroom where my sons were sleeping.
"I'm worried about what Eli reads online in three years when he's old enough to search his own name," I said.
"I'm worried about what version of this story becomes permanent."
Gabriel was quiet for a moment.
"Then we make sure the right version is the one that lasts," he said.
It sounded simple when he said it.
May you like
But Serena had a five-year head start, a recording, and a journalist's phone number.
And somewhere across the city, the Ledger's presses were already warming up.
