Chapter 4: The Name She Never Expected to Hear
The results arrived in sixty-eight hours, not seventy-two.
Jacqueline called while I was eating lunch alone at my desk — a sandwich I had ordered and forgotten about until it was cold.
"It's confirmed," she said.
"Christopher is not the biological father of either child."
I set the sandwich down.
"Both children share the same paternal profile," Jacqueline continued.
"The lab flagged it immediately because the profile returned a match inside their existing database."
I went still.
"A match to what?"
"To a sample submitted as part of a workplace legal matter fourteen months ago." A pause.
"Stephanie, the paternal profile belongs to a man named Daniel Reeves."
The name landed like something dropped from a height.
Daniel Reeves.
Sabrina's direct supervisor at Meridian Healthcare Systems.
The man I had introduced her to when I arranged her position in the finance department.
The man who had praised her determination to my face at last year's company retreat while apparently building an entirely different relationship with her behind every door I had opened.
"Are you certain?" I asked.
"The lab is certain.
The match probability is 99.998 percent."
I looked at the wall of my office for a long moment.
"Does Daniel Reeves know?" I asked.
"There's no way to confirm that yet."
"Is he still employed at Meridian?"
"As of this morning, yes."
I thought about Sabrina standing in my dining room in the dress I had bought her, cradling a baby she had allowed Christopher to claim as his.
I thought about Daniel Reeves sitting two floors above me, possibly unaware that he had fathered twins.
I thought about Christopher, who had spent eight years watching me apologize for his own sterility, now legally positioning himself as the father of another man's children.
"Jacqueline," I said.
"How quickly can we file?"
"I can have the paternity challenge ready by end of week.
Combined with the DNA report, the evidence chain is clean.
Christopher's attorney will not be able to dispute the methodology."
"Do it."
"There's one more thing." Her voice shifted slightly.
"Christopher's attorney contacted my office this morning.
He's claiming the divorce agreement should be voided because you signed under duress.
He's also claiming you removed property from the marital home without consent — specifically, the drinking glasses."
I almost laughed.
"The glasses were used at a dinner held in a house my grandmother's trust purchased.
My attorney was present.
The collection was documented."
"I know.
I'm telling you so you're not surprised when the motion lands."
"When will it land?"
"Probably tomorrow."
"Fine." I picked up the cold sandwich, looked at it, and set it back down.
"Let him file.
He's about to spend a great deal of money defending a paternity claim he cannot win."
After I hung up, I sat quietly for a moment.
Then I pulled up the Meridian employee directory and looked at Daniel Reeves' profile photo.
He was forty-one.
He had been with the company for six years.
His listed emergency contact was a woman named Carol Reeves.
His wife.
I closed the directory.
This was no longer only about Christopher.
There was a knock at my office door.
"Come in."
It was Marcus Webb.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Christopher is here," he said.
"He came in twenty minutes ago.
He's been in his office since then, but his assistant just told me he's asked to see you."
I looked at Marcus steadily.
"Did he say why?"
"He said he wants to discuss the divorce terms before things get complicated."
Before things get complicated.
"Tell him I'm unavailable until three o'clock," I said.
"And Marcus — when he goes into that meeting, I'd like you to be present."
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"As general counsel?"
"As a witness," I said.
He nodded once and left.
I looked back at my desk.
The DNA report sat in a closed folder beside my laptop.
Sixty-eight pages of laboratory methodology, chain-of-custody documentation, and a single paragraph at the end that would dismantle everything Christopher Gilbert believed he had secured the night before.
May you like
Three o'clock.
Let him come.
