Chapter 7 - The Son He Never ClaimedAndrew took the laboratory report from my hands.
“No.”
I said nothing.
He read it again.
“This is fake.”
“Maybe.”
“It has to be.”
The report was twenty-three years old.
A private DNA test.
VICTOR HAYES: EXCLUDED AS BIOLOGICAL FATHER.
Andrew’s hands shook.
“He’s not my father?”
I stared at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I know what the paper says.”
He threw it onto the desk.
“This is insane.”
Then he laughed.
A broken, angry laugh.
“My entire life, he treated me like I could never measure up.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Andrew wiped his face.
“And he knew.”
I picked up the report.
“Maybe that’s why he kept it.”
“Who is my father?”
“I don’t know.”
Andrew walked to the window.
“Did Mom know?”
Caroline.
His mother.
I remembered her as warm and quiet.
She had never been cruel to me.
But she had lived carefully around Dad.
Like everyone did.
“We need to find out.”
Andrew turned sharply.
“No.”
“What?”
“Not today.”
His voice cracked.
“I can’t lose every parent I’ve ever had in twenty-four hours.”
I nodded.
“All right.”
He looked at me.
“Are you still my brother?”
The question hurt more than anything else.
I walked across the room.
“You idiot.”
Then I hugged him.
He broke.
I hadn’t seen Andrew cry since his mother’s funeral.
“You’re my brother,” I said. “A piece of paper doesn’t get to change that.”
When I brought the letters to Mom, she fell to her knees.
She touched the ribbon.
“He kept them?”
“All of them.”
Her fingers moved over the envelopes.
“I thought he destroyed them.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Did you read any?”
“Some.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For watching your life instead of living it with you.”
I crouched beside her.
“That wasn’t your choice.”
“For some years, it was.”
I stared at her.
She wiped her eyes.
“I need to tell you the part I’m ashamed of.”
“Mom—”
“No.”
She took my hand.
“After you turned eighteen, Victor’s legal threats couldn’t stop me the same way.”
I waited.
“I came to your college graduation.”
My chest tightened.
“You were there?”
“Across the courtyard.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“You were with Victor.”
“So?”
“You looked happy.”
I shook my head.
“I wasn’t.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Her voice cracked.
“I convinced myself that appearing would destroy the life you had.”
“Mom.”
“I was scared.”
She looked directly at me.
“And eventually, fear became an excuse.”
The honesty hurt.
But it mattered.
“I wish you had come.”
“I know.”
“I would have wanted you.”
“I know.”
We cried together.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because for the first time, neither of us was hiding from what had been lost.
That evening, Noah found us reading letters.
He climbed between us.
“Is that Dad?”
Mom showed him one envelope.
“When he was ten.”
Noah laughed.
“Dad was ten?”
“Believe it or not.”
“I thought he was born forty.”
I looked at him.
“I’m forty-one.”
“Exactly.”
Mom laughed.
A real laugh.
I hadn’t heard it before.
It changed her whole face.
Later, Rachel called.
“The police are moving quickly.”
“On Dad?”
“They’re investigating financial fraud and unlawful conduct surrounding your mother’s hospitalization.”
“Will he be charged?”
“I can’t promise anything yet.”
I understood.
“What about the company?”
“The board has authorized a forensic audit.”
I glanced at Andrew.
He had been reviewing Summit Logistics records for hours.
He suddenly sat upright.
“Daniel.”
I covered the phone.
“What?”
“Come here.”
I joined him.
Columns of numbers filled his computer.
“What am I looking at?”
“Payments.”
“To Summit?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“Look at the destination accounts.”
I didn’t understand.
Then Andrew pointed at the names.
One account belonged to a foundation.
THE HAYES CHILDREN’S TRUST.
My stomach turned.
“That’s Dad’s charity.”
Andrew nodded.
“He’s been routing money through it.”
“How much?”
“Over eighteen million in the last six years.”
I stared.
“Charity money?”
“Company money disguised as charitable transfers, then redistributed through vendors.”
Rachel heard us.
“What did you find?”
Andrew explained.
Her response was immediate.
“Do not touch anything else. Preserve the records.”
Then another name caught my attention.
A recurring payment.
MERCER CONSULTING.
“Grant Mercer.”
Andrew froze.
Dad’s former lawyer.
The man who had approached Mom outside my fake funeral.
“He’s still being paid.”
“How much?”
Andrew searched.
His eyebrows rose.
“A lot.”
I called Mom into the room.
“Do you know where Grant Mercer is?”
She looked afraid.
“No.”
“Dad’s been paying him for decades.”
She sat down.
“Then he’s still hiding something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Daniel Hayes?”
“Yes.”
A man’s voice responded.
“My name is Grant Mercer.”
Everyone in the room went still.
“How did you get this number?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He sighed.
“I heard Victor was questioned.”
“You helped him.”
“Yes.”
Mom gripped the back of a chair.
I put the phone on speaker.
Mercer continued.
“I did things thirty-two years ago that I have regretted every day since.”
I looked at Mom.
Her face was white.
“Then testify.”
Silence.
“I’m willing.”
“Why now?”
“Because Victor stopped paying me.”
Andrew almost laughed.
Mercer continued.
“And because I’m dying.”
I felt no sympathy.
“What do you know?”
“Everything.”
My pulse jumped.
“Then start talking.”
“No.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Why did you call?”
“Because I have something Margaret needs to see.”
Mom stepped forward.
“What?”
Mercer heard her voice.
He inhaled sharply.
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
Another long silence.
Then he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Mom’s hand trembled.
“What do you have?”
“A video.”
My stomach tightened.
“Of what?”
May you like
Mercer answered.
“The night Victor decided you were going to die.”
