Chapter 9
My father had been dead for four years.
Until that moment, I thought I had already grieved him.
I was wrong.
Grief returned like a door being kicked open.
I drove to the police station while Mom watched Sophie.
Detective Morales played the recording.
Dad’s voice filled the small interview room.
Older than I remembered.
Tired.
But unmistakably him.
“You replaced my pills.”
Nathan answered.
“You should be careful making accusations.”
“I had them tested.”
Silence.
Dad continued.
“You switched my medication with something weaker.”
Nathan laughed quietly.
“Then why are you still alive?”
My hands clenched beneath the table.
Dad said, “Because I noticed.”
Nathan replied, “Then maybe this is your warning.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the speaker.
Morales said nothing.
I asked, “Was Dad murdered?”
“We have reopened questions around his death.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“We need evidence.”
“There’s a threat.”
“Yes.”
“There’s medication tampering.”
“An allegation of it.”
“My father said he tested the pills.”
“We’re looking for those records.”
I stood.
“Where is Nathan?”
“In custody.”
“Has he heard this?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Morales studied me.
“Daniel, do not contact him.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Don’t contact Claire either.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because she asked to speak with you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course she did.”
“She says she has information about your father.”
“Then she can tell you.”
“She has.”
“And?”
Morales leaned back.
“She claims Nathan admitted causing your father’s death.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“And she never told anyone.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She says he threatened her.”
I stared at the wall.
There was always a threat.
Always a reason.
Always another secret.
“Do you believe her?”
“That isn’t how I approach it.”
“Do you think she’s lying?”
“I think Claire mixes truth with self-protection.”
That sounded exactly right.
Morales continued.
“She may be a victim of Nathan and also responsible for serious decisions of her own.”
I nodded slowly.
That was harder to understand emotionally.
But probably true.
Claire could have been manipulated.
And still pushed Sophie’s stroller.
She could have been afraid of Nathan.
And still cheated.
She could have been used financially.
And still lied to me.
Being harmed did not erase the harm she caused.
My phone buzzed.
A notification from the laboratory.
Results available.
My heart stopped.
Morales saw my face.
“What?”
“The paternity test.”
I stared at the email.
I couldn’t open it.
Not yet.
It felt ridiculous.
I had faced kidnappers.
Police.
Evidence my father may have been killed.
And somehow one attachment terrified me.
Morales looked away to give me privacy.
I opened it.
The words blurred.
I blinked.
Read again.
Probability of paternity: 99.9997%.
I sat down.
Sophie was mine.
Biologically.
Legally.
Emotionally.
Every way that mattered.
I covered my face.
For the first time in days, I laughed.
It turned into a sob.
Morales handed me a tissue.
I didn’t care how ridiculous I looked.
“She’s mine.”
Morales gave a small smile.
“I’m glad you got clarity.”
I stared at the result again.
Then something occurred to me.
“Claire said she didn’t know.”
“Yes.”
“She took a paternity test before.”
“Apparently.”
“So she already knew.”
Morales’s expression changed.
“You’re right.”
“Sophie’s test was on her secret list.”
I stood.
“Why lie yesterday?”
Morales pulled out her phone.
“Maybe the earlier test wasn’t completed.”
“Mom found an opened box.”
“That doesn’t prove a result.”
“Can you check?”
“We can ask.”
She made a call.
Twenty minutes later, she returned.
Her expression told me everything.
“There was a test.”
“And?”
“Processed three months ago.”
“Result?”
“You were listed as the tested father.”
“And?”
“The laboratory confirms the result established paternity.”
I felt anger rise.
Claire knew.
She knew Sophie was mine.
Nathan probably knew too.
So why tell me to ask who Sophie belonged to?
To hurt me.
To destabilize me.
To make me doubt the one thing I loved most.
Morales nodded as if reading my thoughts.
“Nathan may have been bluffing.”
“Claire helped him.”
“We don’t know whether she told him the test result.”
“She knew what he said in that parking lot. Then she told me she didn’t know.”
“Yes.”
I walked to the window.
“Why?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
I turned.
“I thought you told me not to contact her.”
“I did.”
“Then ask her.”
Morales almost smiled.
“We will.”
That afternoon, the prosecutor filed multiple charges related to the kidnapping, fraud, child endangerment, and assault investigation.
Nathan faced additional charges tied to weapons and financial crimes.
The investigation into Dad’s death reopened officially.
Claire remained under guard at the hospital.
I returned to Mom.
She was feeding Sophie mashed banana.
For a second, the normal scene felt surreal.
Mom looked at me.
“Well?”
I handed her the result.
She read it.
Then cried.
I did too.
Sophie slapped banana onto the table.
Neither of us cared.
Afterward, I told Mom what we knew about Dad.
She went quiet.
“I should have gone to police.”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid Nathan would come after you.”
“He did anyway.”
“I know.”
I sat across from her.
“No more secrets.”
“No more.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
My phone rang.
Not Claire.
Her attorney.
I almost declined.
Then answered.
“Mr. Bennett, my client would like to provide you with information through counsel.”
“I don’t want information from Claire.”
“I understand.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because it concerns your daughter.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Claire believes Nathan placed something in Sophie’s nursery.”
I stood.
“What?”
“She says it may still be there.”
Mom heard and went pale.
“What kind of thing?”
“A recording device.”
I looked toward the ceiling.
The nursery was upstairs.
Police had searched the house.
But our house.
Not Mom’s.
“Which nursery?”
I asked.
There was a pause.
“Your mother’s house.”
Mom stared at me.
“When?”
I demanded.
“When did Nathan put it there?”
“Claire doesn’t know.”
“How does she know it exists?”
“Nathan told her.”
I ended the call and called Morales.
Officers arrived within twenty minutes.
They searched Sophie’s room.
Then Mom’s bedroom.
Then the hallway.
Nothing.
I started to feel relief.
Then an officer entered the living room holding a small plastic bag.
“We found something.”
Inside was a tiny camera.
Hidden behind a decorative vent cover facing the nursery door.
Mom covered her mouth.
“How long has that been there?”
The officer shook his head.
“We’ll have to examine it.”
Morales called an hour later.
The device stored local footage.
No active internet connection.
They recovered three weeks of recordings.
Most showed nothing.
Mom entering the room.
Sophie napping during visits.
Me carrying diaper bags.
Then one recording showed Nathan.
He entered Mom’s house at 2:13 a.m. nine nights earlier.
He wore gloves.
He walked directly to the nursery.
He checked the crib.
Then he hid something beneath the mattress.
Police returned.
They lifted the mattress.
A flat envelope was taped beneath it.
My name was written on the front.
DANIEL.
I stared at it.
Morales opened it while wearing gloves.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
Standing beside Nathan.
And Claire.
The date stamp was six months before Dad died.
I looked at Mom.
“You said Dad only knew her as Rachel Cole.”
Mom stared at the photo.
“He did.”
Claire looked younger.
Different hair.
But it was her.
On the back, Dad had written something.
Morales read it aloud.
If anything happens to me, find the woman in this photograph. She knows the truth.
My chest tightened.
“That means Dad trusted Claire.”
Mom shook her head.
“Or suspected her.”
“No.”
I pointed at the wording.
“She knows the truth.”
Not she did it.
Not she helped him.
She knows.
My phone rang.
Morales checked the number.
Claire’s attorney again.
This time, I answered immediately.
“What does she want?”
The attorney spoke slowly.
“Claire says Nathan is not the only person you should be afraid of.”
I looked at Mom.
“Who?”
“She won’t tell me over the phone.”
“Why?”
“She says the police station may not be secure.”
I almost laughed.
Then the attorney added:
“She gave me one name.”
My hand tightened.
“What name?”
“George Halpern.”
May you like
My father’s attorney.
The same man my mother had mailed the flash drive to.
