Chapter 6
I wanted to go home.
Then I saw that photograph.
And home became the last place I wanted to be.
Detective Ruiz arranged police protection.
The hospital moved me to another room under a different registration name.
Only three nurses were permitted inside.
Security remained outside the door.
Marcus called our housekeeper, Denise, and told her not to enter our home until police cleared it.
Then Ruiz asked the question none of us wanted to hear.
“Who had access to your house?”
Marcus answered first.
“Khloe and me.”
“Housekeeper?”
“Yes.”
“Family?”
“My mother has a key.”
“My sister has one,” I added.
“Anyone else?”
I thought.
“Contractors sometimes use temporary codes.”
“Any security system?”
Marcus nodded.
“Full system. Cameras outside.”
“Inside?”
“No.”
Ruiz wrote everything down.
“Someone entered without triggering an alarm.”
Marcus stared at her.
“How?”
“Either they knew the code, someone disabled the system, or the photograph predates its installation.”
“It doesn’t,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
I zoomed in on the image.
On the dresser beside me was a framed ultrasound photo.
“That was taken less than three weeks ago.”
Marcus went pale.
The detective immediately called technicians at our house.
An hour later, they found something.
A hidden wireless camera inside our bedroom smoke detector.
Another in the kitchen.
Another facing the front hallway.
And one inside the nursery.
Someone had been watching us.
For weeks.
Maybe months.
I started shaking.
Marcus reached for me.
I pulled away automatically.
He stopped.
His hand fell.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I hated seeing pain on his face.
I hated that part of me still loved him.
I hated even more that loving him didn’t erase what he had done.
Ruiz entered again near noon.
“We traced the unknown messages.”
“To Rachel?” Marcus asked.
“No.”
“Isabella?”
“No.”
I sat straighter.
“Then who?”
“The messages were routed through disposable numbers, but one connection briefly pinged from a hotel network.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Brighton.”
Marcus froze.
I saw it immediately.
“What?”
“That’s where Daniel died.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“You told me he died in a car accident.”
“He did.”
“Then why does a hotel matter?”
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“Because he stayed there the night before.”
Ruiz pulled a chair closer.
“Mr. Hale, I need the whole story.”
Marcus sat down.
For a long time he stared at his hands.
Then he began.
“Daniel and Rachel were separating.”
I blinked.
“You never told me that.”
“It was family business.”
“You’re married to me.”
“I know.”
“Were they divorcing?”
“Daniel planned to file.”
“Why?”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“He thought Rachel was obsessed with having a child.”
Ruiz asked, “Obsessed how?”
“They tried for years. Treatments. Surgeries. IVF.”
“And Daniel wanted to stop?”
“Yes.”
“He told me it was destroying them.”
“What happened?”
“Rachel refused to stop.”
Marcus paused.
“Then Daniel discovered she had been contacting clinics without him.”
My stomach tightened.
“For what?”
“Alternative procedures. Donor eggs. Surrogacy.”
Ruiz asked, “Did she have legal access to his stored sperm?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
“Daniel revoked consent.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“Two days before he died.”
Nobody spoke.
Marcus continued.
“He met me at the Brighton Hotel. He was upset. Said he had discovered Rachel had forged his signature on some medical paperwork.”
Ruiz’s eyes narrowed.
“What paperwork?”
“I never saw it.”
“Did he name the clinic?”
“No.”
“But two days later he died?”
“The next morning.”
“How?”
“He left the hotel early, driving home. His car went through a barrier.”
“Was alcohol involved?”
“No.”
“Mechanical failure?”
Marcus looked at her.
“The police report said brake failure.”
Ruiz stopped writing.
“Brake failure?”
“Yes.”
“Was it investigated as suspicious?”
“My father pushed for it.”
“And?”
“They said corrosion caused the line to rupture.”
“Did Rachel inherit anything?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A life insurance policy and personal assets. But not the family trust.”
“Because they had no child.”
“Right.”
I looked at Marcus.
“And now if my baby is Daniel’s…”
He nodded.
“Rachel could claim she is the legal surviving spouse of the biological father.”
Ruiz looked skeptical.
“That would be complicated.”
“Complicated doesn’t mean impossible with sixty million dollars involved.”
A knock sounded.
A lab technician entered with my doctor.
My heart jumped.
“Do you have the paternity results?”
The doctor’s face told me yes.
Marcus stood.
I gripped the blanket.
The doctor closed the door.
“We completed the expedited comparison.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Marcus looked at me.
No matter what happened, something between us was about to change forever.
“Mr. Hale,” the doctor said, “you are not the biological father.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
I felt a pain deeper than any contraction.
Not because I had doubted myself.
Because I saw what the news did to him.
He opened his eyes again.
“Are you certain?”
“The result excludes you.”
My voice came out weak.
“Then who is?”
“We need a comparison sample.”
Marcus immediately said, “Daniel.”
The doctor nodded.
“Do you have access to anything containing his DNA?”
Marcus looked at Ruiz.
“My mother kept some of his belongings.”
Ruiz said, “Hairbrush? Razor?”
“She has a watch and some old clothes.”
“Not ideal.”
Then Marcus remembered.
“Our parents had Daniel’s DNA stored.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“After his death, my father requested an independent investigation. A private pathology lab retained tissue samples.”
Ruiz stood.
“Give me the lab information.”
Within hours, warrants and permissions moved faster than I thought possible.
Money helped.
Police pressure helped more.
By evening, we had confirmation that a preserved biological sample still existed.
The lab began comparison testing.
We were told to expect results the next morning.
I didn’t sleep.
Marcus didn’t either.
Around three in the morning, I opened my eyes and saw him staring at the floor.
“Marcus.”
He looked up.
“What if it’s Daniel’s?” I asked.
His face tightened.
I continued.
“Tell me the truth.”
He stood and walked to the window.
“That would mean someone stole his genetic material.”
“And violated me.”
“Yes.”
“And our son is biologically your nephew.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“What will that mean to you?”
He turned.
“He’s your son.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“He’s my son too.”
“Biologically—”
“I don’t care.”
I stared at him.
He came closer but stopped before touching me.
“I talked to him every night before he could hear. I painted his nursery. I cried when we saw his heartbeat. I already love him.”
His voice broke.
“No lab result takes that away.”
I started crying.
For one moment, I believed him completely.
Then I remembered Isabella.
The hotel.
Six months of lies.
Love and betrayal sat together inside me like two pieces of broken glass.
“I wish you had loved me the same way.”
Marcus lowered his head.
“I did.”
“No.”
I shook mine.
“You don’t betray someone you protect.”
He had no answer.
At eight seventeen the next morning, the doctor arrived.
Detective Ruiz was already there.
So was Marcus.
The lab report was in the doctor’s hand.
“We compared the fetal DNA profile with the preserved sample attributed to Daniel Hale.”
My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
“And?”
“The relationship is consistent with biological paternity.”
Marcus sat down.
I covered my mouth.
The doctor continued, but his voice sounded far away.
Probability greater than 99.9 percent.
Daniel Hale.
A dead man.
Was my baby’s biological father.
I sobbed.
Marcus moved toward me.
Then stopped.
He didn’t know whether he had the right to hold me.
I reached for him without thinking.
He grabbed my hand.
We cried together.
Not as husband and wife.
Not exactly.
As two people who had just learned something impossible.
Detective Ruiz let us have a minute.
Then her phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
When she returned, her expression was grim.
“We found Rachel.”
Marcus stood immediately.
“Where?”
“She was detained at the airport.”
Relief flooded me.
But Ruiz wasn’t finished.
“She wasn’t alone.”
“Who was with her?”
The detective looked at me.
“A newborn transport nurse.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
Ruiz placed a photograph on the bedside table.
A woman in blue medical scrubs.
I recognized her.
She had visited my room two days earlier.
Before Isabella attacked me.
She had checked my chart.
Touched my stomach.
Asked when I expected to deliver.
I whispered, “That woman was here.”
Ruiz nodded.
“We know.”
Marcus stared at her.
“What was Rachel doing with her?”
“They had plane tickets.”
“To where?”
“Switzerland.”
“Why?”
Ruiz’s expression hardened.
“Because the nurse was carrying forged paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
She looked at me.
“Documents listing Rachel Mercer as the intended legal guardian of your baby.”
I couldn’t speak.
Marcus looked ready to explode.
But then Ruiz added:
“And we found something else in Rachel’s luggage.”
She placed a clear evidence photo on the table.
Inside was a small black pouch.
Passport photos.
Hospital wristbands.
A syringe.
And a death certificate form.
May you like
The name field was already filled in.
KHLOE HALE.
