Chương 4
The letter instructed her not to contact Daniel, his family, his employees, or Hartwell Global directly. It had been signed electronically by a junior associate at a law firm that represented the company.
Her attorney called the firm. The associate denied knowing the specific facts. He had been given a summary by Hartwell Global’s executive office: an unstable former acquaintance making unsupported claims for money.
Claire had never asked for money.
That was the moment she decided Daniel needed to see Rose.
Not a photograph. Not a test result. Not a line in a legal filing.
Rose.
Someone knocked softly.
Claire looked at the time. Twelve minutes had passed.
“Who is it?”
“Daniel.”
“She’s still eating.”
“I know. I’m not asking to come in.”
Claire waited.
Through the door, he said, “I canceled Zurich.”
She did not answer.
“I also told Ben to preserve every email, access log, mailroom record, and internal message related to you. No one is allowed to delete anything.”
“That’s what should happen.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I don’t remember approving a protocol that blocked personal messages.”
Claire looked down at Rose.
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t.”
“No.”
She heard him move, perhaps leaning against the wall.
“I was bad at answering you before,” he said. “When we were—before. I know that.”
“You disappeared for four days.”
“My father was in the hospital.”
“You could have written five words.”
“I know.”
At the time, Daniel had returned after those four days with a private car waiting downstairs and an apology delivered over dinner. He had explained his father’s emergency, the board pressure, the reporters outside the hospital. Claire had believed the facts. She had also understood that he considered them sufficient.
He was a man who could mistake explanation for repair.
Rose’s sucking slowed.
Claire lifted her gently, arranged a cloth over her shoulder, and waited for the small burp that came a moment later.
Outside, Daniel said, “Is she healthy?”
“Yes.”
“Was the delivery—”
“Not now.”
“All right.”
Rose’s eyes opened again.
Claire had spent most of the pregnancy telling herself she could raise the child without him. The statement was true. It was also incomplete. Independence did not erase absence. It did not give Rose access to half her medical history or answer future questions about why one parent had not known she existed. It did not make Claire less angry that Daniel’s wealth had built walls high enough for a human being to disappear behind them.
She buttoned her shirt, put her jacket back on, and opened the door.
Daniel stood alone.
He looked at Rose first.
Claire saw him stop himself from coming closer.
“She has your mouth,” he said.
“She has a baby’s mouth.”
A faint, surprised sound escaped him. Not quite laughter. He looked grateful for the ordinary cruelty of the reply.
“Can I walk you downstairs?”
“No.”
“Can I see her again?”
“After the test.”
“How soon?”
“My attorney will arrange it.”
He nodded.
Claire stepped into the hallway.
Julia stood near the reception area with her phone pressed to her ear. When she saw them, she ended the call.
Daniel’s face changed.
“Your access is suspended,” he said.
Julia went still.
“Daniel.”
“Ben will explain the terms. You’re not to contact employees, vendors, counsel, or anyone involved in this matter except through your attorney.”
“You cannot suspend me in a hallway.”
“I just did.”
“You need me.”
The words came out quietly, without performance. They carried eleven years of midnight flights, missed holidays, corrected contracts, arranged funerals, canceled scandals, and problems removed before Daniel learned their names.
He looked at her for a long moment.
“That’s part of the problem.”
Julia’s face tightened.
Claire almost kept walking. Instead, she stopped.
“Did you know she was born?”
Julia looked at Rose.
Daniel turned toward her too.
Julia’s gaze remained on the baby’s face.
“I knew there had been a birth announcement sent to the office.”
Claire’s grip shifted.
“You opened it.”
“My staff opened it.”
“You read it.”
“I read the summary.”
Daniel’s voice was barely audible.
“What did it say?”
Julia swallowed.
“That the child was born on February seventeenth. Rose Elizabeth Anderson. Seven pounds, two ounces.”
Claire had included a photograph. Rose wrapped in the hospital blanket, eyes closed, one fist against her cheek.
“Was there a picture?” Daniel asked.
Julia did not answer.
He stepped toward her.
Claire saw the impulse before he acted on it, a sudden anger that tightened his shoulders and hands. She moved Rose higher against her body.
Daniel noticed and stopped.
He looked down at his fists.
When he spoke again, his voice was controlled.
“Was there a picture?”
“Yes.”
He turned away.
The wall of windows at the end of the corridor reflected him back: tall, expensive, motionless. Beyond the glass, Chicago continued as if nothing had happened. Boats moved along the river. Traffic lights changed. Somewhere below, people crossed streets carrying lunches in paper bags.
Claire left without saying goodbye.
Her mother was waiting in the lobby.
Evelyn Anderson had refused to come upstairs because, in her words, she did not trust herself around billionaires or white carpet. She sat in an armchair near a display of architectural models, reading a paperback with the concentration of someone who had not absorbed a word.
When Claire emerged from the elevators, Evelyn stood.
“Well?”
“He saw her.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It’s what happened.”
Her mother searched her face, then looked at Rose.
“Did he deny it?”
“No.”
“Did he touch her?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
Evelyn adjusted the strap of the diaper bag on her shoulder.
“He should not get to touch her before he admits what his own eyes are telling him.”
“He asked for a test.”
“That’s sensible.”
“You just said—”
“I can hold two opinions, Claire. I raised three children.”
May you like
They walked toward the revolving doors.
Outside, heat rose from the sidewalk. A black SUV idled at the curb, but Claire ignored it. She had ordered a rideshare and intended to leave the same way she arrived.
