Chương 4
“No, you don’t.”
“I understand better than anyone in this building.”
“That is the problem.”
Julia came out of the consultation room carrying the genetic report in a sealed plastic sleeve. “The clinic is releasing copies to the patient and to Harrison because he authorized the testing. No one else receives one. Patricia, that includes you.”
“I paid for it.”
“You paid the clinic’s invoice. You did not purchase the information.”
Patricia looked at Richard. “Are you going to allow her to speak to me this way?”
Richard put on his coat. “Today I may allow everyone to speak to everyone however they please.”
Julia handed Harrison the sleeve. “The trust remains unfunded. I will notify the trustee that the biological condition has not been satisfied. Nothing else happens until we understand whether anyone made false representations.”
Patricia’s eyes moved to Harrison. “Did she?”
He felt his father watching him.
The truthful answer was available. It required six words.
She did not deceive me about conception.
Instead Harrison said, “I need to speak to Brittany.”
Richard’s suspicion deepened.
Patricia mistook the answer for confirmation. “Of course.”
Harrison looked at her. “Do not call the press.”
Her face registered insult. “I would never expose family business.”
“You exposed it to five relatives.”
“They signed confidentiality agreements.”
Julia closed her eyes for a moment. “People who need confidentiality agreements before champagne are not people you invite to medical appointments.”
One of the receptionists coughed into her hand to hide a sound that may have been laughter.
Patricia heard it. She pulled her shawl tighter and walked toward the elevator.
Richard waited until she was gone. “Were you surprised by the result?”
Harrison slid the report under his arm. “What kind of question is that?”
“A direct one.”
“Yes.”
Richard studied him. “That was not a direct answer.”
“Not here.”
His father nodded once. “Your generation uses privacy the way mine used whiskey. Usually after the damage is done.”
He followed Patricia.
Julia remained with Harrison. Beyond the windows, the delivery truck had moved. The man in the fluorescent vest was gone, leaving his paper cup on the curb.
“How much trouble am I in?” Harrison asked.
“That depends on what you knew.”
He glanced at the clinic staff.
Julia stepped closer. “Did you know you could not be the biological father?”
Harrison’s throat felt tight.
“Yes.”
Julia did not visibly react, which was one reason the family paid her more than most surgeons earned.
“Did Brittany know?”
“Yes.”
“Was donor conception performed through a licensed fertility clinic?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sign the consent forms?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell your parents the pregnancy resulted from donor conception?”
“No.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Did you represent in writing that the child met the biological-descendant provision?”
Harrison thought about the questionnaire Julia had sent three weeks earlier. He had answered most of it from the back seat of a car. Under method of conception, he had selected natural. He had told himself it was a drafting form, not a sworn declaration. He had told himself the trust belonged to his parents and could be revised later. He had told himself many things.
“Yes.”
Julia’s face changed then, not dramatically. Her jaw set.
“I need the fertility records,” she said.
“There are confidentiality provisions.”
“Confidentiality does not protect you from your own attorney.”
“I want to speak to Brittany first.”
“You have already made her the most obvious suspect in a room full of witnesses.”
“I was shocked.”
“You were shocked that the truth arrived in public, not by the truth.”
Harrison looked down at the sealed report.
Julia lowered her voice. “Your mother will begin building a legal story by dinner. Brittany deceived you, accessed family resources, concealed an affair, and attempted to obtain trust assets. If that story leaves the building before you correct it, every hour you remain silent makes your eventual explanation less credible.”
“You said not to send messages.”
“I said not to send impulsive ones. There is a difference between strategy and cowardice.”
“I pay you for legal advice.”
“No. Vale Holdings pays my firm for legal advice. At the moment, I am deciding whether our interests remain aligned.”
She left him in the corridor.
Harrison stood alone long enough for the receptionist to ask whether he needed help finding the elevators.
The townhouse on Marlborough Street had been purchased in Harrison’s name six years before he met Brittany, but she had made it livable. Before her, the rooms had been professionally furnished in gray and blue, the kind of place where no one left a book facedown or a cup in the sink. Brittany had brought in a yellow ceramic bowl from a street market, linen curtains that wrinkled in summer, framed photographs that were not taken by paid photographers, and a narrow bench by the front door where Harrison complained about her shoes and then sat every morning to put on his own.
When he arrived that evening, the bench was empty.
Her shoes were gone.
Not all of them. She had left two pairs of heels she disliked and the waterproof boots Patricia had given her for Christmas. The selective absence felt more deliberate than a cleared closet.
Harrison placed the genetic report on the kitchen counter. A contractor was changing the front lock while Harrison’s assistant, Martin Cho, stood nearby answering calls.
“Your mother has called eleven times,” Martin said.
“Block her for the next hour.”
“I cannot block your mother.”
“You can block the number.”
“She calls from other numbers.”
“Then block those too.”
Martin handed him a tablet. “The board chair wants confirmation that tomorrow’s development committee meeting is still happening. Your sisters’ flight landed in Edinburgh twenty minutes ago. Clara has sent fourteen messages. Emma sent one.”
“What did Emma say?”
Martin read from his phone. “‘Call us before Mother does.’”
“And Luke?”
“Nothing.”
May you like
Harrison took off his suit jacket and laid it across a stool. “Has anything reached the press?”
“Not the press exactly.”
