Chương 9
Nathan’s chief financial officer, Peter Shaw, came into his office at nine thirty carrying two coffees and looking as if he had been awake longer than Nathan.
“You want me to ask why?”
“No.”
“Great.”
Peter handed him one cup.
“I’m going to anyway.”
Nathan told him enough.
Not everything.
Peter sat without speaking.
When Nathan finished, the CFO drank his coffee.
“Okay.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
Peter stared at the lid.
“This could affect the historical ownership representations depending on what agreements existed around Daniel’s shares.”
“I know.”
“It could also be nothing.”
“I know.”
“And your mother knew?”
“Yes.”
Peter rubbed both hands down his face.
“I liked yesterday better.”
“So did I.”
Peter stood.
“You need outside counsel.”
“Rebecca already called them.”
“You need a separate personal lawyer.”
“She called one of those too.”
“You need sleep.”
“I don’t have counsel for that.”
Peter pointed at him.
“That was almost a joke. You’re deteriorating.”
When he left, Nathan opened the envelope Rebecca had placed on his desk.
Inside was a copy of the agreement Lauren signed eight years earlier.
It was thirteen pages.
Nathan read every one.
The language was careful.
No admission of paternity.
No prohibition on Lauren seeking legal determination.
No explicit threat.
Monthly support described as humanitarian assistance.
Confidentiality obligations framed around privacy and reputational harm.
There was even a paragraph recommending independent legal counsel.
It looked responsible.
That made Nathan angrier than if it had looked cruel.
Cruelty was easier to identify.
This was fear wearing a tie.
Rebecca came in at ten twenty.
“What did you find?”
Nathan tapped the agreement.
“That my mother hires good lawyers.”
“She did.”
“Was this legal?”
“I’m not answering that without jurisdiction-specific review and more facts.”
“Useful.”
“You pay me for accurate answers, not satisfying ones.”
Nathan pushed the document toward her.
“What’s the trust?”
Rebecca hesitated.
That caught his attention.
“You found it.”
“I found something.”
She opened a folder.
“After Daniel died, your mother established a private irrevocable support trust.”
“For Lauren?”
“For a beneficiary identified by initials.”
“M.H.”
“Yes.”
Nathan leaned back.
“How much?”
Rebecca gave him the number.
Nathan stared at her.
“That’s not school tuition.”
“No.”
“What was it for?”
“Health, education, housing, and general support. Most of the principal remains untouched.”
“Who controls it?”
“An independent trustee.”
“Who created it?”
“Eleanor.”
“Did my father know?”
Rebecca looked at the papers.
“I don’t know yet.”
Nathan’s father had died five years earlier.
Another person unavailable for questioning.
Convenient for secrets. Terrible for answers.
“Does this prove she believed Mia was Daniel’s?”
“No.”
“Rebecca.”
“It proves she was sufficiently concerned about the possibility to set aside a substantial amount of money.”
Nathan stared at the ceiling.
“Why hide it from me?”
“I’m a lawyer, not a magician.”
At eleven, a photo from the gala appeared online.
Nathan crouching beside the buffet.
Mia’s face was mostly obscured by linen and Nathan’s shoulder.
By noon, two business sites had stories.
Neither had Mia’s name.
At twelve forty, someone posted Lauren’s.
Nathan found out because Peter walked into his office, shut the door, and said, “We have a problem.”
Lauren’s old social media pages were being searched.
Someone had found a photograph from seven years earlier showing a baby in a carrier.
Comments were appearing beneath it.
Some sympathetic.
Some vicious.
Some calling Lauren a liar.
Others had decided, based on one blurry photograph, that Mia looked exactly like Daniel.
Nathan stared at his phone.
A stranger had written GOLD DIGGER beneath a picture of a twenty-four-year-old woman holding an infant.
He felt sick.
“What can we do?”
Peter shook his head.
“Not much. Report harassment. Ask platforms to remove anything identifying the kid. We can issue a statement.”
“No names.”
“Agreed.”
Nathan called Lauren.
She answered on the sixth ring.
“What?”
He had never heard his own name spoken with so much implied blame by someone who did not use it.
“The posts.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Did you tell anyone my name?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
There was silence.
Nathan said, “I’ll ask.”
Lauren laughed bitterly.
“That’s comforting.”
“I deserve that.”
“No, you don’t. That’s the annoying part.”
He heard traffic behind her.
“Where are you?”
“Walking home.”
“You worked?”
“I told you I had a shift.”
“After last night?”
“Rent remains weirdly interested in being paid.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
“I can help.”
“No.”
“Lauren.”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
She exhaled.
“I know what you mean. I know you’re not doing anything wrong. But right now every offer from your family feels like a door that locks behind me.”
Nathan leaned against the desk.
“Okay.”
“Mia’s school called.”
His body straightened.
“What happened?”
“Parents saw the posts. Somebody recognized me.”
“Is Mia there?”
“Yes.”
“For now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m going to pick her up before somebody shoves a phone in her face.”
Nathan looked at Peter.
Peter understood from his expression.
“I can have Simon—”
“No security.”
“Right.”
Nathan forced himself to think instead of react.
“Do you want me there?”
Lauren did not answer.
He waited.
Finally she said, “No.”
The answer hurt more than it should have.
He respected it.
“Okay.”
“But keep your mother away.”
“That I can do.”
Nathan called Eleanor.
She answered immediately.
“Did you release Lauren’s name?”
“No.”
“Did anyone working for you?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
A pause.
“No.”
“Then find out.”
“Nathan—”
“Her name is online. Mia’s school has been contacted.”
His mother was silent.
Then: “I’ll handle it.”
Nathan shut his eyes.
“No.”
“What?”
“You will not handle anything.”
“Nathan, I can have the posts—”
“No calls. No pressure. No favors. No private investigators. No lawyers contacting Lauren. You tell me what you find, and that’s it.”
His mother’s voice cooled.
“You are making decisions emotionally.”
“Yes.”
The admission stopped her.
Nathan continued.
“I’m angry. I’m tired. I’m probably making mistakes. But for once, I’d rather make my own.”
May you like
Eleanor said nothing for several seconds.
Then, quietly, “All right.”
