Chapter 4
“The baby?”
“Claire went into labor early this morning.”
Everything inside me seemed to go silent.
“Is she all right?”
“Yes.”
“The baby?”
“Rebecca says both are stable.”
I closed my eyes.
Relief came so sharply I had to grip the edge of the desk.
“Where?”
“Northwestern.”
I grabbed my coat.
Then Michael stepped into my path.
It wasn’t threatening.
It was simply enough to make me stop.
“What?”
“Rebecca asked me to tell you something.”
“What?”
“She said Claire knows you’re coming.”
My hand froze on my coat.
“And?”
“She said whether you enter that room is Claire’s decision.”
Every instinct in me rebelled.
My daughter had been born.
My wife was in a hospital.
I should be there.
I had a right—
Then I remembered Claire standing beside the suitcase.
Don’t make me fight you to leave.
I looked at Michael.
“Drive.”
At Northwestern, Rebecca met me near the maternity floor.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was tied loosely behind her head.
For once, there was no anger in her face.
Only caution.
“She’s okay,” she said immediately.
“And the baby?”
“Healthy. Small, but healthy.”
My knees nearly weakened.
“Can I see them?”
Rebecca looked toward the corridor.
“Claire said you can come in.”
I exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.”
She touched my arm.
“Daniel.”
I looked at her.
“She doesn’t need explanations today.”
I nodded.
“No explanations.”
“And don’t make promises because you’re emotional.”
That hurt because it sounded exactly like something Claire would say.
“I won’t.”
Rebecca opened the door.
Claire was sitting upright in bed.
She looked tired.
More tired than I had ever seen her.
Her hair fell loose around her shoulders.
And in her arms was the smallest person I had ever loved instantly.
Our daughter.
Claire looked at me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said quietly, “Come closer.”
I did.
Slowly.
The baby’s face was turned toward Claire’s chest.
Tiny nose.
Dark hair.
One fist resting beneath her chin.
“She’s beautiful.”
Claire smiled.
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“I haven’t signed the paperwork yet.”
I looked at her.
“You waited?”
“I wanted you to meet her first.”
Something inside me broke open.
Not dramatically.
No tears fell immediately.
It was quieter than that.
A realization that despite everything I had done, Claire had left a place for me in one of the most important decisions of our lives.
“What did you want?” I asked.
“Rose.”
My mother’s name.
I looked at Claire sharply.
She knew what that meant.
“You remembered.”
“I always remember.”
My eyes burned.
“Rose Carter.”
“Rose Claire Carter?” I asked.
She laughed softly.
“That would be a lot of Claire.”
For the first time in weeks, I heard that familiar warmth in her voice.
Then it disappeared.
Not completely.
But enough.
“There’s something you need to know,” she said.
“Not today.”
“Yes. Today.”
I looked at her.
“I found your father’s trust.”
“I know.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Anthony told me.”
“Then you know he didn’t steal the money.”
“Yes.”
“And Samuel?”
“I haven’t spoken to him.”
Claire looked toward Rose.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel isn’t the person I was trying to understand.”
My pulse changed.
“Then who?”
She adjusted the blanket around our daughter.
“I found the original Lakeview documents.”
“Where?”
“In the records room beneath your old Milwaukee Avenue office.”
I stared at her.
“That building has been closed for years.”
“I know.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Looking for your father’s trust agreement.”
“And?”
“I found something else.”
Claire looked up.
“There was another signature on the earliest Lakeview paperwork.”
“Whose?”
She hesitated.
Then answered.
“Mine.”
I stared at her.
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too.”
“You didn’t know Lakeview existed.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then someone forged your signature.”
“Maybe.”
The word settled between us.
“Maybe?”
Claire’s eyes held mine.
“The date on the document is two weeks before our wedding.”
I stopped breathing.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“Where is the document?”
“Rebecca has it.”
“What does it authorize?”
Claire glanced down at our sleeping daughter.
Then back at me.
“It transfers ownership of a property.”
“What property?”
“The house your mother grew up in.”
I said nothing.
I had never told Claire that house existed.
Almost no one knew.
“My father sold it before I was born.”
“That’s what you were told.”
“Claire—”
“The document says your father bought it back.”
I stared at her.
“And put it in whose name?”
Claire’s answer changed everything I thought I understood about the family I came from.
“Mine.”
The house had been placed in Claire’s name two weeks before our wedding.
Before she officially became part of my family.
Before she knew my father had ever bought it.
“How?” I asked.
Claire shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“You would remember signing property documents.”
“I would remember signing anything.”
“So it was forged.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
She gave me a tired look.
“I’ve learned not to make conclusions before I have enough information.”
I almost smiled.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
There was no cruelty in the answer.
Just honesty.
Strangely, that made it easier to hear.
Rebecca entered a few minutes later carrying a paper bag.
“Coffee,” she announced. “For me. Daniel can buy his own.”
Claire smiled faintly.
I looked at Rebecca.
“Apparently I’m learning how.”
“That I would pay to see.”
For a few minutes, we were almost normal.
Not repaired.
Not forgiven.
But normal enough to breathe.
Rose shifted in Claire’s arms.
I could not stop looking at her.
“Do you want to hold her?” Claire asked.
The question frightened me more than any boardroom, contract, or failed deal ever had.
“Yes.”
Claire showed me where to place my hands.
“Support her head.”
“I know.”
“You look like you don’t.”
“I’ve held babies before.”
“When?”
I thought.
“Never.”
Claire actually laughed.
Rebecca covered her mouth.
“Excellent beginning.”
Then Claire placed Rose into my arms.
Everything changed.
She weighed almost nothing.
Yet somehow every decision I had made over forty-two years felt heavier.
Rose opened her eyes briefly.
Dark.
Unfocused.
Trusting without knowing she was trusting.
I sat beside the bed.
“Hello,” I whispered.
Claire watched me.
There were tears in her eyes.
Not dramatic ones.
Only quiet evidence that some part of her still remembered the man she had wanted me to be.
I wanted to apologize.
I wanted to tell her everything.
That the affair had ended.
That it had been careless, selfish, empty.
That I had no defense.
That I understood now.
But Rebecca had been right.
Today was not about my relief.
So I held my daughter instead.
Later that afternoon, Claire slept while Rebecca handed me a thick envelope.
“The one she left with me.”
We stepped into the family lounge.
Inside was a photocopy of the property transfer.
Claire’s signature appeared at the bottom.
It looked convincing.
Very convincing.
But it wasn’t hers.
I had seen Claire sign thousands of documents.
Her C curled differently.
The final e lifted slightly.
This one didn’t.
“Who prepared this?” I asked.
Rebecca pointed near the bottom.
North Star Legal Services.
“Not North Star Advisory?”
“No.”
“Different company?”
“Technically.”
“Connected?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
Rebecca sat across from me.
“Samuel Price.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
But she raised a hand.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re thinking loudly.”
I leaned back.
“What did Samuel do?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then what do we know?”
“He created North Star Legal before he worked for you.”
“When?”
“Seventeen years ago.”
“Why?”
“It handled small estate transfers.”
Including my father’s.
My mind moved quickly through dates.
May you like
Seventeen years ago, I had been twenty-five.
Still building.
