Chapter 4 - THE PATERNITY LIE
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Olivia moved first.
She stepped between Gideon and the bassinet, one hand already dialing 911.
Two security guards rushed into the study behind him, but Gideon raised both hands as if his unexpected arrival were perfectly reasonable.
“I’m not armed,” he said.
“That doesn’t make breaking into my house legal,” I replied.
“I didn’t break in. Elliott gave me a key twenty years ago.”
“This property belongs to me now.”
“And if you want to remain alive long enough to raise your daughter, you’ll listen before the police arrive.”
Camille stared at him.
“What did Elliott mean?”
Gideon looked at her with open contempt.
“Your son isn’t Weston’s.”
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
Camille lunged toward him, but Olivia caught her arm.
Gideon reached slowly into his coat. The guards tensed until he produced a sealed envelope and placed it on the desk.
Inside was a laboratory report.
Camille’s name appeared first.
Nathaniel’s appeared beneath it.
The listed father was not Weston Callaway.
It was Preston Callaway—Weston’s younger brother.
Preston had supposedly died three years earlier in a boating accident off the coast of Maine. His body had never been recovered.
Camille swayed.
“I never slept with Preston.”
Gideon’s expression did not change.
“You knew him as Peter Cole.”
She stopped breathing.
I remembered Peter. Camille had once mentioned dating a consultant by that name before joining Callaway Holdings. She said the relationship ended when he moved overseas.
“You knew?” she whispered.
“I discovered it after Nathaniel was born,” Gideon said. “Preston had returned under another identity. He was gathering evidence against Weston.”
My head pounded.
“Why would he hide from his own family?”
“Because Weston tried to kill him.”
The police sirens were getting closer.
Gideon spoke quickly.
Three years earlier, Preston had uncovered a network of shell companies Weston used to steal from Callaway Holdings. When Preston threatened to expose him, Weston sabotaged his boat. Preston survived, but instead of returning home, he contacted Uncle Elliott.
Together, they began building a case.
“Where is Preston now?” Camille demanded.
Gideon looked at the broken window.
“I don’t know. Elliott was the only person who did.”
“And Elliott is dead,” I said.
Gideon’s face tightened.
“I didn’t kill him.”
“You said he had to be silenced.”
“I said that because it’s what Weston believes I did. I encouraged that belief because fear made him careless.”
Camille stared at the paternity report.
“So you knew Nathaniel was Preston’s child, but you let Weston claim him.”
“I needed Weston to believe he had secured the male heir. It kept him close.”
“You used my baby as bait.”
“Yes.”
The slap echoed through the study.
Gideon accepted it without flinching.
Police entered moments later. Statements were taken, the property was searched, and Gideon was questioned about the key and his disturbing choice of words. Margaret arrived shortly before midnight and convinced everyone to continue the conversation only after legal counsel was present.
By morning, the lake house looked less like a home and more like a command center.
Margaret brought the first audit findings.
The auditors had identified twenty-seven million dollars transferred from Callaway Holdings into fraudulent consulting accounts. Weston had authorized most of the payments.
But the final account had been opened using my Social Security number.
My name appeared on incorporation documents for Mercer Strategic Solutions, a company I had never heard of.
According to the records, I had personally received six million dollars.
“He framed me,” I said.
Margaret nodded. “Or he was preparing to.”
Olivia slammed her palm against the table.
“We go to the FBI.”
“We will,” Margaret said. “But first we need evidence showing who created the documents. Weston will claim Sable acted through Elliott.”
My phone rang.
It was Weston.
Margaret activated the recording function before I answered.
“Sable,” he said, sounding exhausted. “We need to meet.”
“Why?”
“Because my father has disappeared, Camille stole confidential files, and you’re about to be accused of federal fraud.”
He already knew.
That meant the audit team had a leak.
“What do you want?”
“Come home. Bring Elliott’s agreement and the flash drive. I’ll make the evidence against you disappear.”
“And if I refuse?”
There was a pause.
Then I heard an infant crying in the background.
Camille shot out of her chair.
“Nathaniel,” she whispered.
I put the call on speaker.
“Where is the baby, Weston?”
“With his father.”
Camille grabbed the phone.
“You’re not his father!”
Silence followed.
When Weston spoke again, his voice was colder.
“So Gideon told you.”
“Where is my son?”
“Safe, for now.”
“You kidnapped him.”
“I collected the child my family raised as mine.”
Camille began sobbing, but I felt something sharper than fear settle inside me.
Weston believed he had leverage.
He still thought mothers became helpless when their children were threatened.
He had made that mistake with me once already.
“Where do you want to meet?” I asked.
“The Callaway estate. Eight tonight. Come alone.”
The call ended.
Margaret immediately contacted federal investigators. Gideon insisted the estate contained a hidden security system installed by Elliott years ago, including cameras Weston did not know existed.
It was dangerous.
It was also our best chance to obtain a confession and recover Nathaniel.
At seven forty-five, I left Marlo with Olivia and drove through the iron gates of the Callaway estate wearing a hidden microphone beneath my coat.
The mansion windows glowed against the winter darkness.
Weston waited in the main library with a drink in one hand.
Nathaniel’s empty car seat sat near the fireplace.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Weston smiled.
“You always did rush to the ending.”
Then a concealed door behind the bookshelves opened.
A man stepped into the room.
He had Weston’s eyes, Gideon’s jaw, and a scar running from his temple to his collar.
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Preston Callaway was alive.
And he was holding Nathaniel.
