She told me.

It wasn’t enough to destroy a company.

But it was enough to make me open my laptop.

Then Rachel said:

“There’s another payment with the same authorization code.”

“To whom?”

She read the abbreviated merchant name.

PRM.

Pacific Reproductive Medicine.

I stopped typing.

“Say that again.”

She did.

I looked at the parking receipt beside my computer.

The date Evelyn had given me was written across the back.

The payment was from the same week.

“Who authorized it?”

Rachel hesitated.

“Christopher.”

I leaned closer to the screen.

“Personally?”

“His executive credentials. Electronic approval.”

That changed the situation.

Not because of Michelle.

Not because of the babies.

Because Vextor had investors.

A board.

Rules.

Christopher had apparently used company money to pay for private fertility treatment while telling the accounting department it was a business expense.

I asked Rachel to keep reviewing only the executive transactions.

“Don’t speculate,” I told her. “Just give me what the records show.”

Three days later, she did.

There were payments connected to the house Christopher shared with Michelle.

Luxury travel.

Jewelry.

And more medical charges.

All approved through Christopher’s credentials.

The total was large enough that I stopped thinking about my divorce.

I called the chairman of Vextor’s audit committee.

I didn’t accuse Christopher of anything.

I simply asked him to review the transactions.

That was my first real breakthrough.

By Friday afternoon, the audit committee had quietly begun its own review.

Christopher didn’t know.

Not yet.

Brandon’s Name Wasn’t Where It Should Have Been

The fertility clinic was more complicated.

Medical records weren’t something I could simply request because I happened to be suspicious.

So I didn’t.

Evelyn handled Brandon.

She invited him to lunch.

He refused.

She offered to help him with a debt he’d been complaining about.

He called her back.

I wasn’t there for their conversation, and Evelyn didn’t give me every detail.

She gave me one.

Brandon had admitted being a donor.

“For whom?” I asked.

Evelyn’s jaw tightened.

“He wouldn’t say.”

“Then we don’t know anything.”

“I know my family.”

“That’s not evidence.”

She disliked that answer.

But I wasn’t going to accuse Michelle of something involving her children based on Evelyn Lawson’s instincts.

Then Christopher announced the family celebration.

More than two hundred people were invited to the Lawson estate in Rancho Santa Fe.

Investors.

Board members.

Family friends.

Business partners.

The invitation called it a “welcome celebration” for the twins.

I wasn’t invited.

Evelyn invited me herself.

“I want you there.”

“Why?”

“Because Brandon agreed to come.”

That made me sit up.

“Does Christopher know?”

“No.”

“Evelyn, don’t turn this into a spectacle.”

“I’m not.”

I knew that tone.

She absolutely was.

“If you want answers, ask Michelle privately.”

“I did.”

“What did she say?”

Evelyn looked at me.

“She asked why an old woman was obsessed with genetics.”

I almost felt sorry for Michelle.

Almost.

The night of the party, I wore a navy dress and arrived twenty minutes late.

Christopher saw me almost immediately.

He was standing beside Michelle near the terrace.

Michelle held their daughter.

Christopher held the boy.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Christopher handed the baby to a nanny and walked toward me.

“What are you doing here?”

“Your mother invited me.”

His smile disappeared.

“This is a family event.”

I looked past him.

Evelyn was approaching.

“Apparently she disagrees.”

Christopher lowered his voice.

“Don’t embarrass yourself tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

His eyes moved toward the leather folder in my hand.

“What’s that?”

“Work.”

He laughed quietly.

“Of course it is.”

Then he walked away.

The party continued for another hour.

Dinner.

Champagne.

Photographs.

Christopher made a short speech about fatherhood.

He thanked Michelle for giving him “the family he’d always wanted.”

I watched three Vextor board members applaud.

The leather folder stayed closed beside my chair.

Then Evelyn stood.

She tapped her spoon against her glass once.

People quieted.

Michelle smiled.

Evelyn didn’t.

“Before we toast these children,” she said, “there’s something I need clarified.”

Christopher frowned.

“Mom.”

Evelyn looked past him.

Brandon Lawson was standing near the back of the terrace.

Christopher saw him.

His face changed.

Michelle saw him next.

Her wineglass stopped halfway to her mouth.

Evelyn turned toward her.

“Michelle.”

Michelle put down the glass.

“Yes?”

Evelyn pointed toward Brandon.

Then she asked the question that silenced the terrace.

“Who is Brandon Lawson to these babies?”

Michelle Looked at Christopher, Not Brandon

Christopher laughed first.

It sounded forced.

“What kind of question is that?”

Nobody answered him.

Michelle had gone pale.

Christopher looked at her.

“Michelle?”

“This is ridiculous.”

Evelyn didn’t move.

“Then answer.”

“He’s your nephew.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Christopher stepped between them.

“Mom, enough.”

Then Brandon spoke.

“Chris.”

Christopher turned.

“What?”

Brandon rubbed his palm against the side of his jacket.

“I didn’t know she hadn’t told you.”

Michelle closed her eyes.

Christopher stared at him.

“Told me what?”

Brandon didn’t answer.

Michelle did.

Quietly.

“It was through the clinic.”

Christopher looked at her.

“What was?”

“The donation.”

I heard someone behind me whisper something.

Christopher didn’t seem to hear anything.

“What donation?”

Michelle’s eyes filled.

“We weren’t getting pregnant fast enough.”

“We?”

“You kept talking about children. About your mother. About the Lawson name.”

Christopher stared at her.

“What did you do?”

Michelle looked toward Brandon.

That was enough.

Christopher stepped backward.

“No.”

“Chris—”

“No.”

She reached for his arm.

He moved away.

Michelle started explaining.

She said she had panicked.

She knew how important children were to him.

She was afraid that if she struggled to conceive, he would eventually decide he’d made a mistake leaving me.