Chapter 2 - Eleven Letters
Lucas read the message twice.
Claire read it once.
That was enough.
“Turn your phone off,” she whispered.
Lucas looked at her.
“What?”
“Turn it off.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent that knows we're together.”
“We're on an aircraft.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It matters if they're bluffing.”
Claire's face tightened.
“They aren't.”
Lucas immediately understood.
“You know who this is.”
“No.”
“You've received messages before.”
Claire did not answer.
“Claire.”
The children were watching.
Lucas stopped himself.
He lowered his voice.
“Have you been threatened?”
Claire looked toward Evan and Lily.
“Not recently.”
That answer disturbed Lucas far more than a simple yes.
“How long?”
“Lucas.”
“How long?”
“Since I was pregnant.”
He felt cold.
The jet continued taxiing toward the runway.
There was no immediate danger. At least none Lucas could see.
He pressed the call button.
The flight attendant approached.
“Can you tell the pilots we may need to return to the gate?”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
Lucas ignored her.
The flight attendant hesitated.
“We're number two for departure, Mr. Vale. Once we're on the active taxiway—”
“We have a security issue.”
That changed her expression.
“What kind?”
“An anonymous threat.”
Claire whispered his name sharply.
Lucas continued.
“I need the captain informed.”
The attendant nodded and moved forward.
Claire leaned toward him.
“You don't know what you're doing.”
“Then tell me.”
“I tried telling you three years ago.”
“I didn't get the letters.”
“And I didn't know that.”
“So tell me now.”
Claire looked at him for a long moment.
Then she glanced at the children.
Evan had opened his airplane book.
Lily was playing with the ribbon on her dress.
Claire spoke quietly.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I called you.”
Lucas frowned.
“I changed numbers after the acquisition.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because your number stopped working.”
“I had the same personal number for another eight months.”
Claire stared at him.
“No, you didn't.”
“Yes.”
“I called it for weeks. It said disconnected.”
Lucas's mind moved quickly.
“That isn't possible.”
“It happened.”
“Who gave you the number?”
“I already had it.”
“Show me.”
Claire took out her phone.
She searched an old contact archive.
Then handed it to him.
The number was almost his.
One digit was different.
Lucas recognized it immediately.
“That was my office forwarding number.”
“What?”
“It routed through Vale Systems.”
“I called your private number.”
“No.”
“I had it saved under your name for years.”
Lucas studied the number.
Somebody had altered the contact in her phone.
Or perhaps—
“Did you ever leave your phone unattended around anyone?”
Claire gave him a tired look.
“Three years ago? Of course.”
“Who knew you were pregnant?”
“My doctor. My sister. A few people at work.”
“Anyone connected to me?”
Claire hesitated.
“Your mother.”
Lucas looked up.
“What?”
“I went to her.”
The words struck harder than he expected.
“When?”
“Before the twins were born.”
“You met my mother?”
“I tried.”
“Tried?”
“She wouldn't see me.”
Lucas shook his head.
“That doesn't sound like her.”
“I went to the Vale Foundation office. I told the receptionist who I was. A security man came downstairs and said Margaret had no interest in speaking with me.”
Lucas stared at her.
“My mother doesn't work out of the foundation office.”
“She had an office there.”
“No. She hasn't had one since my brother died.”
Claire's confusion was immediate.
“Then who sent the security man?”
Lucas did not know.
That was becoming a recurring problem.
The flight attendant returned.
“The captain has been informed. Because we're already entering the departure sequence, stopping here would create a safety issue. We can return after takeoff or continue to Chicago. He asked whether the threat indicates an immediate danger aboard.”
Lucas looked at the messages.
“No.”
“Then he recommends we depart and coordinate with authorities on arrival.”
Lucas nodded.
“Do that.”
Claire exhaled.
The aircraft turned.
The cabin lights dimmed slightly.
Engines climbed.
Lucas fastened his seat belt.
Claire checked both children.
The jet surged forward.
For the next thirty seconds, conversation was impossible.
Lucas watched the runway lights streak past the window.
Then the ground dropped away.
He had spent his entire adult life making himself difficult to surprise.
Companies failed because executives missed weak signals.
Deals collapsed because people ignored details.
Security breaches happened because someone assumed the obvious explanation was correct.
Now Lucas had discovered three years of his life might have been shaped by somebody else's interference.
And two children might have paid the price.
When the aircraft leveled, he turned toward Claire.
“Why didn't you come to my office?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Three times.”
“I would have known.”
“You didn't.”
“What happened?”
“The first time, security said I needed an appointment.”
“That sounds normal.”
“The second time, they had my photograph.”
Lucas stopped.
“What?”
“They wouldn't let me enter the lobby.”
“Why?”
“They said I had made threats against you.”
Lucas stared.
“I never filed anything.”
“I know that now.”
“What threats?”
“I was shown a printed incident report accusing me of stalking you.”
Lucas almost stood.
“Who signed it?”
“I never saw.”
“Why didn't you call the police?”
“I was pregnant, scared, and being told a billionaire had documented me as a stalker. What exactly did you think I believed would happen?”
The question landed.
Lucas had no good answer.
Claire continued.
“The third time, I waited across the street.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see me?”
“I saw your car.”
“But not me.”
“No.”
Lucas remembered that year.
Drivers.
Security.
Schedules arranged minute by minute.
A fortress built around productivity.
Anyone controlling the gates could have controlled access to him.
“Who ran my security then?”
Claire shrugged.
“I don't know.”
Lucas did.
Martin Kessler.
Former federal investigator.
Impeccable reputation.
Head of Vale executive protection for six years.
Lucas had trusted him with everything.
Martin had retired eighteen months ago.
Or claimed to.
Lucas unlocked his phone.
He searched the old employee directory stored in his files.
Martin's personnel profile appeared.
The photograph showed a square-faced man in his late fifties.
Claire saw it.
Her body went rigid.
“Him.”
Lucas looked at her.
“You know him?”
“He came to my apartment.”
“When?”
“After the twins were born.”
Lucas felt his pulse rise.
“What did he say?”
“That you wanted nothing to do with us.”
Lucas looked down at Martin's photograph.
“What else?”
“He gave me money.”
Lucas's eyes snapped back to her.
“You took money from him?”
“No.”
“Why would he—”
“I threw it at him.”
Lucas stopped.
Claire's voice had sharpened.
“He put a cashier's check on my table for five hundred thousand dollars and told me it was more generosity than I deserved. I asked if you sent it. He said yes.”
“I did not.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Claire reached for the leather folder.
She removed a photocopy.
A bank check.
$500,000.
The issuing account information had been partly obscured.
But Lucas recognized the bank.
“Did you keep the check?”
“I kept evidence.”
Lucas studied the signature line.
It wasn't his signature.
It was a stamp.
An excellent reproduction.
“Why didn't you cash it?”
Claire gave him a look he remembered from their old life.
The look that meant she found his question insulting.
“Because I wasn't asking you to buy your children.”
Lucas felt the word hit him.
Your children.
Not possibly.
Not maybe.
Your.
He met her eyes.
“Are they mine?”
Claire looked away.
“Claire.”
“Yes.”
The world went silent.
The engines were still running.
The cabin still hummed.
Lily was humming to herself.
Evan was turning pages.
But Lucas heard none of it.
He stared at the boy.
Then the girl.
His children.
His son.
His daughter.
Something inside him broke open.
He had imagined fatherhood in abstract terms years ago.
Before Claire left.
Before ambition consumed every waking hour.
He had pictured a house.
Christmas mornings.
A child sitting on his shoulders.
Claire laughing.
He had never imagined finding those children fully formed, speaking and breathing, while he sat ten feet away as a stranger.
“Why did you say they were two?”
“I panicked.”
“You lied about their age.”
“For thirty seconds.”
“You let me believe—”
“I had spent three years believing you rejected them.”
Lucas stopped.
Her voice did not rise.
That made it worse.
“You don't get to be the only angry person here.”
He looked down.
“You're right.”
Claire blinked.
Perhaps she expected a fight.
Lucas spoke carefully.
“If they are mine, I want proof.”
Pain crossed her face again.
“Of course you do.”
“That isn't an accusation.”
“It feels like one.”
“I need facts. So do you.”
Claire nodded slowly.
“I have a DNA test.”
Lucas stared at her.
“What?”
“Not yours directly.”
“Then whose?”
“Your father.”
Lucas's entire body went still.
“My father?”
Claire opened the folder again.
She removed another document.
“A paternity probability can be calculated through a grandparent relationship. It isn't as strong as direct testing, but—”
“How did you get my father's DNA?”
“I didn't.”
“Then who did?”
Claire swallowed.
“Your father did.”
Lucas forgot to breathe.
“My father knows?”
“He found me six months ago.”
Lucas stood so abruptly his belt snapped tight against his waist.
Evan looked up.
Lucas sat immediately.
“Sorry.”
His voice was hoarse.
Claire continued.
“Robert contacted me privately.”
“My father knows about Evan and Lily.”
“Yes.”
“For six months.”
“Yes.”
“And he didn't tell me?”
“He said he couldn't.”
Lucas gave a short laugh that held no humor.
“My father does not understand the phrase couldn't.”
“He said someone inside your company had been monitoring communications for years.”
Lucas stared.
“He thought telling you directly would put us in danger.”
“That's insane.”
“I thought so too.”
“What changed?”
Claire glanced toward the anonymous message on his phone.
“Maybe nothing.”
Lucas dialed his father.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
His mother.
No answer.
He called the house manager.
Straight to voicemail.
Lucas's instincts sharpened.
His parents were hosting Christmas Eve.
There should have been dozens of people around.
Staff.
Drivers.
Security.
Someone should answer.
He called his father's private line.
After four rings, someone picked up.
No one spoke.
“Dad?”
Silence.
“Dad, are you there?”
A faint sound.
Breathing.
Then Robert Vale's voice.
Very low.
“Lucas?”
Lucas sat forward.
“Dad.”
“Where are you?”
“In the air to Chicago.”
A pause.
“Are you alone?”
Lucas looked at Claire.
“No.”
Robert exhaled.
“She's with you.”
Lucas's eyes narrowed.
“You knew she would be on this flight?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know?”
“Because Martin knows.”
Lucas's hand tightened around the phone.
“Martin Kessler?”
“Listen to me.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“I made a mistake years ago.”
“What mistake?”
“I trusted the wrong man.”
“Dad, Claire says you knew about the twins.”
Robert was silent.
Lucas felt rage rising.
“Are they mine?”
“Yes.”
The word nearly stopped his heart again.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was trying to protect them.”
“From what?”
“Not what.”
Robert's voice changed.
“Who.”
A sound came through the line.
A door opening.
Robert abruptly whispered, “Lucas, don't come to the house.”
“Why?”
“Take Claire and the children somewhere secure.”
“Dad—”
“And do not trust anyone from Vale security.”
The line crackled.
Lucas stood.
“Dad?”
Robert's voice returned, barely audible.
“He's here.”
“Who?”
The call ended.
Lucas immediately called back.
Nothing.
Claire had heard enough to understand.
“What happened?”
Lucas stared at his phone.
A new message arrived.
Not from the anonymous number.
From his father's phone.
It contained a photograph of Robert's study.
A broken whiskey glass lay on the floor.
One chair was overturned.
In the center of the photograph sat a small red gift box.
Lucas zoomed in.
May you like
A card rested on top.
WELCOME HOME, SON.
