“No,” I repeated. “You don’t get to test three children because the adults around them are frightened. If the boys are tested, their mother must consent, and the process must protect them from gossip and speculation.”
Charles looked toward Julian.
“Your children are at the center of this.”
“My children are not a bargaining chip,” Julian said.
He sounded different now. Less like the obedient son who had sat beside Vanessa two years earlier. More like a man who had finally understood that every choice had a cost.
The attorney closed the folder.
“We can arrange discreet testing through the family physician.”
“Not through a Whitmore physician,” I said. “An independent specialist. With legal oversight. And no trust restructuring until the results are known.”
Charles’s expression darkened.
“You are in no position to dictate how I manage my family’s assets.”
“I’m in exactly the position I choose to be in regarding my children. And if your decisions affect their inheritance or future, I will protect their interests.”
He took a step toward me, then stopped himself.
The old Charles might have intimidated me with a boardroom voice and a team of attorneys. But I was no longer the woman who had sat in his library hoping to be chosen.
He seemed to understand that.
“All right,” he said. “Independent testing.”
“Only if Vanessa agrees.”
“And if she refuses?”
“Then you’ll have to ask yourself why.”
The words remained in the room after I said them.
A moment later, the sound of hurried footsteps came from outside.
One of the household staff appeared at the doorway.
“Mr. Whitmore,” he said to Charles, breathing hard. “We found Mrs. Blake.”
Julian turned.
“Where?”
“In the old conservatory.”
“Is she hurt?”
“No, sir. She’s sitting near the fountain. But she asked me to bring this to you.”
The staff member held out a small white envelope.
Charles took it.
There was no name written on the front. Only the logo of a private fertility clinic in Manhattan.
The same clinic listed on the medical records.
Margaret reached for Charles’s arm.
“What does it say?”
Charles opened the envelope.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then his face changed.
He handed it to Julian.
Julian read the letter once.
Then again.
“What is it?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
I took the paper from his hands.
The letter was brief and formal.
