Chapter 5 - The Father They Chose Before the DNA Test
The DNA test became almost ceremonial.
Nobody needed it emotionally.
Hazel had Griffin’s eyes.
Iris had his crooked half-smile.
Both possessed the same terrifying ability to become completely calm while angry.
Still, legal certainty mattered.
The results arrived the morning after Jonah’s threat.
99.9997 percent.
Griffin Drake was their biological father.
Hazel read the percentage three times.
“So definitely?”
“Yes,” I said.
Iris looked at Griffin.
“You owe birthday presents.”
He blinked.
“How many?”
“Sixteen.”
“Why sixteen?”
“Eight each.”
Hazel nodded.
“Interest.”
He stared at me.
“This is your influence?”
“Absolutely not.”
For one beautiful minute, danger disappeared.
Then Griffin’s phone rang.
Federal agents had located activity at the marina.
Jonah’s boat was gone.
His men remained.
Documents recovered from an office suggested he planned to flee through Canada.
But one map showed our neighborhood.
The girls’ school circled.
Another showed my architecture office.
A third marked Griffin’s penthouse.
He had planned for everything.
Griffin’s instinct was to move us into his fortress-like waterfront estate.
I refused.
“At least ask them.”
He stared.
“The girls?”
“Yes.”
“They’re eight.”
“They’re the ones being moved.”
Progress was painful for him.
We explained simply.
“There are people who know where we live,” I said. “Dad has a house with better security.”
Hazel looked at Griffin.
“Do you have a pool?”
“Yes.”
“Indoor?”
“Yes.”
Iris asked, “Library?”
“Two.”
Hazel turned to me.
“Why were we living here?”
I laughed despite myself.
We moved temporarily.
The Drake estate overlooked Puget Sound.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Too large.
The twins explored everything.
Within two hours, Hazel had befriended the chef and Iris found Griffin’s private study.
By dinner, they had rearranged part of his life.
“Why are all your walls gray?” Hazel asked.
Griffin looked around.
“They’re walls.”
“Sad walls.”
Iris nodded.
“Mom uses color.”
He glanced at me.
“Apparently I’m being redecorated.”
“Deserved.”
After dinner, the girls slept in adjoining rooms.
Griffin stood in the hallway staring at the doors.
“What?”
“I missed everything.”
The words came quietly.
I leaned against the wall.
“Yes.”
No defense.
He deserved honesty.
“First steps.”
“Yes.”
“First words.”
“Hazel said ‘light.’ Iris said ‘no.’”
He almost smiled.
“Of course.”
“First day of school.”
His eyes filled.
“Did they ask about me?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did you say?”
“That I didn’t know where you were.”
“Another lie.”
“Yes.”
He looked hurt.
“I never told them you abandoned us.”
That mattered.
“I told them their father was someone I cared about once, but our lives separated.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever happened between us wasn’t theirs to carry.”
He nodded.
Then:
“I’m angry.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how long.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Do you expect forgiveness?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
“I hope we build something better than forgiveness.”
“What?”
“Truth.”
Silence.
Then he kissed me.
Unexpected.
Brief.
The second his lips touched mine, eight years vanished.
Then returned immediately.
I stepped back.
“Griffin.”
“I know.”
“You can’t fix this by—”
“I know.”
He looked almost embarrassed.
“I forgot how annoying you are.”
“You kissed me.”
“Mistake.”
“Clearly.”
We both smiled.
Dangerous.
Later that night, the estate alarm triggered.
Every light went red.
Security rushed.
The girls woke screaming.
I ran.
Griffin reached them first.
“Dad!”
Hazel threw herself at him.
The title had become automatic.
He held both.
“What happened?” I asked.
Security reported a drone crossing the perimeter.
Small package dropped on the lawn.
Bomb squad found no explosive.
Inside:
A child’s music box.
It played a lullaby.
Griffin went pale.
“What?”
“My mother used to play that.”
Hidden under the mechanism was a note.
SHE HELPED ME SAVE YOU FROM SLOAN ONCE. SHE’D WANT ME TO FINISH IT.
Griffin crushed the note.
“No.”
Hazel looked up.
“What does it mean?”
“Nothing you need to carry.”
Good answer.
Then Iris said:
“Mom says secrets make things worse.”
Griffin stared.
Children always find the crack.
He crouched.
“My mother made a bad decision a long time ago because she thought she knew what was best for me.”
“Like Mom leaving?”
The sentence hurt.
Griffin looked at me.
“Yes.”
I appreciated that he did not weaponize it.
Iris thought.
“Adults do that a lot.”
Unfortunately.
The drone contained a transmitter.
Federal technicians traced a control signal to an abandoned office tower downtown.
Teams moved.
They found no Jonah.
But they found a room.
Walls covered with photographs of Griffin.
Me.
The twins.
For eight years.
School concerts.
Grocery stores.
Parks.
Birthdays.
He had been watching us before Griffin knew we existed.
On one wall was a photograph of me pregnant.
Six months.
Taken from across the street in Denver.
I started shaking.
Griffin tore it down.
Then another picture stopped him.
Jonah.
Standing beside Vivian Drake.
Eight years ago.
Alive before his supposed death.
A date written beneath:
December 2.
Twelve days before the girls were born.
Vivian had met Jonah after I disappeared.
She knew I had not gone to Boston.
She knew where I was.
Yet she never told Griffin.
Why?
A recorded audio file answered.
Vivian’s voice:
If Sloan returns, Griffin leaves the organization. Keep her away until the children are old enough that he cannot undo the succession structure.
Jonah replied:
And if he discovers them?
Vivian:
He won’t. He trusts me.
Griffin sat down.
His face emptied.
I understood betrayal from someone loved.
But this?
“Griffin.”
He looked at me.
“My own mother stole my daughters.”
I sat beside him.
“She stole information.”
“Same result.”
“Yes.”
For once, I did not soften it.
He leaned forward.
“I spent eight years thinking you were the only person who betrayed me.”
“And now?”
He looked toward photographs of the twins.
“Now I understand you weren’t even the first.”
He took my hand.
Not romance.
Survival.
Then an agent entered.
“We found Jonah.”
Griffin stood.
“Where?”
“Seattle Children’s Hospital.”
My blood chilled.
“Why?”
The agent’s face tightened.
“He checked in under an alias.”
“For what?”
“Cancer.”
Silence.
“Terminal,” the agent said.
“Doctors estimate weeks.”
That changed everything.
Jonah Kane had spent nine years manipulating wars, families, and fortunes.
May you like
Now he was dying.
And a dying man with nothing left to lose was more dangerous than any enemy Griffin had ever faced.
