Chapter 2 - The Baby That Shouldn’t Exist
Ethan Blackwood had faced federal investigations, armed rivals, hostile takeovers, and at least two men who had tried to kill him.
According to Daniel Shaw, none of those things had frightened him as much as a white medical folder containing twelve pages of laboratory results.
I learned that three hours after the report reached him.
Daniel called while I was standing barefoot in my new kitchen eating cereal out of a coffee mug because I hadn’t unpacked the bowls.
“He opened it,” he said.
“Was Vanessa there?”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“How romantic.”
“Claire, this isn’t funny.”
“That depends entirely on where you’re sitting.”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Ethan wants to speak to you.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re eating cereal.”
I looked around.
“How do you know that?”
“You posted a photograph of the lake ten minutes ago. There was a cereal box in the reflection.”
I turned slowly toward the window.
“Remind me why Ethan employs you as a lawyer instead of a stalker.”
“He’s coming over.”
I nearly dropped the mug.
“He absolutely is not.”
The line went dead.
Twenty-two minutes later, three black SUVs stopped outside my building.
Subtle.
Ethan entered my condo without knocking because apparently divorce had not cured him of arrogance.
His security chief, Marcus Reed, remained outside.
Ethan came in alone.
I had known him for four years.
I had never seen him look quite like that.
Not angry.
Not yet.
Shocked.
The report was clenched in one hand.
“Explain.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Usually doctors handle that.”
“Claire.”
“What part confused you?”
His voice dropped.
“All of it.”
I crossed my arms.
“The first test showed no sperm. You said the clinic was incompetent. The second test showed the same result. You accused them of mishandling the sample. The third test went to another laboratory. Same conclusion.”
His jaw worked.
“You knew before the divorce.”
“I received the final report that morning.”
“And you said nothing.”
“You were busy announcing your miracle.”
His eyes flashed.
“Do you understand what this means?”
“Yes.”
“It means either three laboratories are wrong…”
“Or Vanessa has extraordinary powers.”
He glared.
I shrugged.
“I’m trying to remain open-minded.”
Ethan walked to the windows.
For a moment, he looked less like Chicago’s most feared criminal figure and more like a man realizing someone had built a trap around his deepest hope.
“How certain did Adler sound?”
“Very.”
“I want another test.”
“Then take one.”
He turned.
“You’re coming.”
I laughed.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“We’re divorced.”
“Not legally finalized for another twenty-six days.”
“Then enjoy the remaining technicality from your side of town.”
His stare sharpened.
I expected anger.
Instead, he said quietly, “Please.”
That word stopped me.
Ethan rarely said please.
The next morning, we went to a specialist in Milwaukee under false names.
Ethan insisted on leaving Chicago because he no longer trusted anyone.
The results came back two days later.
No sperm.
Again.
The specialist recommended additional hormonal and genetic testing. Ethan barely listened.
He sat in the examination room staring at the floor.
The doctor finally left us alone.
I remained near the window.
“You should talk to Vanessa.”
His laugh was bitter.
“She says she’s certain.”
“Pregnant women tend to be certain about being pregnant.”
“She says I’m the father.”
“That’s the uncertain part.”
Ethan looked up.
“What would you do?”
The question surprised me.
“Me?”
“If you were me.”
“Ask for prenatal paternity testing.”
“She refuses.”
“Then I’d become suspicious.”
“I already am.”
That was the understatement of the century.
When we returned to Chicago, Vanessa had moved into the mansion.
My mansion.
Former mansion.
Apparently she had wasted no time replacing me.
But Vanessa had also made a strategic mistake.
She had assumed Ethan’s joy over becoming a father would make him stupid.
Ethan could be arrogant.
Cold.
Possessive.
Occasionally unbearable.
But he was not stupid.
When she refused a prenatal paternity test, Ethan quietly ordered Marcus to investigate her.
Three days later, someone broke into my condo.
I woke at 2:17 in the morning to the sound of glass.
I did not scream.
Being married to Ethan had taught me several useful things.
One of them was that screaming rarely improved a dangerous situation.
I reached into the bedside drawer and wrapped my fingers around the small pistol Ethan had insisted I learn to use.
I moved into the hallway.
A shadow passed near the study.
I switched on the lights.
A masked man froze beside my desk.
He was holding the fertility report.
“Put it down.”
His head snapped toward me.
Then he moved.
Fast.
I fired.
The bullet hit the wall.
He crashed through the balcony door and disappeared down the emergency stairs.
Thirty minutes later, Ethan arrived with Marcus and six armed men.
He was still buttoning his shirt.
His gaze moved over me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“What did he take?”
“Nothing.”
I looked at the papers scattered across the floor.
“He was searching for your report.”
Ethan went still.
Marcus crouched beside the broken desk drawer.
“No cash taken. Jewelry untouched.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Ethan’s eyes met mine.
For the first time, we understood the same thing simultaneously.
Someone cared enough about Ethan’s fertility results to send a man into my home.
Which meant Vanessa’s lie was bigger than cheating.
Ethan ordered two guards to remain outside my condo.
I refused.
He ignored me.
I threatened to call the police.
He smiled without humor.
“Go ahead.”
I remembered who I had married and stopped arguing.
Marcus found something useful the next afternoon.
Vanessa had visited a private obstetric clinic in Evanston.
The clinic’s primary investor was a company called Delmore Medical Holdings.
Delmore was registered in Nevada.
Its controlling shareholder was hidden behind three shell corporations.
Daniel traced the ownership.
The final name made Ethan swear.
Lucas Blackwood.
Ethan’s younger half-brother.
I had met Lucas exactly nine times.
That had been eight times too many.
Lucas was thirty-two, handsome in the polished way that made women forgive him for being cruel, and permanently resentful that Ethan had inherited control of their father’s empire.
Their father, Richard Blackwood, had left eighty percent of voting control to Ethan.
Lucas received money.
Properties.
Investments.
But no real power.
He had never forgiven either of them.
“What does Lucas have to do with Vanessa?” I asked.
Ethan stood in Daniel’s office staring at the ownership records.
“I don’t know.”
Marcus entered.
His expression answered before he spoke.
“We pulled traffic footage from outside Vanessa’s apartment.”
“And?” Ethan asked.
“Lucas visited her regularly for seven months.”
Silence.
I looked at Ethan.
His face became unreadable.
Marcus placed photographs on the table.
Lucas entering Vanessa’s building.
Lucas leaving after midnight.
Vanessa entering his car.
One photograph showed Lucas touching her lower back.
Another showed them kissing.
Ethan didn’t move.
For one terrible second, I almost felt sorry for him.
Then I remembered him asking for a divorce while Vanessa sat on my sofa.
I felt slightly less sorry.
“Congratulations,” I said quietly. “You may still become an uncle.”
He gave me a murderous look.
“Too soon?”
“Claire.”
“Definitely too soon.”
But humor could not hide what the photographs meant.
Vanessa had not simply cheated on Ethan.
She and Lucas had been involved before she returned to him.
Which raised the obvious question.
Why claim Ethan’s baby was his?
The answer appeared that evening.
Daniel found an amendment to Richard Blackwood’s estate documents.
An amendment Ethan had never seen.
If Ethan died without a legitimate biological child, controlling shares in several Blackwood family holding companies would pass to Lucas.
If Ethan had a legally recognized child, the shares would pass into trust for that child.
At first glance, that seemed to ruin Lucas’s motive.
Then Daniel read the next clause.
If Ethan died while his legitimate heir was a minor, temporary voting authority over the trust would pass to the closest surviving adult male Blackwood relative.
Lucas.
The room became silent.
I read the paragraph again.
“So if Vanessa convinces Ethan the baby is his…”
“She marries him,” Daniel said.
“Ethan acknowledges the child.”
“Yes.”
“And if something happens to Ethan before the child turns eighteen…”
“Lucas controls the empire.”
Ethan stared at the papers.
Marcus spoke softly.
“And Lucas is probably the baby’s actual father.”
My skin went cold.
Suddenly, the break-in felt different.
This was not a lover’s deception.
It was succession planning.
Ethan turned toward Marcus.
“Find Lucas.”
“He left Chicago this morning.”
“Where?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Find him.”
Marcus left.
I gathered my purse.
Ethan looked at me.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“No.”
I stopped.
“Excuse me?”
“Someone broke into your condo last night. Lucas knows you have the report.”
“And?”
“And you’re staying somewhere secure.”
“I am not moving back into your mansion while your pregnant mistress occupies my bedroom.”
“She’s not in your bedroom.”
I stared.
“That’s your defense?”
His jaw tightened.
“Vanessa is gone.”
I blinked.
“You threw her out?”
“She left after I confronted her.”
“Where?”
“No one knows.”
That was not good.
Ethan walked closer.
“Come to the house.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“We are divorcing because you believed another woman for approximately twelve minutes and offered me money to disappear.”
“You demanded more.”
“And you paid it.”
His mouth almost twitched.
Almost.
Then his expression became serious.
“This is no longer about us.”
“That might be the first thing we agree on.”
“If Lucas is behind this, you’re involved because you found the report.”
“I didn’t find it. Your doctor gave it to me because I was your wife.”
His eyes held mine.
“Exactly.”
For some reason, that word landed differently.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A distorted voice said, “Mrs. Blackwood?”
“Who is this?”
“Your husband should have accepted the baby.”
My grip tightened.
The caller continued.
“You should have taken your money and stayed quiet.”
Then the line went dead.
Ethan had heard enough to understand.
He took the phone from my hand.
For the first time since our divorce began, I saw something in his face stronger than pride.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
He looked toward Marcus’s men waiting outside the office.
“Get the cars.”
Then he turned back to me.
“You’re coming with me.”
Normally, I would have fought him simply because I enjoyed proving he did not own me anymore.
This time I didn’t.
Because whoever had called knew about the settlement.
They knew about the fertility report.
And they knew exactly where I fit into the problem.
As we rode toward the Blackwood mansion, Ethan sat beside me in silence.
His hand rested near mine on the leather seat.
Not touching.
Almost.
I stared through the window at Chicago passing in streaks of gold and black.
Three days earlier, I had believed the greatest danger to my marriage was Vanessa’s pregnancy.
Now Vanessa had vanished.
Lucas was missing.
Someone had broken into my home.
And Ethan’s dead father had left behind an inheritance clause powerful enough to motivate murder.
Then Ethan’s phone rang.
Marcus answered from the front seat.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked back at Ethan.
“We found Lucas’s car.”
“Where?”
“Near the river.”
“And Lucas?”
Marcus hesitated.
“No sign of him.”
May you like
He looked at me.
“But there was blood inside.”
