But she had not been chosen.
She had been used.
Just as I had been.
Only I had learned sooner.
Daniel stood beside me, tall and steady, holding the rest of the documents against his chest. He had been my father’s attorney for twenty-seven years, and after my father died, he became the one man in the world who knew exactly how much power my signature carried.
Evan reached for the envelope.
Madison gasped. “Don’t.”
That single word condemned him more completely than any evidence I had shown.
Evan turned toward her slowly. “Madison.”
She shook her head, crying harder now. “You said it didn’t matter.”
A murmur moved through the room.
Evan’s father lowered his gaze.
His mother pressed a hand over her mouth.
My own aunt, seated near the front, whispered, “Dear God.”
I picked up the envelope myself.
“The results arrived this afternoon,” I repeated. “I had them verified twice.”
Evan’s face twisted in confusion and dread. “Verified for what?”
I looked at Madison.
For one second, I almost pitied her.
Almost.
“Paternity,” I said.
The word struck the room like a dropped glass.
Evan did not move.
Then he laughed once, sharply, falsely. “That’s impossible.”
Madison covered her face.
I slid one finger beneath the flap and opened the envelope.
“No,” Evan said, stepping toward me. “Claire, don’t.”
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