“And Hannah is your mother.”
“No DNA test gets to erase that.”
Nora whispered:
“Then what are you?”
Alexandra tried to answer.
Could not.
Finally:
“I hope I get to find out.”
The waitress approached and immediately sensed something enormous had happened.
She set three glasses of water down without asking.
“Take your time.”
Then left.
Alexandra reached for her phone.
One bar appeared near the window.
She called her chief of staff.
“Alexandra?”
“Where are you?”
“You're forty-eight minutes late.”
“Victor is—”
“Cancel dinner.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Cancel everything.”
“Tell the board I had an emergency.”
“What kind?”
Alexandra looked at Nora.
“The only kind that matters.”
She hung up.
Then called her attorney.
Rachel Kim answered.
“Please tell me you aren't calling because the merger exploded.”
“No.”
“It’s bigger.”
Rachel laughed.
“Nothing is bigger.”
Alexandra said:
“My daughter may be alive.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then Rachel’s voice changed.
“Where are you?”
“Alpine Rose Diner outside Cedar Ridge.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is the child there?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Three people in this booth.”
“Keep it that way.”
Alexandra looked at Ethan.
He frowned.
Rachel continued:
“No media.”
“No board.”
“Do not sign anything.”
“Do not consent to anyone transporting the child.”
Ethan’s face hardened.
Alexandra interrupted.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“She has a father.”
A pause.
“Biological?”
“No.”
“Legal adoptive.”
“Then yes.”
“Do not interfere with custody.”
“Good.”
“I need an independent DNA service.”
“Two labs.”
“Separate chains of custody.”
“Quietly.”
“I’ll arrange.”
“And Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Pull everything from eight years ago.”
“The crash.”
“Coroner.”
“Private investigator.”
“Victor.”
Rachel paused.
“Why Victor?”
Alexandra looked at Ethan.
“Because something is wrong.”
Within three hours, Alexandra had gone from racing toward the largest corporate dinner of her career to sitting in Ethan Cole’s kitchen drinking coffee from a chipped mug while Nora completed math homework ten feet away.
The absurdity was almost impossible to process.
Ethan’s house stood outside Cedar Ridge.
Small.
White siding.
Wraparound porch.
Workshop behind it.
A basketball hoop over the garage.
A bicycle lying in the grass.
The home smelled faintly of pine cleaner, machine oil, and tomato sauce.
Photographs covered one wall.
Nora at three wearing rain boots.
Nora missing two front teeth.
Nora asleep on Ethan’s chest.
Nora beside a woman with kind brown eyes.
Hannah.
Alexandra stopped before that photograph.