We hugged. Garrett had convinced me that Dad wanted to control my life, and between his pride and mine, we had drifted apart.
“I didn’t come to tell you what to do,” he said when I showed him the check. “Just tell me what you need.”
“To separate from him. To protect both of them. And to understand why Garrett had this tucked into my papers.”
I showed him the Beacon Communications authorization. Dad recognized that the company was reviewing marketing contracts because of a rise in expenses, but he didn’t know that particular vendor. He didn’t pick up the phone to order anyone fired. He asked where my suspicion came from, and he listened while I explained that, before leaving the office, I had compared bids for a port advertising campaign. Beacon had submitted the highest proposal and still won the contract, with no clear technical justification I could see.
“I kept a copy of the comparison chart in my personal email,” I told him. “They sent it to me for review. I can turn it over through the proper channel. But first I want to confirm who is behind that agency.”
I asked a family law attorney, Dana Whitfield, to come to the hospital. My father knew her, but I was the one who hired her and told her the whole story. Dana reviewed the agreement, underlined the waiver of child support, and shook her head.
“Support belongs to your children. A private agreement can’t erase it, least of all one signed during labor. And nobody decides paternity on a whim, either.”
She explained that we would need to file for divorce and request temporary orders from the family court. She couldn’t promise me that Garrett would never see his children, and I didn’t ask her to. What I wanted was to keep his money from becoming a weapon.
While she drafted the petition, I checked the bank reference. It matched a deposit description I had found three months earlier in our joint account: BEACON ADVANCE. Garrett had called it a travel expense reimbursement. Because the account was in both our names, I downloaded the full statement, with the date and amount: $11,000. It didn’t prove a crime by itself, but it demanded an explanation.
Then I looked up Beacon’s public business records. The majority owner was Kendra Mercer, the same woman who approved campaigns at Pacific Harbor Freight. The proposal, Garrett’s signature, and the transfer into our account formed a chain neither of them had disclosed in any paperwork I knew of.
That was the real twist. Kendra hadn’t just taken my place in Garrett’s life. The two of them appeared to have used their positions at my father’s company to profit together. This wasn’t about firing an unfaithful husband. It was about determining which services had actually been purchased, how much had been paid, and where the money went.
At 8:58, the receptionist called to say Garrett was insisting on coming up. I told her to let him through only when Dana and a hospital representative were present. I kept Harper close; Owen was resting in his bassinet.
Before the door opened, another text from him arrived.
I was told there were two births. Explain right now what you’re hiding.
For the first time since I had known him, Garrett realized he didn’t control all the information. And I listened to his footsteps coming down the hall with a terrible certainty: he was going to look at my children and try to choose one.
PART 3
Garrett walked in wearing the same blazer as the day before. He saw the two bassinets and stopped cold. Then he spotted the blue bracelet on Owen’s wrist and walked straight toward him.
“Is it a boy?” he asked.
“His name is Owen,” I said. “And she’s Harper.”
He didn’t even glance at Harper. He leaned over Owen and smiled in disbelief. Then he turned on me.
“You hid it from me that I was having a son.”
“I tried to tell you at twenty-five weeks. You left for a flight, and then you stopped coming to my appointments.”
“Owen needs to carry my name. He’s my son.”
“They’re both your children. And twelve hours ago you said Harper didn’t deserve your name.”
The hospital representative asked us not to upset the babies. My father watched from the window. Garrett noticed him then and put on a smile.
“Mr. Prescott. What a surprise. Brooke should have told me you were coming.”
“She doesn’t need your permission,” Dad answered.
I stopped my father with a gesture. I set the check and the agreement on the table. Dana stood beside me.
“Yesterday you wanted to pay me $250,000 to leave with Harper and give up child support. Today you want to take Owen because he’s a boy. Did I understand your idea of family correctly?”
“It wasn’t like that. You were overwhelmed from labor.”
“There are witnesses, documents, and messages. You can’t change what happened because it’s inconvenient now.”
When he reached for the check, I showed him the return letter Dana had prepared. We hadn’t cashed it. She would arrange for its return and put it on the record.
“I don’t want your money to buy my silence,” I told him. “That doesn’t mean you can walk away from your obligation to support your children.”
Garrett looked to my father. Dad didn’t move.
“Brooke, you’re hurting. Let’s not destroy six years over a mistake. Kendra and I can sort out our situation. What matters is Owen.”
I wanted to throw the water at him. Instead, I pushed Harper’s bassinet next to Owen’s.
“Look at them together. If you can’t say their names with the same respect, we won’t be discussing visitation today.”
Harper yawned; Owen waved his hands. Garrett asked how much the boy weighed, but he asked nothing about his sister. That indifference hurt more than any shouting.
