Chapter 6
The family attorney’s office occupied the second floor of a brick building across from a church parking lot. It was ordinary enough to make the situation feel worse. There were no marble floors or chandeliers, only beige carpet, filing cabinets, and a coffee machine that clicked every few minutes.
He placed the pregnancy records on a conference table between us.
“This is the packet Alexander relied on,” he said.
I sat beside Mr. Bell. Alexander was across from us, his suit jacket folded over the back of his chair. Without the ballroom and the watching guests, he looked less imposing. The sternness remained, but fatigue had settled beneath it.
The attorney opened the first folder.
“Signed pregnancy confirmation. Preliminary examination date. Physician signature. Expected delivery estimate.”
The papers were clean, arranged carefully, and marked with small colored tabs.
“Where did these come from?” I asked.
“Vanessa provided copies to Alexander. Alexander provided them to me after the announcement.”
Alexander's jaw moved once. “I didn't alter them.”
“I didn't say you did.”
He looked down at the table. “I know.”
The attorney turned to a page bearing the family doctor’s signature. “The issue is this date. The doctor's office calendar shows he was out of town.”
“Could the calendar be wrong?” Alexander asked.
“It could. That is why we are not treating this as proof by itself.”
He placed a second sheet beside it. “But the signature was witnessed on a different date than the examination date. And the notation uses a form the doctor stopped using months ago.”
I read the page without touching it. The ink was dark and slightly uneven. It looked official because someone had wanted it to look official.
“Why did the doctor attempt to leave?” I asked.
The attorney folded his hands. “We don't know yet. He contacted me early yesterday morning and said he needed to review his records before speaking. Then he stopped answering calls.”
Alexander's gaze lifted. “You told me he was unavailable.”
“I told you he was unavailable to me.”
The silence that followed was not comfortable. It had the shape of people realizing their assumptions had been expensive.
The attorney brought out a clear sleeve. Inside was the ultrasound image bearing another woman’s name.
Alexander stared at it.
“Where did this come from?” he asked.
“From a closet in the private dressing area,” I said. “It was found among items connected to the announcement.”
His face changed by degrees. First confusion, then recognition that he had no explanation, then anger restrained so tightly it seemed to harden his expression.
“Vanessa told me the ultrasound was hers.”
“She may have believed the image was hers,” the attorney said carefully.
Alexander looked at him. “Don't soften it.”
“I’m not softening anything. I’m separating what we know from what we suspect.”
The attorney slid another document across the table. “There is also a discrepancy in the expected delivery estimate. It doesn't match the date Vanessa gave publicly.”
Alexander leaned forward. “Why didn't you tell me this before the announcement?”
“Because I received the full packet after the announcement was scheduled. I had concerns, but I expected the physician to confirm the medical information.”
“And when he didn't?”
“I advised you to delay.”
Alexander's eyes moved to me. “I didn't delay.”
“No,” I said.
The words were quiet, but they landed heavily.
He didn't defend himself. That mattered more than I wanted it to.
The attorney asked Mr. Bell to confirm the chain of custody for the security footage. Mr. Bell described the copies on my phone, the hotel system, and the separate account. He explained the missing segment in the exported file and the reconstructed footage placing Vanessa and Cynthia near the dressing suite.
Alexander listened without interrupting.
When the attorney finished, Alexander rubbed his thumb over the edge of the table.
“I made the announcement because I thought the documentation had been verified,” he said.
“You made it because you wanted it to be true,” I replied.
His eyes met mine.
“Yes,” he said.
The admission was not an excuse. It was the first thing he had said that didn't try to make the room obey him.
The attorney gathered the pages. “The doctor has agreed to meet through counsel tomorrow. Until then, no one contacts him directly. No one alters or removes any records. And the inheritance suspension remains in effect.”
Alexander nodded.
I stood, but he stayed seated.
“I know I asked for your trust too quickly,” he said.
“You asked for my phone.”
His expression tightened with embarrassment. “That too.”
“You don't get trust because you stopped demanding evidence. You get it, if you get it, by what you do next.”
“I understand.”
I wasn't sure he did. But he let me leave without another promise.
In the hallway, my phone vibrated with a new message from Mr. Bell. He had sent a photograph of the evidence log.
At the bottom of the page, beneath the hotel’s entries, someone had added a handwritten note.
Preserve all medical documents before the morning meeting.
May you like
No name. No explanation.
I looked back through the glass door. Alexander remained at the table, staring at the signed page as if it had finally become what it always was: not a future, but a question.
