Chapter 4 - PAIGE FINALLY NAMED THE TWINS’ FATHER, AND BEATRICE TRIED TO PAY HIM TO DISAPPEAR
His name was Derek Vaughn.
Thirty-four.
Commercial photographer.
Former boyfriend of Paige.
They had dated for almost three years before her relationship with Connor began.
Or before the date Connor believed it began.
Timeline had become slippery.
Derek lived in Nashville.
He had no idea Paige had given birth.
That fact changed the room when he eventually entered it.
But before he entered, Beatrice found him first.
Of course.
I learned because Derek’s attorney called Diana.
“Why me?”
I asked.
“Because Mr. Vaughn says someone representing Beatrice Albright offered him money to disclaim paternity before he had even taken a DNA test.”
I stared.
“How much?”
“Five million.”
I almost laughed.
Beatrice had gone from eighty million dollars to remove the wife to five million to remove the real father.
Everything was purchasable if you asked Beatrice.
“What did he say?”
“No.”
Good.
Derek produced an email from a private attorney offering a “confidential family resolution.”
No direct Beatrice signature.
Enough links to trace.
I immediately sent it to the special committee because Beatrice had been using an attorney who did company work.
If company resources were involved, it mattered.
Connor called me furious.
“You knew?”
“Ten minutes before you.”
“She tried to pay him.”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t even tell me.”
There.
The problem finally became personal to him.
I said:
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You sound surprised your mother might make major family decisions without someone’s consent.”
Silence.
“That was deserved.”
“Yes.”
Good.
Derek flew to Atlanta.
Paige agreed to meet through counsel.
Connor did not attend first.
Neither did I.
Correct.
These were their children.
Their biological questions.
But later, Paige asked to meet me.
That surprised me.
I chose Diana’s office.
No babies.
No Connor.
Paige entered looking exhausted.
Nothing like the smiling woman standing inside my home days earlier.
“Gwen.”
“Paige.”
She sat.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“For?”
She blinked.
“Everything.”
“No.”
I said calmly.
“Pick.”
She swallowed.
Good.
Specificity.
“I’m sorry I had a relationship with Connor knowing he was married.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry I accepted company-paid housing without asking enough about how it was classified.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry some medical expenses went through Callahan Strategy invoices.”
“Did you know?”
“Some.”
Good.
“No innocence performance.”
She nodded.
“I knew Connor wanted to hide certain payments because he didn’t want you seeing them.”
There.
“What did you tell yourself?”
“That your marriage was over except on paper.”
“Did Connor say that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I chose to.”
More honest.
“And the twins?”
She began crying.
“I thought they were his.”
“Why?”
“The timing.”
“Derek and I had broken up.”
“Then we slept together once.”
“A few weeks later Connor and I…”
She looked down.
“When I found out I was pregnant, my doctor gave me a conception window.”
“Both fit.”
“Did you tell Connor?”
“No.”
There.
“Why?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of losing him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell Derek?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He had moved.”
“He was angry.”
“We ended badly.”
I stared.
“You withheld possible paternity from two men.”
“Yes.”
“And then allowed Connor to introduce the babies as his sons.”
She cried harder.
“I convinced myself they were.”
That sentence sounded familiar.
Adults are capable of turning desire into evidence with astonishing speed.
“Did you ever ask Connor whether he had fertility issues?”
“No.”
“He told me you were the reason you couldn’t have children.”
My body went cold.
“What?”
Paige wiped tears.
“He said you had trouble conceiving.”
“He never said it was him.”
There.
Connor had not merely stayed silent while Beatrice blamed me.
He had rewritten the diagnosis privately.
That hurt differently.
“Thank you.”
I said.
Paige looked confused.
“For?”
“The truth.”
Not forgiveness.
Then I asked:
“Did Beatrice know about the pregnancy before Connor?”
Paige hesitated.
Interesting.
“Yes.”
My body tightened.
“How?”
“She saw me get sick at an investor retreat.”
“She asked.”
“I told her I thought I was pregnant.”
“And?”
“She was excited.”
“Before paternity testing?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know you had recently been with Derek?”
“No.”
“Did she ask?”
“No.”
Of course.
Beatrice wanted heirs.
Questions endangered gifts.
Then Paige said:
“She started talking about succession immediately.”
There.
“How soon?”
“Before I was twelve weeks.”
“What did she say?”
“That once Connor had sons, the Albright family needed to ‘clean up’ ownership.”
My chest became cold.
“Did she say my name?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly?”
Paige looked ashamed.
“She said you controlled voting shares only because Connor had married beneath his family’s expectations and your father exploited a weak moment.”
I laughed softly.
My father had invested cash.
Apparently receiving contractual rights was exploitation when the investor happened to be my father.
Paige continued:
“She said once the boys were born, Connor would have the family leverage to buy you out.”
“And the eighty million?”
“I knew there would be an offer.”
“Did you know amount?”
“No.”
“Did Connor?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
There.
I already suspected.
Still.
“Did he help plan it?”
“I think so.”
I leaned back.
The affair hurt.
The hidden payments hurt.
But there was something uniquely cold about a husband planning the financial removal of his wife while she still slept beside him.
“Thank you.”
I stood.
Paige did too.
“Gwen.”
“What?”
“The boys…”
Her voice broke.
“I know you don’t owe them anything.”
“No.”
“But please don’t let the company investigation take away the medical coverage right now.”
There.
A mother.
Finally.
I looked at Diana.
Then back at Paige.
“Employee coverage and any lawful maternity benefits remain while your employment status is reviewed.”
“Anything personal Connor promised you is between you and him.”
“But the babies will not lose medically necessary coverage because adults are fighting.”
Paige cried.
“Thank you.”
I nodded.
Then left.
That evening, Connor called.
I told him what Paige said.
Not all.
Enough.
“You told her our fertility problem was mine?”
Silence.
He knew.
“Connor.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His voice cracked.
“Because I was ashamed.”
“And that made lying about my body acceptable?”
“No.”
“Then say it.”
“No.”
He whispered.
“It wasn’t acceptable.”
Good.
Then I asked:
“Did you help prepare the eighty-million-dollar buyout?”
Silence.
Longer.
“Yes.”
There.
My marriage ended again.
Not emotionally.
That had already happened.
Historically.
The story rearranged.
Connor continued:
“I thought the marriage was ending.”
“So you decided what my shares were worth.”
“My advisers did.”
“Without my advisers.”
“Yes.”
“You planned to put Paige and two babies into my life and hand me a check in the same hour.”
“My mother wanted it clean.”
I laughed.
“Clean?”
He cried.
“I know.”
“No.”
“You know now.”
Silence.
Then Connor said:
“I’m going to cooperate with the special committee.”
“Good.”
“Even if it costs me CEO.”
“It may.”
“I know.”
Progress.
Then:
“Derek’s DNA test is tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“And if he’s their father?”
Connor’s voice became very quiet.
“What happens to me?”
That was not my question to answer.
“You ask Paige.”
“And yourself.”
“I cannot tell you what relationship you are entitled to with children who are not biologically yours.”
He breathed.
“I held them first.”
“I know.”
“I named James.”
“I know.”
“What if I love them?”
“Then love them without pretending love automatically gives you ownership.”
May you like
Silence.
Another lesson the Albright family desperately needed.
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