Page 129 of Eight Years Gone

She didn’t want to be here. The night she’d walked down memory lane with Jagger had been bad enough. Today the cologne lingering in the air and unsettling silence left her eager to get home.

But she’d had to come after her lunch date with Bea—now that she had the name of her father’s potential ex-lover. If there was another child in her father’s life, there had to be documentation somewhere.

Ready to get her impromptu visit over with, she hurried down the hall to the office, making a beeline to the desk, leafing through her dad’s bills and meal receipts.

She opened each of the drawers, looking through more of the same. When she found nothing there, she headed upstairs to the master suite.

Stopping in the doorway, she studied her dad’s slacks neatly folded on the corner of the bed—his work pants he’d never gotten a chance to put away.

“I’m sorry I’m here like this. I’m sorry I’m invading your privacy.” Because nothing about today’s visit to the city felt the same as reading her mother’s journals. “I have to know.”

Struggling with a messy mix of grief and guilt, she moved to the closet, pulling down the two boxes on the shelf, finding several belts and old neckties.

“There’s nothing,” she whispered as she headed to the bedside table, opening the drawer, spotting a business card for Jericho, Cromwell, and Fitch.

She immediately stood straight. “Dennis. Why didn’t I think of that?”

If her dad had another child, his attorney would surely know.

Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she dialed the number on the card.

“Jericho, Cromwell, and Fitch, how may I direct your call?”

“Good afternoon. This is Grace Evans for Dennis Fitch.”

“Please hold, Ms. Evans.”

“Thank you.”

She paced before the massive windows as the canned music played in her ear, eager for her answers. Yet, as one minute ticked into two, her stomach grew queasy.

“Grace. This is Dennis. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

She stopped moving, pressing her hand to her stomach as she stared out at the city. “It’s no problem.”

“What can I do for you this afternoon?”

How did she ask what she needed to know? ‘Hey, Dennis, did my dad have a love child?’

Cringing at the idea, she shook her head. “Um, I found some of my mother’s old journals at the Wakeview house. In her final entry, the day before her death, she mentioned that she saw a woman with a little boy—a little boy who looked just like Logan.”

The line stayed silent.

Grace cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you know about another child. Do you know if my father has another son?”

Dennis sighed. “Grace, I’m sure you’ve heard of attorney-client privilege—”

“Yes, I have. But my father’s no longer with us.”

“Unfortunately, this is true. It’s also unfortunate that this is a conversation I can’t have with you. Steve was a client for many, many years. I considered him a friend. Even after his death, I’m not allowed to divulge any conversations that were had in confidence.”

“Then you’re not denying it? My father had another child?”

“I didn’t say that. I shared the estate your father left in trust for his only living daughter. I’m afraid that’s all I can legally divulge.”

She turned away from the view as her frustration grew. “But my father had apologized to my mother. I may very well have another brother.”

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you, Grace. But please let me know how I can assist you with any questions or concerns you might have about the estate.”

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