Chapter 2 - Cold Blood and Old Money
Victoria laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that rang off the stainless-steel appliances. "Your eyes? Edward, don't be ridiculous. You’re letting a street rat manipulate you with a random alley bastard. Have you completely lost your mind?"
"Look at him, Victoria," Mrs. Martinez said quietly, turning the baby toward her. "Look at the boy."
Victoria didn't look. In fact, she took a deliberate step backward, pulling her tailored cashmere coat tighter around herself as if poverty were contagious. "I won't look at a parasite. Call the police, Edward. Call Child Protective Services. Get this filth out of the house before the press gets wind of it. Do you have any idea what the board of directors would do if they saw this circus?"
Edward didn't move. He was staring at Victoria’s reaction. Over thirty years of ruthless corporate warfare, Edward had learned to read people’s smallest tells—a slight sweat on the upper lip, a nervous glance toward an exit, an overreaction to a seemingly minor detail. Victoria wasn't just annoyed; she was terrified.
"Why are you so eager to throw them out, Vic?" Edward asked, his voice dropping into the low, dangerous tone he used when closing an hostile takeover.
"Because it’s absurd!" she snapped, her knuckles whitening around her leather handbag. "You're a fifty-two-year-old bachelor. You’ve never had children. You’ve never wanted children. Now a filthy girl rolls up with a garbage bag and you're acting like it's a miracle from God? It’s a scam. A blackmail attempt. Look at her—she probably stole the kid herself!"
Sophia shrank further into her oversized towel, tears welling in her large, dark eyes. "I didn't steal him," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I was just hungry. I heard him crying inside the black plastic. He was tied up in a knot, tucked right behind the estate garage."
Behind the estate garage.
Edward’s mind raced. The estate garage was located behind a six-foot stone wall equipped with keypad entry and security cameras. It wasn't accessible from the public alley unless someone had a code, a key, or high-level access. A random passerby couldn't just wander back there to dump a trash bag.
"Lucia," Edward said calm, deadly quiet. "Take Sophia and the baby upstairs to the guest wing. Warm clothes for the girl. Call Dr. Harrison and tell him to get over here immediately for a full medical check on both of them."
"Edward, no!" Victoria barked. "You are not bringing a street child into the family bedrooms!"
"This is my house, Victoria," Edward turned slowly, his icy blue eyes locking onto hers with absolute authority. "My house, my name, my choice. Now, sit down. We need to talk."
Victoria stiffened. For a moment, it looked like she might march out, but under Edward’s chilling gaze, she begrudgingly sat at the edge of a marble stool, looking like she’d been forced to sit on a bed of nails.
Once Mrs. Martinez had guided the children upstairs, Edward walked over to the coffee maker, poured a black coffee, and leaned against the counter.
"Three months ago," Edward began softly, "you asked me to sign over the management of the Drummond Family Trust. You said you wanted to restructure the venture capital arm."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Victoria snapped, fidgeting with her ring.
"When I refused," Edward continued as if she hadn't spoken, "you reminded me that according to our father's will, if I died without an heir, control of the entire estate—the land, the firm, the shipping lines—automatically reverts to you and your sons."
"That's just probate law, Edward! Father wrote the trust fifty years ago!"
"I spent five years in medical treatment after my divorce fifteen years ago, Victoria," Edward said, his voice dropping an octave. "The doctors told me I was sterile. Incurably so. The entire board knows it. You know it. It was the main reason you felt so secure waiting for me to retire."
Victoria sneered. "Then you've just proved my point! You're sterile! That baby cannot be yours!"
"Which brings us back to the eyes," Edward murmured. "And the fact that the child was left on private grounds, behind a secured perimeter. Tell me, sister... where were you last night?"
Victoria’s breath hitched. "I was at the charity gala at the MFA! Ask anyone! I was photographed fifty times!"
"And after the gala?"
"I came home! To my apartment!"
"With whom?"
"That is none of your business!" Victoria slammed her hand on the counter, standing up. "I will not be interrogated in my brother’s kitchen like a criminal! I came over here to drop off the quarterly expense reports, not to be accused of... of whatever insane conspiracy you're spinning in your head!"
She grabbed her bag and made a rush for the door. But as she passed the center island, her sleeve caught the edge of a metal tray, knocking her designer bag to the floor.
The contents spilled across the white tile.
Lipstick, gold compact, platinum credit cards, a set of high-security brass keys... and a small, folded piece of thick cardstock paper.
Edward stepped forward and picked up the paper before Victoria could scramble to grab it.
"Give that back!" she shrieked, reaching for it.
Edward held her off with one arm and unfolded the note with the other. It was a letter on official letterhead from the St. Jude Women’s Clinic, dated three days ago.
It read: DNA Comparison Results: Paternal Lineage Match - 99.8% Confidence. Attached was a list of names.
Edward’s eyes scanned the document, and his blood turned to ice.
The mother listed was Clara Miller—Sophia’s late mother. The biological father listed wasn't Edward Drummond.
It was Edward’s deceased younger brother, Julian Drummond, who had supposedly died in a car crash seven years ago.
May you like
Edward looked up at his sister, his expression terrifyingly still. "Julian had a son?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "And you knew?"
Victoria stood frozen, her face drained of all color, caught in the web of her own lies.
