22. Reid
Chapter twenty-two
Reid
Eugene tore across the grass the second the game ended, legs wobbling in those tiny cleats, cheeks flushed red from the cold. But he didn’t run to her. He ran to me.
“Uncle Reid! Did you see? Did you see?” he panted.
I crouched before I even thought about it, ruffling his hair before I gave him a solid pat on the shoulder.
“Sure did, bud. You crushed it. No mercy.”
“NO MERCY!” he yelled furiously, catching the eyes of a few concerned parents.
I hid my smile as Genevieve came over.
“Okay, Lovebug, yes. No mercy,” she murmured, brushing a curl off his sweaty forehead. “Now, how about we get your hoodie on? It’s getting cold.”
He sniffled in defiance, puffing his little cheeks as he blew out a resigned huff. “Don’t wanna, Mom. I’m not cold.”
She crouched beside him, holding it out to him like an offering. “You’ll get sick,” she said gently. “Please?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, because he was shivering and because watching the two of them negotiate was as cute as it was infuriating. He glanced over to me, probably hoping I’d get him out of his idea of a major predicament. But I raised an eyebrow. “Gotta listen to Mom, bud.”
He sighed dramatically and lifted his arms. She slid the hoodie over his head, tugging it down softly, smoothing the wrinkles, motherhood in the smallest, simplest movements. I’d forgotten how natural she looked, how nurturing and effortless this was for her. How easily she slipped into her role.
We started toward the parking lot, her hand wrapped around Eugene’s, his tiny legs bouncing to keep up. He swung her arm once, then twice, giggling with ease.
Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed my hand too.
His fingers curled around one of mine with complete trust and innocence. And suddenly we were walking in rhythm. One child, two adults, our footsteps in sync.
Something about this, about us, felt natural. For a second, I could’ve sworn this was where I was meant to be. The thought hit me so hard I nearly stumbled.
And then that same thought turned on me. How the hell could something feel so right when it was built on a lie? When it wasn’t even supposed to be?
My son.
He swung our hands again, giggling and oblivious as my jaw locked so tight it hurt.
Three years.
Three years I didn’t know him. She let me think he was someone else’s. Every scraped knee, every fever, every first word… I wasn’t there. She robbed me of all of it.
And yet… I couldn’t pull my hand away. He was so happy. Even without the man who promised him the world and couldn’t even show up.
It was a life I should’ve had. A family I should’ve kept. A child who should’ve known me from the moment he was born.
My throat tightened. When the official paternity results arrived, I’d stared at the paper for so long my vision blurred. I’d reread the percentages, the genetic markers, the confirmation stamped in black ink until the page crumpled in my fist.
There was no mistake or ambiguity. Eugene was mine. And Genevieve never told me.
She didn’t give me the choice to stay or fight. Didn’t even give me the dignity of knowing I had a son. But here he was. And fuck… here I was right beside him.
Genevieve finally glanced over, catching the sight of our hands linked, Eugene swinging between us, laughing. Then her eyes met mine.
Filled with guilt. Maybe a hint of fear and regret.
She should regret it. Because now that I knew the truth, now that I had him… there was no version of this story where I left. And I wasn’t letting her slip away from me again.
Eugene’s laughter was still echoing in my head by the time I left them at the car.
I didn’t follow them home. Instead, I drove straight to the Newman Trust. I needed my head cleared, my mind on straight. The feelings, the emotions, they could wait. I had business to attend to.
The elevator pinged as the lights hummed above, the building quiet. Alexander was already inside the conference room, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened. A half-dozen open files lay scattered across the table. He didn’t even look up when I walked in.
“Good,” I muttered, shutting the door behind me. “You started without me.”
“You’re late,” he said, his version of a reprimand. He didn’t waste any more breath on small talk. Instead, he tapped a stack of printed files with a pen. “Gregory finished the investment list.”
That got my attention. I shrugged off my coat and tossed it onto a chair, leaning over the table as I scanned the mess laid out in front of me.
Pages and pages of losses. A dozen reckless acquisitions.
Money funneled into sinking ventures, half-baked start-ups, and partnerships that should’ve never passed preliminary review.
Alexander exhaled softly through his nose. “Raymond wasn’t lying when he said he needed help. Half these investments Gregory made weren’t just failures… they were corporate catastrophes.”
“Those are his specialty,” I said dryly, flipping to the next page. “But catastrophes make good camouflage.”
Alexander’s gaze flicked up to mine, knowingly. “You’re thinking of using them.”
“I am using them,” I corrected coolly. “Gregory just delivered the blueprint.” I tapped the list. “Everyone thinks this is the problem.”
I flipped through, scanning page after page. Hundreds of thousands, millions, dropped into black holes. Venture capital flushed down drains. Doomed investments, dead-start businesses, partnerships no one with a brain would have approved. A paper trail so messy it could hide almost anything.
“This,” I said, lifting the top sheet, “is what we’ll show the board. Standard fixes. Tightening budgets. Cleaning up his mistakes. All very noble and responsible moves,” I continued, “while we figure out how to move the incoming money somewhere they’ll never think to look.”
He nodded slowly. “There are a few possibilities we have. Gregory’s screw-ups left three old accounts open. No one’s touched them in years.”
My jaw ticked.
Perfect.
“And no one’s monitoring them?”
“Not closely. The board thinks they’re empty. They assume Gregory just forgot to close them.”
I smirked. “Of course he did.”
Alexander slid another folder toward me. “If we funnel the new investor capital through those accounts, it’ll look like part of the clean-up. No flags.”
“The press will eat it up,” I said. “‘Look at Kaufman, fixing his brother’s fucking mess.’ Savior narrative accomplished.”
“You think your ego can handle it?” Alexander asked, and I shot him a glare before I looked down at the list again.
“We siphon funds through the holding accounts, route them into the start-ups I built on the coast, write off the returns, and let Newman Trust carry the illusion of stability until I’m ready to pull the plug.”
Alexander nodded. “We may need a buffer if investors get nervous.”
“They won’t,” I said, taking a seat, leaning back in the chair calmly. “Not while they think I’m the one holding the place together.”
Alexander didn’t say anything for a moment. Then his voice lowered. “And what about… the test results?”
For a second, it felt like the air was knocked out of me.
He watched my expression, his eyes following my every move. “What did they say?” he pressed further.
The conference room faded, the papers, the numbers, Gregory’s incompetence, Raymond’s desperation. All of it blurred into nothing. Only one truth stayed long enough to cut through it all.
“Positive,” I said finally. The word lodged in my throat on the way out. My voice wasn’t steady. I hated that he could hear that. “The results were positive. He’s mine.”
“And she still hasn’t told you,” he murmured.
“…No,” I said quietly. “She hasn’t.”
Alexander didn’t offer sympathy or apologize for asking. “You seem to be handling it…”
A humorless laugh broke from my chest, the sound bitter. “Am I?”
He didn’t answer.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting the truth slip out, low and dangerous.
“The night of the gala,” I said. “When I found out. What I did to her on the balcony… in the middle of the party.”
Alexander’s expression didn’t change, but he understood enough.
“She looked at me like she remembered everything. Like she still felt everything between us, and knew exactly what had been weighing on my mind the entire night.” My jaw locked. “And she still didn’t tell me he was mine.”
The bitterness crawled up my throat. “I should hate her,” I murmured. “I do. But that night… she let me close. Closer than she should’ve.” I shook my head. “She let me kiss her like the last three years never happened. Let me touch her like she hadn’t carved me out of her life.”
I lowered my gaze from the ceiling, back to the table filled with the hollow remains of Gregory’s failures, the financial ruin I’d come here to control.
“She let me have her,” I said quietly, “knowing what she kept from me.”
And I was going to use that, every moment of weakness, every confession, to force the truth from her once and for all. “But I’ll get the truth out of her. One way or another.”
“What’s your next move?” he asked.
“I take them with me,” I said. “Both of them. To California.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow. “She agreed?”
“She doesn’t have a choice but to.” I met his stare. “She took my choice from me three years ago. I’m not giving her another one.”
My mother spent her whole life regretting the choice she made to stay with Raymond. She’d never say it, but I knew she did.
I wasn’t letting Genevieve make that decision for both of us.