Chapter 11
Elizabeth reached out to steady herself. “The boy standing in our foyer is claiming to be Brett’s son?”
Mrs. Arnsby nodded.
“Blakely,” Morgan repeated. “Isn’t that…”
“Addison Blakely, Brett’s ex-wife, the one I told you about a couple of months ago.”
Morgan’s eyes slid to the side, to Mrs. Arnsby.
“I know I commented that no one other than Rhett, Brett and I knew about Addison, but Easton Estate’s staff…Jane, Jax and Ben, are all aware of what had happened.”
Mrs. Arnsby made an “x” across her chest. “I swear I never breathed a word to anyone.”
“And I appreciate your discretion. However, it appears Brett’s past is coming back to bite him.” Elizabeth sucked in a breath. “Where is my grandson?”
“Upstairs in his office. I went to the door. It sounds like he’s on the phone.”
“I’ll see what I can do to ascertain whether there’s cause for concern.” Elizabeth strolled out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Morgan hurried to keep up with her grandmother’s brisk pace. They reached the grand foyer where a man, close to Morgan’s age if she had to guess, and a boy who was young but not too young, maybe in his “tween years,” stood waiting.
“Hello.” Elizabeth offered them a guarded smile. “My staff said you’re looking for Brett Easton.”
“We are.”
On closer inspection, Morgan thought the man appeared nervous. He cleared his throat and placed a protective hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to track Mr. Easton down but haven’t had much luck.”
“He travels between his office in Toronto and Easton Island. How can I help you?”
“I was hoping to speak with him.”
“I’m Elizabeth Easton-Ainsworth, Brett’s grandmother. About what?”
“I’m Jeff Blakely. This is my nephew, Tristan. His mother is…was Addison Blakely, Mr. Easton’s ex-wife.”
“Was?”
“She died a few weeks ago. Tristan is her son…and Mr. Easton’s son.”
“How did…why would you wait until now to show up on our doorstep?”
“It’s somewhat complicated,” Blakely said. “Which is why I was hoping to speak with Mr. Easton.”
“You do know we’re on the verge of being hit by a blizzard.”
“And the last ferry back to the mainland is leaving soon,” Morgan added.
“I’m aware of the fact. We flew in from Vegas early this morning. I have a reservation at the hotel in town. I travel often for work. My time off is limited. It was either make the trip now or wait until I could schedule time away.”
“Please come into the library.” Elizabeth motioned for their visitors to follow her to the room across the hall.
“I’ll go get Brett.”
“Thank you, Morgan.” She pinned her granddaughter with a stare that said it all. Not to blindside Brett but to give him a heads up about what he was walking into.
Morgan climbed the stairs to the second floor. She made a sharp left and tiptoed toward her brother’s office door. She could hear his voice and gave the door a light rap.
A muffled thump echoed. The door opened. Brett, with cell phone in hand, appeared. “I’m on the phone,” he mouthed the words.
Morgan made a slicing motion across her neck. “Grandmother needs you downstairs.”
“Now?”
She nodded. “It’s urgent.”
“All right.” Brett returned to his call. “Unfortunately, I need to cut our call short. We finished most of our discussion and can wrap up the remaining minor details after the New Year. Yes. Yes. I look forward to working with you as well.”
Morgan waited for the call to end. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s okay. It’s a deal I’ve been working on for a while now.” He plugged his phone into the charger. “Is it about the storm?”
“No. We have visitors.”
“Visitors?”
“Jeff and Tristan Blakely are downstairs.”
Brett’s head shot up. “Blakely?”
“Addison Blakely’s brother and her son.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. They’re downstairs in the library with Grandmother.”
Brett muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Making long strides, he reached the door and stepped into the hall.
Morgan struggled to keep up with his quick pace. Down the hall and center stairway they went.
Reaching the main level, they found the library door ajar.
Morgan followed her brother inside. For a fraction of a second, time stood still. Jeff Blakely, Tristan Blakely, Elizabeth, Morgan and Brett all stood staring at each other.
Finally, Elizabeth spoke. “Hello, Brett. We have visitors.” She introduced them. “Mr. Blakely is claiming Tristan is your son.”
“My son?”
Jeff reached into his shirt pocket, removed a folded note and handed it to him. “I found this after my sister, Addison, passed away.”
Brett took the note from him and silently read the contents, his expression unreadable. “Addison and I divorced years ago after a brief marriage.”
“Very brief,” Elizabeth added.
“Addison became pregnant with Tristan during that time. We’re willing; actually, I would like a DNA test to confirm this.”
“Of course.” Brett handed the note back. “Why didn’t she let me know, contact me to tell me I had a son?”
Jeff glanced at his nephew. “I’m not sure Tristan needs to be involved in this part of our conversation.”
“I agree.” Elizabeth motioned toward the door. “Can I offer you a soda or a bite to eat? I’m sure Mrs. Arnsby has plenty of food, something you can snack on while your uncle and Brett chat.”
Tristan looked at his uncle, seeking permission. Jeff gave a small nod of his head. “Go ahead.”
“I’ll go with you.” Morgan hurried after the two and stepped into the hall.
Elizabeth, not missing a beat, made small talk while they walked, asking Tristan how old he was, where he went to school, and if he played sports.
He answered in one-syllable replies, not rude or short but brief and to the point.
Stepping into the kitchen, they found Mrs. Arnsby and her team hard at work. She buzzed by, coming to a quick stop when she noticed them standing in the doorway. “Hello.”
“Hello, Jane. I’ve offered Tristan a bite to eat.”
“Oh, yes. We have plenty of snacks.” She rattled off the list of goodies. “Have a seat on the barstool. I’ll fix you a plate in a jiffy.”
While the cook chatted with the boy, Morgan pulled her grandmother off to the side. “I’m in shock.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“What do you think?”
“A DNA test will merely be going through the motions.” Elizabeth placed her hand on her forehead. “Tristan is the spitting image of Brett when he was his age.”