Chapter 23
Harper
The first thing I do when I wake up is log into my grandma’s account via the retirement home’s online portal. The website is everything but user-friendly, and I have to click through a dozen dead-end links before I find her contract and invoices. First red flag right there, folks.
I’m curled up on my couch, laptop balanced on my knees, one sock half-off.
Sunlight is already pouring through the windows even though it feels way too early for this much glare.
I print out the documents, and of course the terms and conditions are so tiny you need a magnifying glass to read them—or a microscope.
Leaning toward the coffee table, I reach for my reading glasses without looking, but my fingers close on thin air.
I frown and glance at the coffee table. No glasses.
Ugh, I need to be more organized. Where on earth did I put them? I shift forward, checking under a magazine, then the couch cushion beside me.
Bingo.
It’s not like me to mistreat my reading glasses like that, but I’ve also been under an extra load of stress lately.
I peer at the clock. Only a couple hours before Baptiste picks me up to go to the Hamptons for our beach weekend.
That should be plenty of time to make sense of this bizarre Golden Age situation.
The problem is, I have to do way more research than necessary, thanks to their weirdly written clauses.
I’m still poring over her contract when my phone rings. Neal’s name appears on the screen, and my heart jolts. I pick up at lightspeed.
“Hey! Have you found anything?”
“Sending it over to you now, but Helen Fletcher’s story checks out. She was in France at that time, and I have the details of her work and residence history.”
A cool wave of relief washes over me. “I knew it. Thanks, Neal.”
“No problem.”
He hangs up, and I open his email the next second.
I print off all the documents he sent me and scan through his findings.
Yes, Helen Fletcher did live in Metz the year Baptiste was born.
Yes, she did lose her job—and her dad shortly before that.
I also have all the information on her dad and his role in the D-Day landings. It all happened just like she said.
Baptiste is right. When I need answers, I can’t just let things go. I understand why he doesn’t want to pursue his family, given how many times he’s been burned with false hopes, especially now that he’s made peace with it. But what if Helen is really his mother?
The proof is starting to pile up, and the mountain of evidence is getting hard to ignore.
I fish my wallet from my bag and retrieve the business card Helen gave me. She answers on the third ring.
“Helen Fletcher,” she says in a professional tone.
“Hi, Helen. It’s Harper, Baptiste’s friend.”
“Oh,” she says, blowing out a breath. “Hi, Harper. I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”
“Right, um… I haven’t really been able to talk to Baptiste about what you told me. He’s extremely cautious since a few people have already passed themselves off as family members to get access to him—and his money.”
“Yes, you mentioned that, but I would never—”
“I know,” I cut in. “And I think I believe you. Actually, I was wondering if you’d be up for taking a DNA test. That way there’s no doubt when I talk to him about all of this.”
“Of course. Whatever you need,” she says immediately. “But you’ll need his DNA too. How are you going to manage that if he’s not on board?”
I release an exhale. “I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, I’ll send over a swab kit. Can you complete it and then send it back to me?”
“Of course. I’ll text you my address.”
“Thank you.”
“No—thank you, Harper. I really appreciate you doing this.”
I hang up and bolt to my room, grabbing a large tote bag from my closet and throwing it onto my bed.
I have no time to lose now. I need to swing by the office where we have the swab kits and send one over to Helen, all before Baptiste picks me up.
I let out a groan. I knew I should have kept some kits at home, just in case.
I shove everything I’ll need for this weekend into my tote bag, which isn’t a lot—swimsuit, pajamas, a change of clothes, and a toothbrush—then rush to the door.
As soon as I step outside, I halt in my tracks, the hairs on my neck standing on end. The black sedan is parked at the end of the street.
Crap.
With everything going on, I completely sidelined my research on Victor.
As soon as I’m done with Baptiste’s case, I’ll shift my focus back to him.
I wave obnoxiously at the car, then hurry toward the subway station.
The late July heat clings to my shirt, and I wish I could already be lounging on a beach in the Hamptons instead of scurrying into a crowded train.
Half an hour later, I’m sweaty and out of breath as I stand in line at FedEx, mailing the same-day package to Helen.
When it becomes clear I’ll never make it back to my apartment on time, I call Baptiste, asking if he can pick me up at the FedEx building instead.
Soon enough, the package is shipped, and I’m stepping outside to find his sleek car idling at the curb.
“Hey,” he says when I get into the passenger side. “What’s up? Went to work this morning?”
“Yeah. Something urgent came up.” I smile. “All taken care of. We can go.”
A smile pulls at his lips. “Great. I’m excited, and just look at this great weather.”
We make small talk as we drive out of the city, and I try to ignore the guilt building in my core.
I hate doing all this behind his back. Sneaking a sample of his DNA and sending it to the lab—it feels extreme and wrong.
But I’m doing it for him. I don’t want Baptiste to lose the chance to meet his family.
My parents have been gone for years, and I’d do anything just to talk to them again.
At least this way, he’ll know for sure. And then he can decide whether he wants to move forward.
We finally arrive at the address we’ll call home for the weekend, and the property is gorgeous. The two-story house is a blend of modern and coastal charm, with white clapboard siding, expansive glass doors, and clean lines softened by dune grass and hydrangeas.
As soon as I open the car door, it smells like the ocean—salt, sun, and summer.
“Wow,” Baptiste breathes out, taking off his sunglasses. “They weren’t kidding when they said this place was huge.”
Three other cars are parked in the driveway, which means we’re the last ones to arrive.
Sure enough, when Emma welcomes us in, I can already hear the booming laughter of James and Aaron echoing through the house.
“Ah, there they are,” James says when we enter the vast living room.
The interior is as beautiful as the outside—high ceilings, bright wood floors, soft linen sofas, and windows that span entire walls opening to the backyard.
“We weren’t sure you’d make it before nightfall with Snaily’s driving,” he quips.
“Haha,” Baptiste says, shooting him a playful glare. “Very funny.”
Emma shows us the house—the others were too impatient and already took the tour—and I’m perpetually in awe of every room we step into.
The living room opens into a massive kitchen and dining area, with sliding doors to the patio.
There are also six bedrooms and bathrooms, a large office, and a home theater tucked down a quiet hallway.
“This house is incredible,” I say when Emma wraps up the tour. “Thanks for having us.”
“Yeah,” Baptiste agrees. “It kind of makes me want to invest in real estate now.”
“And since we’re missing two couples, no one will have to sleep on the couch tonight,” James says as we round back to the living room.
“Although, to be fair, it is a huge couch,” Marissa says, chuckling.
We follow Auston and Emma out to the patio to grab drinks from the cooler. And true to their word, the beach is practically in their backyard. There’s a stretch of lawn dotted with red maples and a large swimming pool, but beyond that, it’s just sand and the endless blue of the ocean.
We grab some patio chairs and gather around the table. Auston fires up the grill, and soon enough, we’re all deep in conversation, laughing, teasing, talking over one another.
Aaron, James, and Baptiste gather around Auston while he and Deacon man the grill.
The girls and I stay at the table, chatting about everything, from traveling with the guys for away games to funny customer interactions at the coffee shop and the bookstore. They ask me more questions about my life, and it’s nice—easy, even—to get to know each other a little better.
“Oh, I love your necklace,” Marissa says to Beth. She’s wearing a pink beaded necklace that complements her dress.
“Thanks! I got it at the retirement home, of all places,” she says with a smile. “One of the residents makes them.”
I pivot toward her. “Uh, yeah. I saw them selling stuff yesterday. What’s up with that?” I say. “You’d think that at their age, they’d be glad for some well-earned rest and relaxation. It’s like they don’t want to retire.”
“I know,” Beth laughs. “It’s recent, though. I think some of them are struggling with the new pricing structure.”
“Yeah, that’s what my grandma said. I need to take a better look at that contract,” I say, guilt settling in the pit of my stomach. If only I’d finished my search this morning.
“I thought it was weird too.” Beth nods. “I asked the guy from reception last week, and he said they were bought out earlier this year. The buyout came with a price increase, but also more services—like a guy who comes once a week for ceramics and a painting class.”
“Oh, well, that makes some sense then,” Marissa says. “And it’s nice if they have more activities.”
“Yeah,” I say absentmindedly. I’ll still sift through her invoices and finish reading her contract when I get home. Something smells off about this situation.
The topic shifts again, and soon, we’re all enjoying a nice—albeit slightly charred—barbecue lunch.
The guys still have some progress to make on the grill, but the salads are delicious.
As I sit back, stuffed, I start to wonder if I’ll even make it to the beach or if I should just crash on one of the pool loungers.
As if reading my mind, Emma says, “It’s up to you what you want to do this afternoon. Pool, beach, or naps in your rooms—just enjoy yourselves.”
“I vote beach,” James says, and Aaron meets him with a high-five.
“Same,” Marissa says. “It’s been a while since I’ve felt sand between my toes.”
“I second that,” Alice says with a glance at Deacon, who just shrugs.
“I’m good with whatever,” Baptiste says, getting up. “You decide, Harper. Just going to the restroom real quick.”
All eyes turn to me, and I smile. “I guess we’re going to the beach.”
“Awesome. I’ll grab a cooler,” Auston says, sliding the patio door open and disappearing inside.
“Another round of iced tea, anyone?” James asks. “This bottle’s almost empty—no point in taking it with us.”
Almost everyone nods, and he starts filling glasses.
“Froggy?” James asks, glancing around in search of Baptiste. “Where did he run off to? Do we save him some, or do we not care?”
“No need,” I say, standing up. “He only drinks it with lemon, and we’re all out.”
James goes quiet for a second, then nods. “Right. I never noticed that before.”
“Same…” Aaron says, almost in a whisper.
A few seconds later, Baptiste comes back to the table, and my heart quickens the way it always does when he’s around. Especially when he’s dressed in those cargo shorts and that green polo that makes his emerald eyes pop even more.
“We finished off the iced tea,” James tells him. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Nope. I prefer it with lemon anyway.”
“So we’ve heard,” Aaron says, eyes landing on me with intent.
Now everyone’s staring, and Baptiste just wrinkles his forehead in confusion.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m an investigative journalist. Analyzing people’s habits and behaviors is all part of the job.”
Baptiste presses his lips together, then smiles. “So… are we ready for the beach?”