There was a slight silence.
Then she laughed softly.
“Emma. Still dramatic.”
“No,” I said. “Just no longer afraid of you.”
“Then you should learn to be.”
Blake’s eyes snapped to mine.
Victoria continued, “You have no idea what you’re standing in the middle of. Neither of you does. Martin Hale understood too late. I would hate for another accident to happen.”
The room went cold.
Blake spoke first.
“Are you threatening my children?”
“My grandchildren,” Victoria corrected. “And therefore Harrington assets.”
Something fierce and primal moved through me.
“They are not assets.”
“They are heirs,” she said. “Whether you like it or not.”
Then the call ended.
For several seconds, none of us moved.
Priya’s face was pale. “Please tell me that recorded.”
I lifted my phone.
“It did.”
Blake was staring at the black screen of his phone.
Everything about him had gone still.
Too still.
“Blake,” I said.
He looked up.
The man before me was not the wounded ex-husband from the curb.
Not the arrogant billionaire from the plane.
This was someone else.
Someone colder.
Someone born from betrayal and blood.
“I’ll destroy her,” he said.
I believed him.
And that frightened me almost as much as Victoria did.
Before anyone could speak, my phone rang again.
Unknown number.
I answered, putting it on speaker.
At first, there was only static.
Then a man’s voice said, “Dr. Winters?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Daniel Cross. I worked with Martin Hale.”
Blake went rigid.
The man continued quickly, fear cutting through every word.
“I don’t have much time. Hale didn’t die in an accident. He was going to testify. He left a file behind in case anything happened to him.”
My pulse thundered.
“What file?”
“The real paternity report.”
My heart stopped.
Blake’s eyes found mine.
Daniel Cross said, “Mrs. Harrington had the first report buried. But that’s not the worst of it.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What is?”
The man breathed shakily.
“There was a fourth child.”
The room vanished.
Sound vanished.
Air vanished.
Blake’s face emptied of color.
Priya grabbed the back of a chair.
I could not speak.
Daniel Cross lowered his voice.
“Dr. Winters, one of your babies was recorded as deceased before transfer from neonatal care. But Hale found evidence the child may have been taken. I’m sending you an address. Don’t trust anyone connected to the Harrington family.”
The call cut off.
A second later, a message arrived.
An address.
A time.