CHAP 4 — Camila Montgomery
Naomi Pierce listened without interrupting.
That was how I knew she was good.
Bad lawyers perform seriousness. Good ones save their reactions for evidence.
Her office overlooked Bryant Park. Everything inside was glass, dark wood, and silence that cost money. I sat across from her in work boots, with a forged paternity waiver on the desk between us and eight years of stolen fatherhood burning inside my chest.
Naomi read the document.
Then read it again.
“This signature is obviously not yours?”
“I’ve never seen this paper in my life.”
“Did you ever receive money from the Montgomery family?”
“No.”
“Any contact from their lawyers?”
“No.”
“Any message from Camila after Seattle?”
I showed her the old text.
Naomi studied it.
“This could have been sent by anyone with access to her phone.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She leaned back.
“Mr. Reed, if those children are yours, the Montgomery family has committed fraud, custodial interference, and possibly identity forgery. But you need proof, not certainty.”
“How do I get it?”
“Carefully.”
The opportunity came sooner than expected.
Two nights later, Camila Montgomery hosted a foundation reception at the Metropolitan Museum. Naomi secured an invitation through a donor contact. I wore the only suit I owned and felt like a man walking into a room designed to reject him.
Camila stood beneath a marble arch, speaking to guests.
For one moment, I saw the woman from Seattle exactly as she had been.
Then she turned.
Her eyes found mine.
The glass in her hand slipped.
It did not break because a waiter caught it.
Her face went white.
“Noah?”
My name in her voice nearly destroyed me.
A tall older woman stepped beside her.
Eleanor Montgomery.
Silver hair. Diamonds. Smile like a locked door.
“Camila,” she said softly, “compose yourself.”
Camila ignored her.
She walked toward me as if the room had vanished.
“You’re alive.”
I could barely speak.
“So are you.”
Her hand lifted toward my face, then stopped halfway, trembling.
“They told me you died.”
“They told me you wanted nothing to do with me.”
Her eyes filled.
Behind her, Eleanor’s expression hardened.
“This is inappropriate.”
I looked at her.
“No. What you did was inappropriate.”
The air around us changed.
People nearby pretended not to listen while listening with their whole bodies.
Eleanor lowered her voice.
“Mr. Reed, whatever fantasy you have built from an old encounter, you will leave my daughter alone.”
Camila turned on her.
“Mother.”
Eleanor’s gaze sharpened.
“Think of the girls.”
That threat worked.
Camila flinched.
I saw it and understood.
Her cage had three small faces.
Before Eleanor could summon security, three children rushed from a side doorway.
Regina, Lucy, and Valerie.
They stopped when they saw me.
The bold one from the park whispered, “Compass man.”
Camila covered her mouth.
I knelt slowly, because my body understood before my mind did.
“Hi,” I said.
The girl in the middle stepped closer.
“Are you lost too?”
I looked at Camila.
Then at the tattoo on my arm.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I think I was.”
Eleanor snapped her fingers.
Security moved in.
Naomi appeared beside me like a blade in a black dress.
“Touch my client and this becomes a public emergency filing tonight.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
Naomi smiled.
“I brought copies.”
Camila looked from Naomi to me.
For the first time, hope and terror fought openly on her face.
I said, “We need a DNA test.”
Eleanor laughed softly.
“You need to remember your place.”
May you like
Camila stepped between us.
“No, Mother,” she said, voice shaking. “For once, I need to know the truth.”
