Chapter 167 That's His Kid
Olivia stepped into her apartment building at 2:47 PM. Jack's preschool dismissed at 3:30—just enough time to shower and grab the gifts she'd prepared for Dr. Helen Morrison.
After a shower, she dressed quickly and grabbed the shopping bag—pastries from the French bakery and organic apples. Small gifts for her downstairs neighbor, the closest thing to family she and Jack had in New York.
Dr. Morrison answered the door in a cardigan and slacks, silver hair neat as always. Her expression shifted to mock-stern when she saw the bag.
"Olivia Reed. What did I tell you about bringing gifts?"
"They're just pastries. It's nothing, really."
"Nothing." Dr. Morrison sighed but took the bag. "Come in."
The apartment smelled like chamomile tea and old books. Dr. Morrison poured water without asking and pointed to a chair.
"Sit. How was Los Angeles?"
"Fine," Olivia said. Too quickly.
One eyebrow arched. "Fine?"
"The meeting went well. Everything's fine."
"Mm-hmm." Dr. Morrison didn't push, but her eyes cataloged symptoms the way doctors do. "Well, Jack was an angel. We baked cookies yesterday. He ate three before dinner."
Olivia laughed, tension easing. "Thank you. Really."
"Oh, stop. I like having Jack around. Bobby does too." She leaned forward, patting Olivia's hand. "I hope you know you can leave him with us anytime. Don't ever feel like you're imposing."
Olivia's throat tightened. "That's incredibly kind."
"We mean it," Dr. Morrison said gently. "Everyone needs support, Olivia. Everyone."
Olivia nodded, blinking back tears. "Thank you."
Dr. Morrison squeezed her hand once. "Now. Let's go get that boy."
---
The walk to Little Sprouts Preschool took five minutes. Dr. Morrison looped her arm through Olivia's as they walked.
"I really do love having Jack around," Dr. Morrison said. "Makes the place feel alive again."
Olivia smiled. "Once your son gets married and has kids—"
"Oh, don't get me started on Max." Dr. Morrison huffed, though her eyes were warm. "Thirty and still married to his tech company. No girlfriend, no prospects. Says he's 'too busy.'" She shook her head with obvious affection. "Stubborn, just like his father."
Olivia heard the pride beneath the complaint—the kind only a mother could have.
A line of parents had already formed outside the cheerful brownstone. Dr. Morrison immediately struck up conversation with the blonde woman beside them.
"Your grandson's in Ms. Anna's class too?" the woman asked.
Dr. Morrison smiled. "Oh yes. Jack Reed."
"My daughter is in that class. Maybe they know each other?"
"I'm sure they do."
---
Three thousand miles away, Los Angeles
"That kid's name is Jack Reed," Justin said, arching an eyebrow with deliberate emphasis.
The private lounge on Horizon Club's top floor went silent. Five men sat around a glass table littered with whiskey tumblers and smoldering cigars.
All eyes had turned to Jackson Hayes.
Jackson's fingers froze on his glass. "What?"
"Jack," Harry repeated slowly, leaning back in his chair. His gaze was sharp, assessing. "Interesting choice of name, don't you think?"
"It's—it's a common name," Jackson stammered, setting his drink down too quickly. Bourbon sloshed over the rim. "Half the kids in New York are probably named Jack—"
"Cut the shit," Harry snapped.
Justin raised a hand. "Gentlemen. Before we start pointing fingers, let's establish some facts." He turned to Jackson, his expression unreadable. "Did you have any contact with Olivia Reed after she and Ethan split?"
"No." Jackson's voice steadied. "None. I swear to God. I never even saw her after that night."
Justin studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "I believe you."
"Convenient," Harry muttered under his breath.
"It's the truth," Jackson shot back, half-rising from his chair. "Jesus, Harry. You think I'd betray Ethan like that? After everything?"
"Sit. Down." Justin's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Jackson sat.
From the corner of the room, Jonathan Bennett—Ethan's younger cousin—spoke up. "Look, let's not turn this into an inquisition. Jackson says he didn't touch Olivia. Fine. So who's the father?"
Silence fell like a curtain.
Justin pulled out his phone, tapping the screen. "I had someone run a preliminary check. According to the birth certificate, the mother is listed as Eva Reed. Not Olivia."
Harry frowned. "Eva Reed? Who the hell is that?"
"That," Justin said, his expression darkening, "is the interesting part. Eva Reed died four years ago. Pancreatic cancer. She left behind one child—Jack Reed—who was placed in the care of her friend."
"Olivia," Jackson said quietly.
"Olivia," Justin confirmed.
Jonathan whistled low. "So the kid isn't even hers?"
"Legally, she's his guardian." Justin set the phone down with a soft click. "But that doesn't mean—"
"Or," Harry interrupted, standing and moving to the window, "Eva Reed is a cover story. And the kid is Olivia's."
"Why would she lie about that?" Jackson asked.
Harry turned, silhouetted against the city lights. "Because if that kid is hers, then someone in this room needs to explain how the timeline adds up. She left LA five years ago. The kid's what—four?"
"Four," Justin confirmed. "Birth records show he was born in April, four years ago."
The room went still.
Jonathan's eyes widened. "April, four years ago. That's..."
"Eight months after Olivia left Los Angeles," Justin finished grimly.
Jackson swore under his breath.
Harry's jaw tightened. "Jonathan, you remember what happened five years ago, don't you?"
Jonathan's face had gone pale. "The... the knife. When she—"
"When she threw herself in front of Ethan," Harry said flatly. "Yeah. That."
Justin's expression was carved from stone. "If the kid is Olivia's, and if the dates line up the way I think they do..."
"Then there's only one possibility," Harry finished.