Chapter 71 Trade-off

My phone buzzed with a text from Nathan: "Seriously worried about you. Call me?"

I stared at the message, wondering what I could possibly tell him. Sorry, can't talk right now, just discovered I'm an heiress who was kidnapped as a baby and my hot boss is actually my uncle?

The absurdity of my situation hit me again, and I let out a slightly hysterical laugh that turned into a sob halfway through.

"Get it together, Diana," I told myself firmly, wiping my eyes. "One step at a time."

First step: figure out what I wanted to do about work. Morris Industries—my family's company—was still developing technology. That part hadn't changed. The project was still important, still potentially world-changing. And my marketing approach was still the right one to help it succeed.

Could I separate my professional role from the personal complications? Could I work with Bernard knowing what I knew now?

The thought of seeing him again made my stomach churn with a mixture of emotions I couldn't begin to untangle. Attraction that now felt inappropriate.

"This is insane," I muttered, running my hands through my hair.

I needed to get out of my apartment, to clear my head, to process everything in a fresh environment. I showered and dressed quickly, opting for jeans and a comfortable sweater rather than my usual work attire.

As I left my building, I spotted a familiar town car parked across the street. Tommy was being as promised, but I knew what to look for now. I gave a small wave in the car's direction, acknowledging that I knew he was there.

I walked to a small café several blocks from my apartment, one I didn't frequent regularly. I needed new territory, somewhere without associations to either my old life or this new revealed one.

As I settled at a corner table with a fresh coffee and my journal, I tried to organize my thoughts on paper—always my go-to method for working through complicated problems.

At the top of a clean page, I wrote: What I Know For Sure.

1. I am Elizabeth Diana Morris, kidnapped from the Morris family at 6 months old.

2. I was raised as Diana Peters by a mother who didn't know I was kidnapped.

3. My birth mother is alive but mentally ill due to my kidnapping.

4. My birth father is deceased.

5. Gregory Morris is my grandfather and has been searching for me for 28 years.

6. Bernard Jones was adopted by Gregory at age 17, making him legally my uncle.

7. Thomas Johnson (kidnapper) is actively working against Morris Industries and may pose a danger if he discovers my identity.

8. Bernard has had feelings for me despite knowing our family connection.

9. I have had feelings for Bernard without knowing our family connection.

I stared at the list, the stark reality of my situation laid out in nine numbered points. Then I flipped to a new page and wrote: What I Don't Know.

1. Did my adoptive mother truly not know I was kidnapped?

2. What does Gregory Morris really want from me?

3. Is Bernard telling the complete truth about anything?

4. Can I separate my professional role from my personal situation?

5. Can I ever see Bernard as just a colleague again?

6. Do I want to meet my birth mother?

7. Am I in genuine danger from Thomas Johnson?

8. Who am I now that I know the truth?

The last question was the hardest. Who was I now? A marketing specialist with an unusual family history? An heiress reclaiming her birthright? A woman caught between two identities?

I sipped my coffee, the journal open before me, trying to imagine different futures branching out from this moment.

I could reject it all—quit Morris Industries, cut ties with Bernard and Gregory, and try to go back to my life as Diana Peters. But would I ever be able to forget what I now knew? Would I always wonder about the mother who lost her mind when I was taken?

I could embrace my newfound identity—become Elizabeth Diana Morris, heir to the Morris fortune, take my place in the family business. But what would that mean for the relationships I'd built as Diana Peters? What would it mean for my relationship with my adoptive mother?

And then there was Bernard. Whatever had been developing between us was now complicated beyond measure. Even if I could get past the uncle thing—which was a big if—could I ever trust him after the way he'd manipulated our meeting and concealed the truth for so long?

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted my thoughts. "Are you finished with that?"

I looked up to see a café employee gesturing to my empty coffee cup. "Oh, yes. Sorry."

"Would you like another?" she asked.

I checked the time and was shocked to discover I'd been sitting here thinking for nearly two hours. "No, thank you. I should be going."

As I gathered my things, my phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. Normally I'd let it go to voicemail, but something made me answer.

"Hello?"

"Diana Peters?" A man's voice I didn't recognize.

"Yes?" I replied cautiously, remembering Bernard's warnings about Thomas Johnson.

"My name is James Wilson, head of security at Morris Industries. We met briefly at your first team meeting."

I vaguely remembered the broad-shouldered man with the military bearing. "Yes, I remember."

"I'm calling because we've detected unusual surveillance activity near your apartment building this morning. Not our team."

My heart rate accelerated. "What kind of surveillance?"

"A van that's remained parked for several hours with multiple occupants. They appear to be monitoring the building entrance."

Bernard's warnings suddenly seemed less paranoid. "What should I do?"

"Where are you currently?" James asked.

"A café about six blocks from my apartment," I replied, lowering my voice and glancing around nervously.

"Good. Stay in public spaces. Tommy is aware of the situation and will escort you to a secure location when you're ready."

"A secure location?" I repeated. "You mean I can't go home?"

"As a precaution only," James assured me. "We're investigating the van, but until we confirm it's not Johnson's people, we'd prefer you stay somewhere more secure."

My mind raced. "Where exactly?"

There was a slight hesitation before James answered. "Mr. Jones has prepared a guest suite at his building. The security there is significantly more robust than your apartment."

Bernard's building. Of course.

"Is that really necessary?" I asked, uncomfortable with the idea of staying in such close proximity to Bernard after yesterday's revelations.

"Mr. Jones won't be present," James said, as if reading my thoughts. "He's flying to Chicago this afternoon for meetings."

That was somewhat reassuring, though I wondered if Bernard had conveniently scheduled these "meetings" to make it easier for me to accept the arrangement.

"Alright," I agreed reluctantly. "But only until we know more about this surveillance."

"Of course," James replied. "I'll coordinate with Tommy. When you're ready to leave the café, just text him directly."