Chapter 2 - The Thirty-Dollar Memory
The media feed went wild. Every photographer inside the Drake Hotel swiveled their telephoto lenses away from the podium and pointed them straight at the three of us. Flashbulbs strobed like lightning, blinding and relentless.
""Ethan, is this true?"" shouted a reporter from the Chicago Tribune, frantically raising a digital voice recorder. ""Are these your children?""
Ethan stumbled down the three steps of the stage, his polished composure shattering into ragged fragments. He moved toward us, parting the sea of silk and tuxedos like a ghost walking through walls. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving under his silk tie. When he was ten feet away, his gaze dropped from my face down to Noah, then to Sophie, and back to me. His pupils dilated in sheer shock.
""Claire?"" he whispered, his voice cracking. ""What... what is this?""
""Don't play dumb, darling,"" I replied smoothly, crossing my arms. ""Ten years ago, you threw six crumpled five-dollar bills at my feet on a rainy Tuesday outside your rented studio apartment. You called me a parasitic gold-digger clinging to your coat-tails, told me I was dead weight holding your career back, and said if I ever showed my face near you again, you’d have me ruined.""
Murmurs of absolute disgust rippled through the ultra-wealthy donors. Ethan’s reputation as a polite, chivalrous gentleman was bleeding out on the polished parquet floor.
""I didn't... you told me you were leaving!"" Ethan stammered, raising his hands in desperate defense. ""You signed the settlement papers! You disappeared into thin air!""
""Your mother brought those papers to my hospital room,"" I said coldly, pointing an emerald-tipped finger directly at Evelyn Sullivan, who was currently trying to shrink behind a decorative ice sculpture. ""The morning after you threw me out, I fainted from severe dehydration and hyperemesis gravidarum. When I woke up hooked to an IV, Evelyn stood over my bed with two corporate lawyers. She told me you had already left for New York, that you hated me, and that if I didn't sign the uncontested divorce waiver granting zero claims to future assets, your family would tie me up in litigation until I was bankrupt and homeless.""
""That's a lie! She's extorting my son!"" Evelyn shrieked, tottering forward on her Louboutins, her face pale beneath layers of foundation. ""She’s a fraud! Those children aren't Sullivans! Look at her, she’s hired actors to humiliate us!""
Noah stepped in front of me with the calm authority of a senior partner at a white-shoe law firm. He opened his black leather portfolio, pulled out a thick stack of certified documents, and held them up toward the front-row journalists.
""Exhibit A,"" Noah announced, his voice cool and utterly unfazed by the screaming old woman. ""Court-admissible DNA sequencing conducted by the Illinois Department of Health, cross-referenced with hair follicles obtained from Mr. Sullivan’s charity comb auction last month. Ninety-nine point nine-nine percent genetic match. Exhibit B: Hospital admission records from Northwestern Memorial, dated October 14th, signed by Dr. Robert Vance, explicitly noting maternal pregnancy with fraternal twins.""
Noah flipped another page with a crisp flick of his fingers. ""Exhibit C: Security footage transcripts from the hospital lobby showing Evelyn Sullivan arriving with notary public Marcus Vance at 9:15 AM.""
The ballroom erupted. Reporters were live-tweeting frantically, their thumbs blurring over phone screens. Sullivan Group’s PR director was frantically waving his hands at the AV booth, desperately screaming, ""Kill the broadcast! Cut the live feed!""
May you like
""You... you had twins?"" Ethan gasped, dropping to one knee to look at Noah and Sophie at eye level. Tears welled in his eyes, genuine and overflowing. He reached a trembling hand toward Sophie's cheek. ""My God. Look at you. You have my mother’s curls and my... my eyes.""
Sophie took half a step backward, tucked her hands behind her sparkly dress, and gave him a look of cool pity. ""Don't touch the dress, please. It's vintage, and unlike you, my mom actually paid for it.""
