Chapter 4 - The Paper Trail
""September 14th..."" Evelyn whispered, stepping closer, completely ignoring her son. She knelt down on the Persian rug, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she looked directly into Mason’s face. ""The deployment to Grafenwöhr was in late August that year. You... you were carrying them before he shipped out.""
""She handed him the ultrasound records in our living room before he packed his bags, Evelyn,"" I said gently, addressing the woman who had spent eight years sending me patronizing annual newsletters celebrating Tristan’s promotions while ignoring my existence. ""He threw them on the carpet. He called it an emotional extortion scam. And when the lab confirmed quadruplets, his lawyer threatened me with a restraining order if I ever contacted him again.""
From the inside pocket of my coat, I pulled out a heavy manila folder. I didn't slam it down; I simply placed it flat on the corner of the polished dining table.
""Eight years of pediatric records,"" I stated, my voice ringing clear across the Great Hall. ""Vaccination cards signed by board-certified military contract physicians. DNA baseline sequences conducted when they entered the specialized trauma insurance system. Four birth certificates bearing the signature of the chief of obstetrics. Everything you refused to look at, Tristan, because you were too terrified that fatherhood might slow down your promotion to major.""
Sabrina marched over to the table. Her face was pale, her hands shaking as she pulled open the folder. She wasn't an unintelligent woman; she was a senior partner at a corporate PR firm in Seattle. Within thirty seconds of scanning the official state seals, the hospital timestamps, and the medical intake forms, her breath caught in her throat.
""You knew,"" Sabrina said, turning slowly toward Tristan, her voice laced with venom. ""You knew she went to the clinic.""
""Sabrina, I swear I thought she was lying!"" Tristan pleaded, lunging forward, his hands outstretched. ""People make up pregnancies all the time during bitter separations! I thought she was trying to trap me! How could anyone possibly predict quadruplets? It was statistically impossible!""
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""Statistically impossible?"" Liam piped up again, crossing his arms over his chest. ""There’s about one set of quadruplets in every seven hundred thousand births. Our mom is an emergency trauma director. She knows all the numbers. What kind of major doesn't know basic math?""
A soft chuckle broke out near the fireplace—one of the younger Army captains quickly disguised it as a cough, but the damage was done. The facade of the untouchable, brilliant Major Tristan Holloway was crumbling brick by brick in front of the very peers he had spent his life trying to impress.
