All evidence of that day has been cleared in my study, too, except for missing, broken furniture that will need to be replaced and the spot on my grandfather’s portrait where the glass box struck. I could have it repaired, but I find I don’t want to. So instead, the portrait stands against the wall wrapped in brown paper. A few days ago, I decided that I’ll move it to the punishment room.

I pick up the papers I need and tuck them into my briefcase. On the desktop, I glance at Mercedes’s phones. Her old one, which I keep charged and on in case Vincent Douglas texts again, and the one I’d given her. Nothing has come through on either. I leave them there and head through the house and out the front door, where Raul stands beside the Rolls Royce ready to take me into the office. He greets me as usual and opens the door. The staff knows what happened. Gossip like this is too juicy to stay quiet. But they are discreet enough.

The envelope burns a hole in my pocket throughout the drive, and as soon as I’m ensconced behind my desk, I take it out. It’s unsealed, so I flip the flap open and reach inside. When I see what it contains, my breath catches.

She must have been to a doctor. I’m holding images from a sonogram. When did she do that? I see the date in the top right corner. Of course, the time she was at Madame Dubois’s house. Her friends probably arranged for it.

But I don’t care about that. Because what I see here makes me realize she didn’t tell me everything. Probably didn’t dare to and I can’t blame her if I think of my behavior since I found out. I must have terrified her.

My throat goes dry as I look at image after image. There must be a dozen.

Mercedes isn’t pregnant with my child. She’s pregnant with my children. Twins.

A strange rush of emotion courses through me at the sight of them. I spread them out across my desk and study them in disbelief. Twins. My father had a twin. He passed away before he turned one. I can’t tell if they’re boys or girls or one of each, but what I’m feeling is something I’ve never felt before. There’s a foreign undercurrent to the despair that has settled over me. An almost joy beneath it all at this scene laid out before me.

Children.

My children.

A thing I never thought I would have.

I don’t know how long I sit there, but the buzzing of my phone startles me back to reality. I push the button. “Yes, Meredith?”

“Sir, someone’s here to see you. He says he’s your brother?”

Theron?