“The day after you were conceived,” Mr. Harrison agreed. “With no knowledge that you had been.”
“But how do you know that he’s my father? My mother wasn’t exactly honest.”
“We’re aware of that.” Nelson pushed a legal-looking document toward me. I could see it was a birth certificate, for a baby named Richard Kavanaugh, Jr. “This was the copy of the birth certificate she provided to us. We didn’t realize at the time, but it was forged. You were not named Richard Kavanaugh.”
I looked at the forged document like I was seeing a ghost. It had my birthday on it, and my mother’s name and signature.
“She fooled us on that count,” Nelson continued. “But she eagerly cooperated with paternity testing. Under supervision. You are, without a doubt, Richard Kavanaugh’s biological son.”
I brought my hand up to my head again. Kara subtly rubbed my shoulder.
“I’m going to tell you everything, Mr. Hunt, without delay. It’s going to be a lot to process and I’ll be happy to review any details. But I always feel it’s better to get everything out in the open.”
“Go on,” I agreed. Kara leaned closer to me, her shoulder pressed against my arm. It kept me grounded, and I needed it because everything else seemed like crazy talk.
“Your mother lied about your name, making up both first and last so she could control and conceal your identity. This was before the Internet, personal computers, social media, all of that. Identities were much more easily withheld.”
“She made up the name Declan Hunt?” Kara asked.
“Yes,” Nelson confirmed, then continued with his incredible story. “Mr. Kavanaugh wired Miss Cruise money every month, more than enough to keep both of you comfortable.”
“We had nothing,” I interrupted, shaking my head.
“You had nothing,” Nelson corrected. “She had her drugs.”
I looked down at the table. I wanted to walk right out of the room, but I couldn’t. I knew I had to sit, listen and learn the truth about my past.
“By the time you were eight or nine we’d become well aware that Miss Cruise was less than trustworthy. But she proved difficult to track down.”
“We moved all the time,” I recalled.
“Every time we were getting close to locating you.”
“Montana’s not that big a state,” I protested.
“Big enough. She used several aliases. And this was a different time—”
“Yes, before the Internet. You said.” My voice had an edge to it now. “He couldn’t have tried that hard to find me.”
“It became much more difficult once Miss Cruise became incarcerated.”
I winced at the words.
“You no longer lived with her and as we didn’t know your real name, we had no way to search for you. We contacted all of her known relatives and associates, but most hadn’t seen her for some time. None had any knowledge of your whereabouts.”
I swallowed, tense. “I was in foster care.”
“I only learned of that recently.”
“Richard Kavanaugh.” I repeated the name, my eyes fixed on the table as I realized. “I met him.”
“You did,” Nelson confirmed.
“That night at the Met.”
“He attended the charity event,” the lawyer said. “He’d read about you and become curious. You resemble your mother more than your father, but he wondered. He always worried about you.”
I bristled at the assertion, not exactly ready to buy this version of reality. My long-lost father searching for me, worrying about me. But I said nothing while he continued, explaining that my father had become convinced of my identity after we’d spoken that night. But it had taken time to piece it all together, and he didn’t have time.
“As you may have noted when you spoke,” Nelson remarked, “he was quite ill. He passed away from cancer shortly thereafter. Only 62, far too young.”
The lawyer paused. I kept perfectly composed, my poker face firmly in place.
“It was a source of great pain to him that he could not find you. Even given all of his considerable resources,” Nelson continued. “It was his dying wish to give you a full inheritance alongside your brothers and sister.”
“What?” Kara spoke up at that. She clutched her hand to my arm. “Brothers and sister?” Of course she was more excited about the revelation of family than the inheritance.
“Yes, three half-brothers and a half-sister. Gigi is the youngest. She just turned 20. All of them are from his marriage to his first wife, Margo.”
“Gigi’s 20?” Kara asked. Oh man, here we go. Kara was probably crocheting her a scarf as we spoke.
Nelson nodded, then continued. “Richard also left behind his wife and stepson from his second marriage. Your presence, Declan, has come as quite a shock to them all.”
I snorted. “I’ll bet.”
“Do you doubt that?” The lawyer’s eyes narrowed, but only slightly. He clearly knew how to keep emotions in check as well.
“I don’t doubt it. Not at all. I’m sure they all hate the idea of splitting their pie with me.”
“There’s no need to be crude about it,” he scolded me.
“You forget,” I grinned without mirth, “I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. You couldn’t find me. I got dragged all over, sometimes without a winter coat or shoes that fit my feet. I am the definition of crude.”
Kara cringed at my words, at the image of me young and helpless. I never talked about those days. She likely knew how much I hated to do it now.
But I didn’t need to, did I? I didn’t need to sit there and re-live my worst days, hear more news about how my mother had lied and cheated and screwed me over. I was done with this meeting.
“It doesn’t matter.
I don’t want any inheritance.” I stood up from the table. “This meeting is over.”
“I thought you might say that.” My lawyer, Stephen, spoke up for the first time all meeting. I’d almost forgotten he was there.
“You knew about all this?” I looked at him, accusatory.
“Only for the past day. I was briefed on the details. But I thought you should hear it all in person. And I told him there was a good chance that you would refuse your inheritance.”
“If you prefer,” Nelson spoke to me, “the inheritance will be gifted entirely to your charity for foster children. Your father admired your work greatly.”
I grunted, non-committal.
“But first you must do one thing.”
I stood and waited for it, my whole body tense.
“It was Mr. Kavanaugh’s wish that you meet your family. For any funds to be released, you must agree to do so.”
“No,” I declined, abruptly.
But he continued, undeterred. “There’s an annual family gathering he specified that he’d very much like you to attend. It’s in a few months, around the holidays. It would present the ideal opportunity to meet all of your relations.”
“No,” I answered quickly and decisively, then turned to leave the room. Kara rose to join me.
“It was his dying wish,” the lawyer said to my back, still not raising his voice.
“Not my problem,” I responded, hand on the doorknob.
“You may want to learn the amount of money that you’re refusing before you walk out the door.” Now he spoke up a bit, to make sure he was heard.
With great certainty, I turned to face him. “Nothing you have to say will change my mind.”
“Two hundred and fifty million dollars.”
The number sat there like a big cartoon word balloon hovering over all of our heads.
“What!?!” Kara exclaimed. Unschooled in the art of containing emotion, the words flew out of her mouth.
“Kara, we’re done here.” I took her hand and led her from the meeting room.