I hurried upstairs.

“I think Christopher took DNA samples from Theodore and perhaps from me while I was away,” I whispered in panic.

Raymond’s expression darkened.

“DNA testing,” he muttered under his breath.

“Why would he do that?” I asked.

“He wants to find something to accuse you of, or perhaps prove that you came here with some kind of premeditated scheme to manipulate me.”

His eyes shifted toward Theodore sleeping on the bed.

Then he asked something unexpected.

“You have never talked about the child’s father,” he observed gently.

Painful memories tightened my chest.

“His name is Brandon,” I answered quietly. “He grew up moving between state foster homes, and we met when we were both working at a diner downtown. He walked out on us when Theodore was only three months old.”

“How old is he?” Raymond pressed further.

“He is twenty-nine years old,” I replied.

Raymond stared at the ceiling.

“What is going on in your mind?” I inquired.

“It is nothing,” he claimed, though his tone suggested otherwise.

It clearly wasn’t nothing.

Two days later, Christopher received a courier envelope in Raymond’s study.

I was passing with tea when I heard him shout.

“This simply cannot be real!”

Papers rustled violently.

“Repeat that to me again,” Christopher demanded into his phone. “That laboratory test must be completely wrong!”

The door flew open.

He stormed past me and rushed to his truck.

That night, he returned with Dr. Wallace.

They locked themselves in the private office for almost two hours.

When they left, I told Raymond.

He listened, then asked to hold Theodore.

I settled the baby on his left arm.

“Nora, I had a son a long time ago,” Raymond revealed softly.

I stared at him.

“He was seventeen years old, and his mother was almost my age,” Raymond continued. “Her wealthy family sent her away out of town to hide the pregnancy, and I was told later that the baby boy ended up in an institutional facility. I spent years searching for him, but eventually I stopped looking.”

He swallowed hard.

“I hid behind my expanding work, and then I hid behind my money,” he confessed with deep regret.

He looked down at Theodore.

“If Christopher ran my DNA against the child’s sample to prove that you and I were complete strangers…”

He didn’t finish.

I did.

“Brandon could be your long-lost son,” I whispered, breathless.

Raymond closed his eyes.

Theodore wrapped his tiny fist around one of Raymond’s fingers.

“And this little boy could be my biological grandson,” Raymond added softly.

The implication hit me immediately.

Until then, Christopher had one obvious reason to want Raymond dead: the inheritance.

Now he’d discovered a legitimate son and grandson who could destroy those plans.

“Christopher is not going to stop now,” I warned nervously.

“No, he will not,” Raymond agreed firmly.

He extended his hand.

“Hand me the hidden phone right now.”

“Who are you planning to call?” I asked.

For the first time since meeting him, Raymond smiled with genuine authority.

“I am calling the people Christopher believed would never arrive in time to stop him.”

When he told me who would enter the estate the next morning, I understood that the real battle was just beginning.

PART 3

At exactly 10:50 the next morning, three heavy vehicles stopped outside the gate.

Christopher wasn’t home.

He had left early, still convinced his uncle was completely paralyzed upstairs.

I opened the gate.

An elderly man carrying a thick leather folder entered, followed by a younger legal associate, two private investigators, and two uniformed law-enforcement officers who identified themselves before entering.

The older gentleman was Harrison Vance, Raymond’s personal attorney of more than twenty years.

“Where is Raymond?” Harrison asked, looking around the entrance hall.

I pointed upstairs.

“He is getting ready upstairs,” I answered.

Harrison stared at me.

Then came a thump from above.

Another followed.

Raymond appeared at the top of the staircase.

He wore dark trousers and a crisp white shirt and leaned heavily on a polished wooden cane.

He had spent two nights practicing the short walk from his bed to the bedroom door.

He had never attempted stairs.

“Mr. Winslow…” Harrison murmured in sheer astonishment.

Raymond smiled.

“Do not prepare my funeral just yet, Harrison,” Raymond remarked dryly.

He descended one agonizing step at a time while I followed close enough to catch him.

By the bottom, his shirt was drenched with sweat, but he remained standing.

Harrison hugged him without a word.

Raymond patted his back.

“Business comes first, Harrison,” Raymond insisted gently. “We can allow ourselves to get sentimental later on.”

For the next hour, everyone gathered in the library to examine photographs, medication schedules, phone logs, and medical records. Investigators had already begun formal legal requests.

They uncovered suspicious transfers from a shell corporation controlled by Christopher to an offshore account belonging to Dr. Wallace.

They also recovered messages in which both men discussed adjusting Raymond’s medication to prevent an unexpected recovery.

One thing was still missing: definitive proof of exactly what had been injected and who ordered it.

“The prosecutor’s office is currently analyzing the chemical reports,” one of the officers explained clearly. “We cannot arrest a citizen simply because we suspect his motives, so we need irrefutable evidence.”

“Then secure the evidence properly,” Raymond demanded. “I want full justice, not a dramatic show.”

At 12:20, tires crunched over the gravel.

Christopher was back.

He entered the lobby talking on his phone.

“I need you to get over here immediately because…”

He stopped mid-sentence.

First he saw Harrison.

Then the officers.

Then me holding Theodore.

Finally, his eyes reached Raymond.

His uncle sat upright in his favorite armchair, free of the bed and IV monitors, hands resting firmly on his cane.

Christopher turned white.

“Uncle…” he stammered out.

“Good morning, Christopher,” Raymond greeted him coldly.

“What on earth are you doing out of your bed?”

“That is hardly the most interesting question you should be asking right now,” Raymond replied smoothly.