Chapter 9 - THE DIAGNOSIS WE FEARED
The specialist ordered tests for all four boys.
Those six hours were the longest of my life.
I paced.
Mara sat motionless.
Victoria arrived but remained outside the waiting room because Mara asked her to.
For once, my mother respected a boundary.
At dawn, the doctor returned.
“Mason has a severe iron deficiency and dehydration.”
Mara’s shoulders collapsed with relief.
“Nothing genetic?”
“Nothing in the preliminary work suggests the neurological condition Mr. Whitaker described.”
I closed my eyes.
Mason would be fine.
That should have been enough.
But the doctor continued.
“All four boys are underweight for their age.”
Mara looked down.
Shame crossed her face.
I hated it.
She had worked restaurant shifts, hotel housekeeping jobs, and overnight warehouse hours to keep four children alive while my family controlled billions.
“You fed them before yourself, didn’t you?”
She did not answer.
That was an answer.
I looked at the doctor.
“Whatever they need, they get.”
Mara turned sharply.
“You don’t get to solve everything with money.”
“No.”
“But I’m going to use every resource I have to make sure our sons never wonder where dinner is coming from again.”
Our sons.
The words felt unfamiliar.
And right.
Later that morning, Milo sat beside Mason’s hospital bed.
Max and Micah argued over a coloring book.
I watched them from the doorway.
Victoria appeared behind me.
“They resemble your father.”
I turned.
“You don’t get to say that yet.”
She flinched.
Good.
“I want to fix this.”
“You can’t.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I faced her.
“You still think problems are transactions.”
“That if you apologize properly, transfer money, arrange schools, and call the right people, everything becomes respectable again.”
Her eyes filled.
I had rarely seen my mother cry.
“I lost my son too.”
“No.”
“You watched me live six years without my children.”
“That is not the same thing.”
She whispered.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That your father’s illness would destroy you.”
“That four children might carry it.”
“That Cartwright would withdraw from the merger.”
“That the company would fracture.”
I laughed.
“So you protected everything except me.”
Victoria had no response.
Then my phone rang.
My security chief.
“We searched Harold Vance’s office.”
“What did you find?”
“A locked archive.”
“And?”
“Photographs.”
My skin chilled.
“Of what?”
“Ms. Ellison.”
“And all four children.”
“Taken over six years.”
Mara heard him.
Her face changed.
May you like
Harold had not lost track of them.
He had watched them grow.
