Kenneth suddenly moved forward.
My attorney stepped back.
Two venue security guards approached.
“Give me that phone,” Kenneth demanded.
“No.”
His voice became harder.
“Dylan.”
My seventeen-year-old son didn’t move.
“You’re not my father.”
Kenneth stopped.
Those four words seemed to hit harder than anything else that morning.
Then Rachel spoke again.
“There’s something else.”
Everyone turned toward her.
She looked at me.
“You need to understand why I came today.”
“I thought my attorney found you.”
“He did.”
She swallowed.
“But I was already looking for Kenneth.”
“Why?”
Rachel opened her purse again.
This time she removed a photograph.
A young woman stood beside Kenneth.
She couldn’t have been older than thirty.
“Who is she?”
“Melissa Grant.”
Kenneth went completely still.
I noticed.
So did my attorney.
Rachel continued.
“Melissa contacted me six months ago.”
“Why?”
“She found my name on an old document.”
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears.
