Page 18 of Bourbon Girl, Part 2 of 6

I PUSHED through the glass door of the Two Guys Detective Agency, and the bell chimed my arrival. The smell of burnt coffee and old carpet hit me immediately, along with the sound of raised voices coming from the back office.

"—absolutely no right to run surveillance on the Winston divorce case without consulting me first, Octavia! We're supposed to be partners!"

"It was a judgment call, Linda. The guy was about to skip town with half their assets!"

I cleared my throat loudly, and both women appeared in the doorway looking flustered. Linda's blond hair looked as if she'd been running her hands through it, while Octavia wore an expression of defiant righteousness.

"Hello, Bernadette," Linda said, smoothing down her hair and forcing a professional smile.

"Come on back," Octavia said, gesturing toward her office. "We've got things to discuss."

I followed her into the lavishly decorated room and settled into a white upholstered chair as she lowered herself behind her impressive desk.

"I've got your boy's life story."

My stomach clenched as she opened a thick folder, revealing photographs, printouts, and what appeared to be official documents. The reality of what I'd set in motion suddenly felt overwhelming.

"Keith Alan Banyon, age fifty-four," Octavia began, reading from her notes like she was delivering a briefing. "Married to Kirsten Bush Banyon for twenty-seven years. Two daughters—Sarah, twenty-six, and Emma, twenty-two."

The words hit me like physical blows. Two daughters. I possibly had half-sisters.

"Both girls graduated from college," Octavia continued, seemingly oblivious to my distress.

"Sarah's a nurse at Baptist Health, Emma's in graduate school at UK studying marketing.

Keith's worked in various capacities in the bourbon industry his entire adult career—started as a warehouse worker at Heaven Hill, worked his way up through sales, and now he's regional manager for Monroe's Beverage Distribution.

It's a bigger job than it sounds. Monroe's is an empire. "

She flipped through several pages, her finger tracking across columns of information. "Clean record, not even a speeding ticket. Regular church attendance at First Presbyterian, volunteers with Habitat for Humanity, coaches soccer. Model citizen, by all accounts."

My throat felt tight as I processed the information. This wasn't some deadbeat father who'd abandoned his responsibilities. This was a man who'd built a solid, respectable life—a man who might not even know I existed.

"No offense," I said finally, "but you could have told me all this over the phone."

Octavia leaned back in her chair, studying my face with those sharp eyes that seemed to see everything.

"I wanted to see you in person, make sure you're okay.

More importantly, I wanted to make sure you're not planning to go off half-cocked and blow up this guy's life—and your chance of maybe being part of it. "

"I don't want to destroy his family," I said quietly.

Octavia laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the cluttered walls.

"Honey, if I were in your shoes, that's exactly what I'd do.

March right up to his front door and demand answers, consequences be damned.

" She paused, her expression growing unexpectedly introspective.

"But then again, I don't exactly excel at family relationships. Or any relationships, for that matter."

For a moment, she stared off into the distance.

"My advice?" she said, snapping back to the present. "Get to know him a little first. Strike up conversations, show him you're not some crazy person looking to cause trouble. Then, when the time feels right, tell him privately. Let him decide what the next steps should be."

The folder felt heavy in my hands as I left the agency, Keith Banyon's entire life reduced to photographs and documentation that painted the picture of everything I'd never had—stability, family, belonging.

The August heat pressed down on me like a weighted blanket as I walked to my van, but it was nothing compared to the weight of uncertainty churning in my stomach.