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“C an you repeat that?” I grip my phone tighter, waiting for a reply.

It was supposed to be a typical day at the office.

My biggest worry this morning, as CEO of DataLock Systems, was overseeing the final round of testing for our upcoming cybersecurity product launch.

As a major player in the tech world, my team is a well-oiled machine.

Every detail is accounted for—no surprises or disruptions.

My career is my life. Yet, with a single phone call, everything I thought I knew has been turned upside down. I’m convinced this can’t be real.

“My name is Tony Fletcher,” the man on the phone repeats. “I’m a partner at Westbrook Law Group based in Chicago, and I regret to inform you that after a long battle with cancer, Amelia Campbell has passed away.”

I didn’t recognize the name at first.

We met at a club six years ago. Her quick wit and career-minded focus won me over.

She was in town for a legal conference, and we spent a night together.

When I woke up the following morning, she was already gone, and I never heard from her again.

Amelia was just another beautiful woman from my past who I hadn’t thought about in years—until now.

I draw in a deep breath. “Like I said before, Tony, I only met her once, and that was six years ago.”

A knot forms in my stomach the moment the words pass my mouth. He’s kept things vague so far, but I have a feeling I know what’s coming, and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.

“Mr. Harding, I worked with Amelia for over ten years. She was meticulous in everything she did. In her will, she listed you as the biological father of her son, Caleb, and designated you as his legal guardian upon her death.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. My knees buckle, and I sink into my office chair, struggling to process the weight of it all.

If Amelia knew I was Caleb’s dad, why keep it from me?

I’ve lived in New York this entire time.

Hell, I even told her the name of my company the night we were together.

Is it really possible that I have a son and never knew it?

Pressure builds in my chest, my pulse hammering. “Where is Caleb now?”

He must be devastated after losing his mom, and I can only imagine the confusion he’s feeling right now.

“Amelia passed two days ago, and he’s been in a temporary foster home since,” Tony says, his voice heavy with emotion.

“Why wasn’t I called sooner?” I demand, rising to my feet to pace my office.

On several occasions growing up, I spent time in foster homes while my parents were under investigation.

Their biggest offense was neglecting me during gambling sprees, but the houses I was sent to were never an improvement.

They were always overcrowded, and the people running them were more concerned with collecting checks than taking care of the kids in their care .

“It took that long to access and review her estate documents.” He pauses, blowing out a slow breath. “I was able to visit Caleb yesterday to make sure he’s being properly cared for, and I can confirm he’s holding up as well as can be expected given the circumstances.”

I bite back my frustration. The man is just doing his job, and it’s clear he’s gone above and beyond, which I’m grateful for.

But that doesn’t ease the anger I feel knowing Caleb’s in foster care, no matter if it’s just temporary.

I haven’t even met him yet, but the instinct to protect him is already there.

Whether he’s biologically mine or not, I’d do whatever I can to help.

No kid should be caught in the system, especially after losing a parent.

I wonder why none of Amelia’s family stepped up to take him in after she passed, but I let it go for now. There will be time for questions later. My priority is getting to Caleb and advocating for him in person.

“I’m on my way.” I glance at my watch. “I’ll be at the Westbrook offices by four. Caleb better be there when I arrive. Am I clear?”

“Absolutely. I’ll give his social worker a call to set it up.” I hear the faint clicking of keys in the background. “Would you like to see a picture of him in the meantime?”

I pause, caught off guard. “Uh, sure.”

“Sending it now. See you shortly, Mr. Harding,” Tony says before ending the call.

I exhale shakily, dragging a hand down my face. Just as panic starts to set in, an email comes through from Tony with a photo attached. In it, Amelia sits on a picnic blanket at the park, holding a little boy in her lap with tousled brown hair and warm chocolate eyes.

I’ll be damned.

It’s like looking in the mirror at a younger version of myself, down to the gap in his smile. The only difference being is, he has Amelia’s eyes. I don’t need a DNA test or other proof to confirm that Caleb’s mine. Which means what Tony said must be true.

I have a son.

The gravity of the situation finally sinks in, and I realize there’s no time to waste.

I fire off an email to my assistant, instructing her to have the company jet ready at the airfield within the hour.

I can’t sit idly by while Caleb faces this alone for another minute.

Whatever happens next, he’s got me in his corner now.

Next, I call my lawyer, Dawson Tate. He’s one of the few people I trust. We met early in our careers and have had each other’s backs since.

He’s now the most ruthless lawyer in New York City with a reputation for turning even the toughest cases in his client’s favor.

He also grew up in foster care, so he knows how to navigate the system.

If anyone can cut through the red tape and fast-track the guardianship so I can bring Caleb home, it’s him.

“Harding, this better be good,” Dawson answers. “I have a negotiation settlement in ten, and you know I enjoy watching the opposing legal counsel squirm before it starts.”

“I just found out I have a five-year-old son,” I blurt out.

“Come again?” He shifts gears to lawyer mode. “Who’s claiming this, and what’s she after?”

I wedge my phone between my shoulder and cheek, freeing my hands to pack my laptop.

“Her name’s Amelia. Her lawyer just contacted me to say she passed away and named me guardian of her son, Caleb, and listed me as his father in her will.”

“Fuck,” Dawson mutters. “Is it possible?”

I look at the photo on my computer screen again. “He’s mine,” I state.

Dawson lets out a dry laugh. “You won’t know for sure without a DNA test. Say the word and I’ll get one set up.”

“That’s not necessary.” I pause to add a stack of papers to the briefcase I’m filling to take with me. “I just saw a photo of him, and he’s the spitting image of me as a kid. He’s mine,” I repeat with conviction.

I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.

Dawson lets out a whistle. “Well, shit. What can I do?”

I exhale deeply. “Amelia lived in Chicago. Caleb’s in temporary foster care, and I want to bring him back to New York as soon as possible. I’m headed there to get him now.”

“Send me the law firm’s details, and I’ll call them within the hour. By the time you land, it’ll be taken care of.”

I sigh in relief. “Thanks, man.”

“I’ll send you the bill.”

I chuckle. “Nice to talk to you too, Dawson.”

It’s always business first with him. Then again, I’m no different, but I have a feeling that’s about to change.

As someone who treats research like a competitive sport, I spent the past two hours on the plane taking a crash course in child development online.

It started with a simple search: How to take care of a grieving child.

That opened the floodgates to articles about night terrors, regression, and emotional outbursts—none of which I’m remotely prepared to handle.

I found myself reading through forum posts from relatives stepping in after tragedy, most of them overwhelmed and heartbroken.

I also came across several therapist-recommended guides for helping kids through loss, and I bookmarked all of them.

I’ve been alone my entire adult life. I left my hometown, Bluebell, Montana, when I was eighteen and haven’t looked back since.

The one bright spot in my childhood was the Halstead family.

They own a ranch near town, and I practically lived at their place thanks to my friendship with their oldest son, Heath.

We’ve stayed in touch over the years, and I still consider them the closest thing I ever had to a real family, which is why I send Heath a message before landing in Chicago.

Jensen: Hey.

Heath: Long time, city boy.

I roll my eyes at his nickname for me. It’s only been a few weeks since we talked last, but Heath always loves an excuse to give me shit.

Heath: Wall Street kick you out yet?

Jensen: Just missed your charming personality.

Heath: Everything alright?

Jensen: Got some unexpected news today, and I could use the help of you and your mom.

Heath: Whatever you need.

Jensen: Thanks. I’ll call you tonight and explain everything.

Heath: We’ll be here.

His mom, Julie, is the principal at the elementary school in Bluebell, and she’s been wrangling kids longer than I’ve been alive.

I may be in over my head, but if I trust anyone to steer me right, it’s her.

The Halsteads were my haven as a kid, and I’m hoping they can help me navigate this new chapter, too .

I arrive at the Westbrook Law Group’s office building an hour later. The driver idles near the entrance as the weight of the situation settles over me. I take a deep breath, attempting to steady my racing heart before heading inside.

Following the directions from Tony’s assistant, I take the elevator to the twentieth floor. A woman sits behind the reception desk, her fingers a blur across the keyboard. The moment she spots me, her hands still, and she greets me with a warm smile.

“Good afternoon. What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’m here to see Tony. He’s expecting me.”

She gives me a quick nod and stands. “You must be Mr. Harding. Right this way.”