“I want proof,” Garrett said, stepping closer.

“I want a DNA test. Today.”

Before I could answer, the door to the terrace opened again, and Grandfather Bradford’s personal attorney, Arthur Vance, stepped inside.

He was carrying a leather briefcase, his expression entirely neutral despite the tension in the room.

Arthur looked at me, then at the boys, and finally at Garrett.

“Garrett, Vivian, please step back,” Arthur said, his tone authoritative.

He turned to me, bowing his head slightly. “Ms. Vance. If you and the children would follow me to the library, we have a matter of some urgency to discuss.”

I looked at the attorney, then back at Garrett, whose face was darkening by the second.

The storm outside cracked with a sudden roll of thunder, and the lights in the pavilion flickered.

I squeezed Wyatt’s hand and nodded to Arthur Vance.

“We will go to the library,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

Garrett stepped into our path, his face flushed and a vein throbbing at his temple.

“You aren’t going anywhere until we arrange this test,” Garrett said, his hand twitching at his side.