“Not without the DNA results and a formal petition to the court,” Marcus said.

“Once we file the DNA proof, the judge will grant us access.”

“We just need to wait for the clinic to upload the certified report.”

My phone buzzed on the desk.

It was a text from Celeste.

*Are you coming home for dinner tonight? We need to talk.*

My chest tightened.

There was an undertone in her message that I didn’t like.

“Marcus, how secure are our communications?” I asked.

“Entirely secure,” he said.

“Everything goes through our encrypted firm server.”

“Good,” I said.

“Keep me updated the second the lab reports are ready.”

“I will,” Marcus said, grabbing his coat.

“Be careful, Adrian.”

“Celeste is not a woman who misses details.”

I drove to our home in Beacon Hill.

The grand townhouse was lit from within, casting warm yellow squares onto the wet cobblestones.

I unlocked the front door and stepped into the quiet foyer.

The smell of roasted garlic and rosemary drifted from the kitchen.

I hung up my wet coat.

Celeste was sitting in the library, a glass of red wine in her hand.