“Yes,” Mercer gasped. “She paid me. She paid me fifty thousand dollars to swap your sperm analysis with a sterile donor’s file.”

Maren let out a sharp, ragged breath from the stairs.

She pulled Noah and Lila closer to her legs, sheltering them behind her body.

Eleanor’s face turned the color of ash.

“That is a lie,” Eleanor said, her voice shaking but still trying to hold its authority. “Lionel is a drug addict. He is making things up to save his own skin.”

“He doesn’t have to make anything up,” I said.

I reached inside my coat pocket and pulled out a thick manila folder.

I had printed everything before coming here.

The original lab results.

The wire transfer receipts from the Whitmore family trust.

The emails from Eleanor’s private domain.

“I sent the digital copies to the United States Attorney’s office an hour ago,” I said.

A heavy knock rattled the front door behind us.

The frosted glass pane of the door showed the silhouettes of three tall figures standing on the porch.

Maren didn’t move from the stairs.