His fingers stopped on a date in October, thirty years ago.

The entry was short, written in his father’s hurried handwriting.

*The arrangements are complete,* the note read. *Eleanor insists this is the only way to keep the family intact. I pray we are doing the right thing.*

Nathan stared at the ink.

“The only way to keep the family intact,” he repeated.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“If my father wanted an heir, why wouldn’t they just adopt a child openly?” he asked. “Why hide it?”

“To avoid the scandal,” I suggested.

“No,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “In those days, adoption was common among wealthy families who couldn’t conceive. There was no need for this level of secrecy.”

He sat down at the desk and pulled his laptop toward him.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m going to find out where this certificate came from,” he said.

He opened a private browser and began typing.

He didn’t look at the clock as the minutes ticked away.

I stood by his side, watching the screen as he searched the archives of the Connecticut Department of Health.