I turned more pages, skimming the frantic, angry letters.

Then, my eyes fell upon a photocopy of a birth certificate.

It was Graham’s birth certificate.

The mother’s name was Marjorie Caldwell, but the father’s name was left entirely blank.

Clipped to the back of the document was a DNA paternity test from a laboratory in Switzerland.

The names on the test were Graham Caldwell and Thomas Whitcomb.

I stared at the name, my mind refusing to accept the words on the paper.

“Thomas Whitcomb,” I whispered. “Pastor Whitcomb’s father.”

“The former pastor of Grace Harbor Chapel,” Julian said, his voice flat with shock.

“Graham is not a Caldwell,” I said, the truth finally washing over me.

“He has no biological claim to the Caldwell estate, the trust, or this house.”

“Marjorie lied to everyone,” Julian said. “She forced your grandmother to sign over the trust management under the threat of exposing Arthur’s financial fraud.”

“She sacrificed my family’s legacy to protect her son’s illegitimate status,” I said, anger burning hot in my chest.

“This ledger proves everything,” Julian said. “It proves the fraud, the blackmail, and the invalidity of Graham’s claim to the trust.”