His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection)

by Melanie Marchande

  “One day, she didn’t turn up for her shift. I never saw her again. I was always afraid that would happen, but there was nothing I could do. She didn’t go to school, she didn’t have any friends in the area. I thought that was the end of it. I thought…”

  “Adrian,” I say gently, after a long silence. “You have to know how this sounds.”

  He looks up at me abruptly, his eyes tired and haunted. “Like a scam. I know. I know how it sounds. But what if it’s not? How could he possibly know about Vanessa unless…”

  “He might be Vanessa’s son,” I point out. “That doesn’t mean he’s yours.”

  Putting it into words makes the possibility hang even heavier in the air. Merry Christmas, here’s your long-lost son.

  “This is crazy,” I point out, needlessly. “You’ve got to do a DNA test.”

  “Of course,” he says. “I just - I have to call in some favors. Even the people at the free clinics still need to see some kind of ID for him. And it’s got to be kept quiet for now. I don’t need the tabloids hounding me while I’m trying to sort this out. And neither do you.”

  He’s right. Still, it’s infuriating that we can’t know now.

  “Wait, who’s named as the father on his birth certificate?” I ask.

  “He doesn’t have one,” Adrian admits quietly.

  “Doesn’t have - Ryn, are you listening to yourself? How can he just not have a birth certificate?”

  Sighing, he avoids my gaze. “It’s...more common than you’d think. I looked into it. If Vanessa’s parents just took her somewhere and kept her out of school when she started to show, they could’ve had a home birth and nobody would have known the child even existed. That’s...that’s the problem, actually. He needs my help to get his documents in order. He keeps going around in circles with the county, the social security people, the DMV, none of them can just issue him any documents without the other ones acknowledging his existence. He’s got nothing. No birth certificate, no social security number, no driver’s license. He can’t get a proper job, and he has to use fake IDs for everything else. He hates it. He’s an honest person and he shouldn’t be punished for that.”

  “Okay, well...if it’s that easy to slip through the cracks, they must have some kind of system in place for it. Right?”

  “Well, according to what I found - not really. A lot of people who grew up in religious compounds or parents who just wanted to stay off the grid struggle with this. It’s common enough that it comes up in custody disputes a lot, but when both parents go along with it, there’s no easy way to unring that bell.”

  “You realize how this sounds.”

  “I do. But he’s not asking for a stake in the company, Meg. He just needs help cutting through some red tape. He’s tired of having to always work under the table and getting fucked over because of it. Even if we’re not related, I’d still want to help him.”

  “Because you feel like he deserves it.”

  “Yes. Well - no. Because he asked, I suppose.”

  My head’s swimming. I knew Adrian had a life before me. But I always thought he was careful. And I suppose he was, once he grew up. But in high school, well...he would hardly be the first to make an impulsive mistake that would stick with him for the rest of his life.

  I had to try not to get ahead of myself. It could be a lie. It could just be a convenient assumption that Vanessa had made once she saw Adrian’s name in the news. There was no way to know until we got a blood test.

  “Okay,” I say, at last. “Okay. One thing at a time. We’ll set up the test, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

  He nods, still deep in thought. I’m aching to ask him a thousand questions, but I know he doesn’t have the answers.

  -

  It’s Saturday, and I’m awake with the sun again. But not because I’m well-rested.

  He didn’t say it, not outright, but I know what’s going through Adrian’s mind. He doesn’t care about the outcome of the blood test. He still feels responsible for the boy. I was up until the wee hours Googling on my phone, and I found that his story didn’t seem quite as far-fetched as I’d initially thought. It was indeed possible for the children of sovereign citizens and other off-the-grid types to end up in this sort of bind. I found a kid on Reddit who was trying to help his girlfriend, and her situation sounded very similar to the kid’s. She had been sent around in circles at multiple government agencies and didn’t know where to start. Without a birth certificate, she effectively didn’t exist.

  Around ten o’clock, Adrian gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and goes out to talk to somebody he says runs a genetic testing lab. He’s gone for hours, and I find myself going back to the coffeeshop down the street and just sitting there, because it’s nice to have people around me living their normal lives. Hectic, holidays and all, but still normal. The buzz of conversation and typing and the hiss of the espresso machine is exactly the background noise I need to turn off my racing mind for a while.

  The kid’s name isn’t John Locke, of course. It’s Felix. At least, that’s what he told Adrian.

  I have a surprisingly clear picture of Felix’s face in my mind. I only saw him for a moment, but he stuck with me. Something about him, something I can’t place. Is it the family resemblance? Does he look like my husband? I want to say no, dismissing the idea out of hand. Of course he doesn’t. I would have noticed right away. The fact that I even have to ask the question means it’s not true.

  A familiar voice cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see Shelly ordering at the counter again. She sees me before I see her.

  “Hey,” she says cheerfully, taking the seat across from me. “You look tired.”

  It’s her typical no-bullshit way, and right now it’s exactly what I need. But I’m not just pale from the lack of sleep.

  “Shelly, I was walking over by the shelter yesterday and I saw…”

  I can’t finish my sentence.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I was going to tell you, but…”

  “I could have helped!” I’m trying and mostly failing to control the volume of my voice. “Why didn’t you - why didn’t you say something?”

  “Relax,” says Shelly in that firm but gentle way of hers. “It wasn’t a funding thing. We just outlived our usefulness here. I spent the last few years putting everything I had into low cost spay and neuter clinics, and a TNR program for the stray cats. We did educational outreach about how pets are for life, not just a present. Got the backyard breeders shut down. All that good stuff.”

  I should feel relief, but my chest still aches. “And it actually worked?”

  “Like magic. The county shelters aren’t overwhelmed anymore. They have more than enough resources to deal with what’s left. There’s no point in keeping a private shelter running now, with all the cages empty.”

  “Wow.” We’d talked about this, Shelly and I. Many times, over the howling of the dogs during free-play, or over a cheap bottle of wine in the back office when everyone was sleeping. All our dreams of really making a difference.

  It was all well and good to step in and rescue animals who needed a home. But we both had aspirations of doing so much more. I remember I used to sneak time at the office to look up legal resources, vet schools, anyone who might be able to help us seek out the problem at its root. Adrian once caught wind of me asking one of our paralegals about enforcement of unlicensed breeding laws and really gave me an earful about it. I mean, he was right. I shouldn’t be using company resources for a personal project. Right?

  It doesn’t matter now. Shelly did everything we talked about. And she did it alone.

  Well - not alone. But she did it without me.

  In spite of her incredible accomplishment, all I feel is an aching sense of loss.

  “That’s...that’s great, Shelly.” I force a smile, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. “That’s amazing, really. I’m so happy.”

  I can tell she doesn’t buy it, not for a secon
d. But she lets it go. “It was written up in the paper a few times. Big news for a hot minute there. I’m surprised you didn’t see anything about it.”

  “I guess I was just…”

  Busy.

  The word tastes bitter in my mouth before I can even say it.

  “You’ve got a lot on your plate,” says Shelly. “I know. I mean, I got animal welfare under control in one borough. You’re doing global charity drives every other week, it’s not even comparable.”

  “But it doesn’t feel like I’ve done any good.” The words slip out, softly, before I can stifle them. The admission that’s been gnawing at the back of my mind for so long, but I don’t dare speak it. Shelly just has that effect on people.

  “I suppose it’s hard to feel connected to stuff that’s on such a big scale,” Shelly says. “Maybe especially for you. There’s a reason you came to me in the first place, instead of just checking the box to give to United Way on your paychecks. You like to get your hands dirty.”

  “It feels more real,” I admit.

  “Of course it does. And you miss it.”

  Before I can realize it, my eyes are brimming with tears. Fuck, what the hell’s wrong with me?

  “Hey.” Shelly reaches for my hand across the table, any awkwardness between us from the years and the changes I’d gone through momentarily melting away. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  She knows it’s not just about the shelter. But I can’t tell her about Felix, no matter how much I still trust her.

  “I don’t know.”

  She can tell that it’s a lie. She doesn’t say so.

  “You’ve really done well for yourself,” she says with a smile. “I’m proud of you.”

  You shouldn’t be.

  It takes all my resolve not to say it out loud.

  -

  While Adrian does his own investigation, I’m doing mine. I’ve hired an expert to look into Felix’s background and see what he can dig up. I don’t know what I’m trying to find, but I manage to get ahold of an address. It’s not easy. He’s got “no fixed address” filed at a lot of places, and a PO box for mail, but my PI finally locates a residential address he once used to have a package delivered by courier.

  I take a taxi there. It’s much, much further uptown than I’ve been in a long time.

  This is the kind of neighborhood that my parents used to turn up their noses at. Pawn shops, liquor stores and laundromats as far as the eye can see. The PI thinks that Felix is probably living in one of the many illegally subdivided apartments in this neighborhood, run by a slumlord who’s happy to take cash and not ask any questions about your credit history.

  The taxi driver warned me to “be careful,” but nobody here looks dangerous. They just look tired.

  If Felix has some kind of nefarious designs on us then I’m walking right into a trap. I can’t explain why I just keep walking, keep walking until I see a buzzer with his apartment number on it.

  I stand there for a long time in silence, and then back away.

  As it turns out, it doesn’t matter that I lost my nerve. About twenty minutes later, I can hear the flimsy stairs rattling as one of the residents comes down to the front door. I back away a little further, slightly into the alley so that I won’t be the first thing he sees.

  Felix walks out carrying a baby on his hip.

  I don’t know what I expected. Not this, certainly.

  It would explain why he’s suddenly so concerned with getting his papers in order. But why didn’t he tell Adrian? Surely, having a grandchild would make it even easier to tug on his heartstrings.

  Felix is preoccupied, rushing, and he doesn't see me. My heart is in my throat all the same, because I have no idea how I'd explain myself if he did.

  Just before he's out of sight I see him gently tugging the baby's knitted hat down over their ears to protect against the cold.

  -

  When I get home, Adrian is sitting cross-legged on the living room floor.

  “Chester hates me,” he declares as I hang up my coat.

  He's got a bag of treats in one hand and what looks like some scraps of deli turkey in the other.

  I shouldn't be surprised that he's fixated on this much simpler problem in the midst of The Felix Situation. I just can't shake the feeling that it's only going to make things worse. Chester is terribly stubborn.

  “Chester doesn't hate you,” I assure him, struggling out of my winter boots. “He just doesn't understand why you took him to the scary place.”

  “Well, he’s going to keep on hating me unless he learns to understand English so I can explain to him that it’s for his own good.” He shakes the bag of treats enticingly, but Chester remains unmoved.

  I should tell him about Felix and the baby. I need to tell him. But what the hell does it mean? And will he even care? Maybe he was just babysitting for a friend, Meg, did you ever think about that?

  “Chester,” I call out softly, punctuating it with that kissy noise that all cat owners know well.

  Adrian lets out a long, defeated sigh. Then he jumps to his feet and walks wordlessly towards the bedroom. I peer under the TV stand to see Chester’s eyes glowing back at me.

  “You’re breaking his heart, you know that?”

  Chester just stares.

  Adrian comes back with his sleeves rolled back down and a jacket on. “Let’s go to dinner. Louie’s place. Yeah?”

  The cheerfulness in his tone is so brittle, I’m not going to challenge it.

  “Sure.”

  We’re going to spend the next few hours pretending everything is okay. I don’t know if I have the energy for it, but I certainly don’t have the energy to confront reality.

  Louie’s place is one of those restaurants that’s so exclusive you don’t eat there unless you’ve already eaten there. A living paradox. But it’s not an ostentatious place. It’s homey and comforting, and if I can manage to forget about the vagaries of being there in the first place, it’s exactly what the doctor ordered.

  I dig into my closet and start paging through my dresses like a phone book, trying to find something I actually feel like wearing. Eventually, I give up on that, and just put on a simple black dress that won’t draw too much attention. I don’t feel like seeing or being seen by anyone.

  We’re sitting down with a basket of breadsticks between us when Adrian finally speaks again.

  “I’m getting the test done on Monday.”

  He’s speaking very quietly, as if anyone could guess what this was about.

  “That’s good,” I reply, picking up a breadstick. It’s one of those long crunchy ones that all the nice places serve, and which I’ve never really liked. But at least I’ve got something to occupy my hands. I take a nibble, but it tastes...wrong.

  “You don’t believe him,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question.

  I just shrug. “Does it matter?”

  Adrian sighs, shifting in his seat. “I’d like to have your blessing, Meg.”

  “My blessing?” I guffaw a little. “We’re not in a Jane Austen novel. Do what you need to do. I’ll still love you.”

  A grimace tugs at his mouth. “What does that even mean?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like, Adrian.”

  My voice sounds so much colder than I intended.

  “I don’t need to do anything,” Adrian snaps. “I want to help him. And I want you to understand.”

  “I understand the impulse. But if he’s lying -”

  “We don’t know that. You don’t know that. Why are you so cynical?”

  That one gets a bark of genuine laughter out of me, slightly breaking the tension, only for it to draw tighter a moment later. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”

  He shakes his head, smiling, looking down at his plate. “All right. You’ve got me there. I used to be an asshole. Still can be, sometimes. So maybe this seems like too little too late. Too much like...virtue signalling, or whatever the kids are calli
ng it these days.”

  “The kids these days are saying a lot of things. Most of them aren’t very flattering about people like you.”

  “People like us,” he corrects me. And I hate that he’s right.

  -

  “Don’t forget you’ve got that keynote today,” says Carol.

  Oh, fuck. The keynote.

  It’s Monday morning and Adrian is at the clinic with Felix. He’s promised me that he won’t let the kid pull anything shady, although I can’t imagine what he’d even do. Replace his own blood sample with a real relative of Adrian’s? Or replace Adrian’s with one of his own?

  Oh, fuck. The fucking keynote.

  Carol does me the favor of pretending not to see the abject panic on my face. “I’ll send you the info again.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her. “And can you figure out why it’s so hot in here?”

  “Of course,” she says. I’m already halfway to my office.

  It always drives me crazy when people insist on running the heat nonstop just because it’s winter. The fact that there’s slush on the ground doesn’t suddenly mean we all need it to be 85 degrees inside to be comfortable, for God’s sake.

  Staff is usually pretty good about that here. But today, I feel like I’m boiling alive.

  Once I’m in my office, I crank open the window next to my desk and resist the urge to stick my head out into the cold. I can feel the trickles of sweat starting at my scalp, and I curse under my breath.

  I page Carol again.

  “Hey, did you figure out what’s going on with the thermostat?”

  She hesitates for a moment. “It’s set to 73, just like always,” she says finally.

  “That can’t be right. I’m dying in here.”

  “Are you sure you don’t have a fever?”

  “I never run fevers,” I snap back at her. “Not even when I had mono. I’m telling you, it’s blazing hot in here.”

  “I’ll call maintenance,” she replies.

  “Thank you.”

  Of course, this would be the one day that the winter air is completely stagnant and unmoving. There’s not even a hint of a breeze coming in through my window. I’d absolutely kill for a blizzard right now.