Chapter 2 Invasion of Normal Life

Three days after the ER incident, I was still looking over my shoulder. Each time my phone rang with an unknown number, my stomach clenched. I checked my email obsessively for legal notices. Nothing.

Perhaps the sedative had affected Nathaniel's memory of our encounter. Or maybe he'd realized the absurdity of his claim. A billionaire tech mogul with well-documented emotional detachment suddenly wanting fatherhood? Unlikely.

By Friday, I'd almost convinced myself it had been an empty threat. Lily's infection had responded to antibiotics, and we were settling back into our routine in our modest two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn Heights.

"Mommy, can we have mac and cheese tonight?" Lily called from our living room where she was arranging her stuffed animals in what she called "alphabetical order by species."

"Sure, sweetheart. With broccoli on the side."

"Broccoli is gross," she countered, wrinkling her nose.

"Broccoli helps your brain grow even smarter."

"My brain is already smart enough." She tapped her temple. "Dr. Alvarez said I'm a 'jenius.'"

"Genius," I corrected, smiling. "And being smart means understanding why vegetables are important."

Our normal Friday night debate was interrupted by a knock at the door. I froze, spatula in hand. We rarely got visitors, and never unannounced.

"Who is it?" I called, moving protectively toward Lily.

"Building management, Dr. Bennett. We have some paperwork requiring your signature."

I relaxed slightly. Our lease renewal wasn't due for months, but perhaps they were doing early renovations. I opened the door to a thin man in an expensive suit who was decidedly not our usual superintendent.

"Ms. Bennett, I'm Lawrence Whitman, representing Thorn Real Estate Holdings." He handed me a thick envelope. "This is formal notification that this building has been acquired by Mr. Nathaniel Thorn. All existing lease agreements will be honored, but we wanted to inform residents personally about the change in ownership."

The floor seemed to drop beneath my feet. "When did this happen?"

"The sale was finalized this morning. Mr. Thorn has expressed interest in renovating the building to state-of-the-art specifications while maintaining its historic character."

"I'm sure he has," I said faintly.

As if on cue, the elevator at the end of the hall dinged, and Nathaniel Thorn stepped out, followed by movers carrying sleek furniture. He spotted me immediately, his mouth curving in a cold smile.

"Ah, Dr. Bennett. How convenient. I was just moving in across the hall."

The apartment across from mine had been vacant for months. Of course.

"This is harassment," I hissed, stepping into the hallway and pulling my door nearly closed behind me to keep Lily from seeing him.

"It's a sound business investment," he countered smoothly. "Brooklyn Heights real estate is appreciating at 12% annually. Would you prefer I evict you instead?"

"You can't just—"

"I can. I did." He nodded to the movers. "The gray sofa goes by the window. The Eames chair to the left."

I stood there, speechless with rage, as he supervised the movers with military precision. Finally, I found my voice. "What do you want, Nathaniel?"

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. "What's rightfully mine. A relationship with my daughter."

"You don't even know her."

"A situation you created and I intend to remedy." He checked his watch—a subtle Patek Philippe that probably cost more than my annual salary. "I've scheduled a DNA test for tomorrow morning. My attorney will be present. I suggest you bring yours."

"I don't have an attorney."

"Pity." He actually smiled then, a predator's smile. "I have six."

Before I could respond, a small voice came from behind me. "Mommy, who's that man?"

I turned to find Lily standing in our doorway, clutching her favorite stuffed penguin. My heart sank as her curious gaze moved from me to Nathaniel.

For a moment, Nathaniel seemed frozen, staring at Lily as if he'd seen a ghost. Then, with a grace I hadn't expected, he crouched down to her eye level.

"Hello, Lily. My name is Nathaniel. I'm going to be your new neighbor."

Lily studied him with the intense focus she reserved for complex puzzles. "Your voice sounds like the man on TV who sells the security things."

A flicker of surprise crossed Nathaniel's face. "That would be me, yes."

"Mom says those are too 'spensive and we don't need them 'cause we have Mr. Rodriguez downstairs watching our building."

I bit back a smile despite my anxiety. Leave it to Lily to immediately mention the one time I'd scoffed at a Thorn Technologies commercial.

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed slightly. "Security is important. Perhaps your mother should reconsider."

Lily shrugged. "We're safe. Mom has a baseball bat and knows how to use it."

This time I couldn't suppress my snort of laughter. Nathaniel shot me a look before turning back to Lily.

"I've just moved in. Perhaps you could help me decide where to put my things?"

"No," I said firmly, placing my hands on Lily's shoulders. "We were just about to have dinner."

"Mac and cheese," Lily informed him solemnly.

"With broccoli," I added.

"I hate broccoli too," Nathaniel said, and I was startled by this small, seemingly genuine connection with Lily.

"You're a grown-up," Lily replied. "You can eat whatever you want."

"That's true. It's one of the few advantages of adulthood."

A mover approached with a question about placement of some technological equipment, and I used the distraction to usher Lily back into our apartment.

"He seems lonely," Lily observed as I closed the door.

"What makes you say that?"

"His eyes look sad even when his mouth is smiling. Like Mrs. Peterson's dog when she leaves for work."

I marveled at my daughter's perception. "Well, it's not our job to fix that. Now, let's make dinner."

We were halfway through our meal when another knock came. I opened the door to find a delivery man holding an enormous basket.

"Delivery for Lily Bennett," he announced.

Before I could object, Lily squealed and ran to see. The basket contained an elaborate set of professional art supplies: sketch pads, watercolors, oil pastels, and brushes of every size.

"Look, Mom! Real artist stuff!" Lily's eyes shone as she examined each item.

Attached was a simple card: "I noticed your drawing of a penguin. You have talent. —N.T."

I frowned. When had he seen her drawing? It had been tucked into my lab coat during our ER encounter.

The next morning, Saturday, dawned bright and clear. I'd hoped to take Lily to the botanical garden, but our plans were interrupted by the arrival of a medical technician—accompanied by a severe-looking woman who introduced herself as Gloria Winters, Nathaniel's legal representative.

The DNA test was quick and painless—a simple cheek swab for Lily, who thought it was "like being in a science experiment." Nathaniel appeared briefly, submitted his own sample, and departed without speaking directly to me.

By Sunday evening, I was a bundle of nerves. I'd consulted with a friend who practiced family law, and her assessment wasn't encouraging. "If he is the biological father and has resources, the court will likely grant some form of visitation."

Monday morning, I dropped Lily at preschool and headed to work, where three back-to-back surgeries kept me distracted. It wasn't until I returned to pick up Lily that I realized something was wrong.

"Dr. Bennett," her teacher said hesitantly, "Lily had a bit of an... incident today."

"Is she hurt?" I asked immediately.

"No, no. But during art time, she used her new supplies to... well, decorate another child's father's suit."

"What?" I followed her gaze to where Lily sat proudly next to an easel, upon which rested what was once clearly an exquisite charcoal suit jacket, now adorned with colorful swirls, hearts, and what appeared to be a family of penguins.

And beside her stood Nathaniel Thorn, his expression a complicated mix of annoyance and something else I couldn't quite identify.

"Lily," I began, mortified. "What did you do?"

"I fixed Daddy's suit," she announced. "It was too boring."

The word "Daddy" hit me like a physical blow. I looked at Nathaniel, who seemed equally startled.

"I didn't—" he began.

"She overheard Ms. Winters on the phone," Lily's teacher explained quickly. "Referring to Mr. Thorn as her father."

I knelt beside Lily. "Sweetheart, why did you draw on Mr. Thorn's jacket?"

She looked up at me, her gray eyes—his eyes—serious. "Because he smells like 'spensive loneliness."

The teacher choked back what might have been a laugh. Nathaniel's expression was unreadable.

"I thought colors would make him happier," Lily continued, touching a bright yellow spiral on the jacket sleeve. "Yellow is the happiest color."

I glanced at the ruined jacket, which probably cost more than my monthly rent. "Lily, we don't draw on other people's clothes. Ever. You need to apologize to Mr. Thorn."

Lily looked up at Nathaniel. "I'm sorry I drawed on your jacket. But you do smell like loneliness."

Nathaniel crouched down, his movements careful as if approaching a wild animal. "What does loneliness smell like, Lily?"

She considered this seriously. "Like the hand sanitizer Mom uses at the hospital. Clean but too clean. Like nothing else can get close."

I watched, fascinated, as something flickered across Nathaniel's face—a crack in that perfect façade. For just a moment, he seemed genuinely affected by my daughter's assessment.

Then the mask slipped back into place. He stood, buttoning his pristine shirt sleeves. As he did, I caught sight of a thin, pale scar circling his left wrist—like a rope burn that had healed long ago but left its mark.

The image triggered a memory: the night we'd met in Boston. He'd fallen asleep briefly after our encounter, mumbling in what I'd thought was a nightmare. "Don't... not the basement... don't lock it..." The words had been slurred, desperate.

I'd dismissed it then as random sleep-talking. Now, looking at that scar, I wondered what darkness lurked behind Nathaniel Thorn's controlled exterior.

"The DNA results are conclusive," he said, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. "My attorneys will contact you tomorrow about a formal custody arrangement."

"Nathaniel—" I began.

"The ruined suit is Brioni, approximately twelve thousand dollars," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "I won't ask for reimbursement, but I would appreciate if you'd teach our daughter to respect other people's property."

Our daughter. The words hung in the air between us.

"I have every intention of being part of her life, Clara." His voice softened slightly. "You can make this easy or difficult. The choice is yours."

As he walked away, Lily tugged at my hand. "Mom, is that man really my daddy?"

I looked down at her innocent face and realized my carefully constructed world was crumbling around me.

"Yes," I finally admitted. "He is."

"Why didn't he live with us before?"

How could I explain to a four-year-old that her father had never wanted children? That I'd made the choice to keep her existence from him after seeing his framed manifesto?

"It's complicated, sweetheart," I said, gathering her things. "Some grown-ups take a long time to realize what they really want."

As we walked out of the preschool, I glanced back to see Nathaniel watching us from his sleek black Bentley, phone pressed to his ear, already back to business.

But for just a moment, when he thought no one was looking, his fingers traced the colorful penguin Lily had drawn on his twelve-thousand-dollar sleeve.