“Henry, Sam, Lucas, and Jack,” I said. “They were born at St. Jude Hospital in Colorado Springs.”

There was no denying the family resemblance.

Every boy had the sharp ridge above the brow, the high forehead, and the distinctive jawline that matched every Caldwell portrait along the grand corridor.

“You told us eight years ago that Grace had a miscarriage,” Richard said, turning his face toward Ethan.

The word fell heavy and cold in the middle of the hall.

Richard took another step toward his son, his shadow stretching long across the Persian rug in the firelight.