“I have the final laboratory report,” he said.

Preston’s jaw tightened. “What report?”

Madison clutched the baby tighter.

“The report proving,” Sinclair said calmly, “that Naomi was never infertile.”

The corridor fell silent. I held Preston’s gaze, and for the first time in years, looking at him caused me no pain at all. What I felt was the quiet satisfaction of perfect timing.

Chapter 3 — The Reports He Controlled

Preston recovered fast, or tried to. “That’s impossible. We spent four years trying.”
“We spent four years following reports you controlled,” I said.