Forty-Eight: Pierce

FORTY-EIGHT

PIERCE

“ M ama called the doctor and the doctor said…No more monkeys jumping on the bed!”

Harlow’s voice floated down the hall, followed by the twins’ laughter.

What the…

“You want me to sing it one more time, Charlotte?” She laughed. “What about you, William?”

They giggled louder, and I stood up from my desk. I wasn’t sure how she managed to sneak into my condo since every person on my staff knew better, but I wasn’t paying her a dime for this unwanted visit.

“Five little monkeys jumping on the bed. One fell off and bumped his head…”

I peered through their bedroom door, ready to tell Harlow to leave, but she wasn’t there.

Olivia was playing a video of her via cell phone, and the twins were entranced.

I stood there watching them for what felt like forever—hearing them beg “More! More!” for incessant replays.

After their eighth request, I forced myself to step back.

“Something wrong, Mr. Dawson?” Jerry asked from behind.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You have a visitor downstairs.”

“Is it Harlow?”

“Who?”

“I mean, is it an embargo?” I tried to save face. “I’ve been expecting a huge delivery of mockups for the Jets’ throwback uniforms. Remember?”

“ No .” He knew I was full of shit. “I’ve told this person time and time again to stop showing up, but he refuses. I’ve had the police issue a trespass warning twice, but I believe it’s best if you speak to him and let me know how to address it moving forward.”

“Can you ask Samantha to watch the kids while I’m gone?”

“She’s already in the kitchen making their bedtime snacks.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Is the visitor in the lobby or the lounge room?”

“Neither. I kept him outside in the cold.” He shrugged. “You’ll need your coat.”

I pulled one from the hallway closet and rode the elevator downstairs. Through the windows, a man in a brown wool coat paced the entryway.

The badge on his front pocket read, “New York Commercial Insurance.”

Jerry sent me down here for a sales pitch?

“I have insurance on all my properties already,” I said, joining the man in the cold. “I’m hosting a business fair at the Barclays Center next month, though.”

The man stopped pacing and stared at me.

“Since you’ve been so determined to talk to me, I’ll give you a couple of discounted tickets.” I pulled a business card from my pocket. “This is my business partner, Denise. Call her tomorrow and tell her what I said.”

He didn’t move to take the card.

He remained frozen, not even blinking.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure security was within reach. I spotted two guards eyeing us from a town car and another watching from the corner.

“Okay, well…” I tucked the card into his pocket for him. “Best of luck to you, sir.”

“I’m really proud of you, son,” he said. “I’ve always wanted you to know that.”

“Have a good night as well, sir. I hope you—” my sentence dissolved amidst the snowfall.

“What did you just call me?” I asked.

“I’m your father,” he said.

“I’ve never had one of those.”

“I can prove it.” He slid a hand into his breast pocket, pulling out an envelope.

It was my turn to leave him hanging.

The streetlamp above us flickered a bright white, illuminating his face. The resemblance was undeniable.

He was me in twenty years.

Well, except I had much better hair…and style.

“I know it’s been a long time…”

“It’s been forty-five fucking years .”

“I came here for your last birthday, but your people refused to let me see you.”

“Thank God for that,” I said. “You’re a very good lookalike, so go play this game with someone else.”

He frowned. “I’m not playing a game. It’s the truth.”

“What’s my real middle name?” I asked. “The one on my birth certificate that you signed before abandoning me?”

“I didn’t get the chance to sign it,” he said. “But I know it’s Brooks, even though all your public bios claim its Benjamin.”

I said nothing.

There was no way that the stories I’d believed and repeated for years were lies all this time. My chest was aching and reeling, and it was only going to get worse.

“I understand this may make you angry and confused,” he said, “but I’d appreciate it if you heard me out.”

“I’ll give you one second for every year you’ve missed of my life. Then I don’t want to hear from you ever again.”

“Son—”

“I’m not your son.” I shook my head. “I’ve been fine thinking you abandoned me and died somewhere, and after tonight, I’ll continue that trajectory.”

“Your mother told me she was pregnant, but she wasn’t keeping you…” His voice cracked. “I begged her not to, told her I’d take you, but she cut off all contact, and the next I heard, she was with some other guy and then…You know.”

His seconds were up, and it was time for me to walk away, but my feet refused to move.

“I married someone else down the line and she was obsessed with college basketball,” he said. “Every time we saw your team play, she told the same joke.”

Tears streamed down his face.

“She’d say, ‘Pierce Dawson looks like your twin. He could literally be your son.’ One day I watched an interview where you said you were orphaned, then adopted, and it messed with me for a long while because the timeline added up, but…”

“I finally hired an investigator to get your DNA last year, and I waited and waited, and he found out that you really were mine.” His words were coming out between cries.

“I’m sure you could’ve lived the rest of your life without ever knowing, but I wanted you to know you do have a father, and he’s proud of you and all you’ve done. I wish things could’ve been different, but…”

He tucked the envelope into my coat pocket. “If you want to talk, I live in Staten Island with my wife and your two stepsisters. I’m done speaking now. Thank you for the extra time.”

I blinked.

There was no sarcastic, witty line I could throw his way, so I turned around and slipped into the building.

I could feel him staring at me as I waited for the elevator. I pulled out the envelope, and a familiar set of words greeted me.

Based on the analysis listed above, the probability of paternity is 99.99%

The doors glided open with a “Ping!” and an ugly dose of reality slapped me in the face.

Shit. I rushed back outside.

“How much do you want for this?” I said to him.

“Huh?”

“Don’t play stupid,” I said. “How much do I have to pay to prevent you from taking this story to the press? I imagine you’re salivating at the idea of all the interviews and potential book deals that’ll come your way, so give me a number.”

“Zero.” He shook his head. “I don’t want a dime from you. Ever.”

“Are you wearing a wire?” I narrowed my eyes. “Is there a camera crew nearby?”

A slow smile spread across his face, and then he laughed.

“I don’t see anything funny,” I said, but he only laughed harder.

I crossed my arms, waiting an eternity for him to stop.

“You definitely inherited my family’s paranoia.” He wiped his eyes. “I have plenty of my own money. Trust me.”

“How do you make it?”

He pointed to his badge. “I own the company.”

“Good to know.” I wasn’t sure what else I could say at this moment. This was too much information for my brain to process, and I needed a drink. Stat.

“Actually, there is one thing I’d like from you.” He rubbed his hands. “Just one.”

I knew it. “What?”

“I’d like to see my grandchildren while they’re still toddlers,” he said. “I never got the chance to hold you, so…My number is on the back of those test results, whenever you’ve had a chance to think about it.”

“Is something wrong with tonight?” My emotions spoke before I could think it through.

“Not at all.”

I motioned for him to follow me inside and onto the elevator. The mirrored glass reflected our resemblance even more.

“For the record, this means nothing,” I said. “You’re just a random stranger with an intriguing backstory.”

“Pierce is my middle name. I’m glad it’s your first.”

“Stop talking. We are not friends.”

“We’re family.” He smiled as the doors opened on my floor.

As I ushered him inside, I pulled out my phone, ready to tell Harlow all about this, but then I remembered why I couldn't.

She’s a liar…