Beckett’s POV
The idea of confirming my suspicions about Lila’s true parentage had been gnawing at me since my last conversation with Daniel about the family bloodlines. As the acting head of the Sullivan syndicate’s legitimate operations, I had access to resources most people could only dream of, but sometimes the most effective approach was the simplest one. Daniel had explained that we needed either a strand of Claire’s hair or something she’d drunk from for the DNA comparison. After weighing my options, I decided to handle this delicate family matter personally.
I rose before dawn and timed my arrival at Claire’s estate to coincide with her Sunday morning routine at the cathedral. The irony wasn’t lost on me that someone who’d built her position through deception and manipulation would spend hours kneeling in prayer. Perhaps playing the devoted parishioner was just another layer of the elaborate facade she’d constructed to maintain her standing in our circle.
“Beckett? This is unexpected,” Tessa, the longtime housekeeper, greeted me at the ornate front door with visible nervousness. I rarely visited this place anymore, not since I’d taken control of the family’s operations and moved Lila to safer accommodations.
“Good morning, Tessa. Is Claire receiving visitors? I have some business to discuss with her.”
“She’s at morning service at St. Catherine’s. Master Justin is still in his room, though.”
“Of course he is,” I muttered, stepping past her into the marble foyer. The house still reeked of Claire’s desperate attempts at old-world sophistication. “I’ll wait for her return.”
Tessa wrung her hands anxiously. “She could be gone for quite some time, sir.”
“That’s perfectly fine. I’m in no particular hurry.” I made myself comfortable in the sitting room, noting how the imported furniture seemed to mock the family’s actual origins.
“Forgive me, Mr. Beckett, but Mrs. Claire gave specific instructions that you weren’t to be admitted to the house without her present.”
“Did she now? Well, I’m already here, so that particular rule seems rather pointless. How about some coffee while I wait?”
Tessa’s face tightened with disapproval, but her position in this household didn’t allow for direct confrontation with family members. The moment she disappeared toward the kitchen, I moved with the calculated precision that had served me well in both legitimate business and family enforcement matters. Claire’s private suite was on the second floor, and I knew exactly where she kept her personal items. Her sterling silver hairbrush sat on the antique vanity, and I carefully collected several strands, securing them in a small evidence bag I’d brought. The whole operation took barely any time at all, and I was back downstairs before Tessa returned with the coffee service.
“Where did you go?” Her suspicious gaze darted between me and the staircase.
“The powder room. You seem unusually on edge about my presence here, Tessa,” I observed, watching her mouth compress into a thin line of disapproval.
“You really should leave, Mr. Beckett. The mistress specifically said she didn’t want—”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned her preferences.” I lifted the delicate china cup, took a deliberate sip, and made an exaggerated face of disgust. “This coffee is absolutely terrible. You know what? I’ve changed my mind about waiting. Tell Claire I stopped by.”
As I headed toward the door, Tessa’s voice followed me with obvious relief. “Don’t come back here causing trouble!”
I smiled to myself. There wouldn’t be any need to return once I had the answers I was seeking.
Before reporting to the Thorne Group offices, I made a stop at our family’s private medical facility. Daniel had already arranged for a discreet DNA analysis through Dr. Reed, who’d been handling delicate matters for associated families for many years. The test kit containing Lila’s sample from her recent medical checkup was waiting, and all I needed to add were Claire’s hair follicles and a comparison sample from myself.


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