The Fourth Chair
The woman in the doorway looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.
Late thirties, maybe forty — red hair pulled back hard, a cheap blazer over a shirt that had been ironed too many times. She had freckles across her nose and Graham Holbrook's exact eyes, though nobody in the room would know that yet.
"Sorry," she said. "I got lost in the parking garage."
Abernathy stood. "Everyone, this is Juno Calder."
Barrett didn't stand. "And Juno Calder is—?"
"Sit down, Ms. Calder," Abernathy said gently, ignoring him. "Please."
She sat in the one empty chair, spine straight, knees together, a manila envelope clutched in both hands like it might be taken from her.
"I don't know most of you," she said, to no one and everyone. "I know this is strange. I've had longer to sit with it than you have."
"Sit with what?" Delphine asked, quieter than Barrett, but just as sharp.
Juno set the envelope on the table. Her hand was shaking. "Six months ago I got a letter from a woman named Odessa Holbrook. I'd never heard of her. She said she was my mother."
Corwin laughed — one short, disbelieving bark. "Our mother didn't give anybody up. She'd have told us."
"She didn't give me up," Juno said. "She wasn't the one who had me."
The room went very still.
"My father did," Juno said, and opened the envelope.
She slid a single sheet across the polished table. Barrett picked it up before Delphine could, his eyes moving fast down the page — a lab letterhead, a table of numbers, a line highlighted in yellow.
PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 99.97%
ALLEGED FATHER: GRAHAM HOLBROOK (DECEASED)
Barrett's hand closed around the paper, crushing it.
"This is fabricated," he said. "This is—"
"It's not," Juno said. Her voice didn't rise. "I didn't ask to be part of this family, Mr. Holbrook. Your mother asked me."
Barrett stood so fast his chair hit the wall.
"Sit down, Barrett," Abernathy said. "There's more."