“We don’t have any,” Owen replied softly. “Aunt Claire left us here three nights ago. She said someone would come back for us. Nobody did.”
Claire.
Laura’s younger sister. Reckless, drowning in debt, gone the day after the funeral.
Michael looked at Ethan. Then at the two boys. Three identical faces staring back at him from three different lives.
“Get in the car,” Michael said quietly but firmly. “No one’s sleeping on the street tonight.”
As they drove to his estate in Westchester, the three boys chatted as if they’d always known each other. Ethan pointed out buildings. Noah and Owen marveled at the cool air blowing from the vents.
Michael called his doctor and his attorney. His hands gripped the steering wheel until they ached.
Something was terribly wrong. And he feared the lie ran deeper than he’d ever imagined.
When they arrived, the housekeeper, Isabel, nearly dropped her tray.
“Good Lord… Mr. Rivera… are they—?”
“Prepare baths. And food. Small portions at first,” Michael instructed. “They’re malnourished.”