Nathaniel approaches rapidly, his expensive suit slightly rumpled from travel, his expression tense. "Charles," he greets my father, deliberately ignoring me. "I need to speak with you. Privately. It's urgent."

My father frowns at the interruption. "Nathaniel, I'm in the middle of a business discussion with Mrs. Knight."


"That's precisely why we need to talk," Nathaniel insists, shooting me a look of barely concealed hostility. "It concerns Mrs. Knight's... background."

And there it is—the threat I flew to Chicago to intercept. Whatever Nathaniel discovered in Singapore, he's ready to reveal it now, potentially destroying everything I've worked for.

"My background?" I echo, injecting just the right note of confused innocence into my voice. "I'm not sure what Mr. Pierce means, but if he has concerns about Ascendant Group's qualifications for the partnership we're discussing, I'm happy to address them directly."


"This isn't about business qualifications," Nathaniel says coldly. "It's about identity. Specifically, who you were before you became Olivia Knight."

My father looks between us, confusion evident on his face. "What is this about, Nathaniel?"


"Perhaps we should continue this conversation privately," I suggest smoothly, rising from my chair. "The lobby of a hotel isn't the appropriate venue for whatever Mr. Pierce wishes to discuss."

"I agree," my father says, standing as well. "My suite has a sitting area. We can talk there."

This is both better and worse than I anticipated. Better because it removes us from public view, worse because I'm now facing both my father and Nathaniel in a private setting where emotions might run higher without witnesses to moderate behavior.

As we ride the elevator to my father's suite, tension crackles between the three of us. Nathaniel keeps shooting me triumphant glances, clearly believing he holds information that will destroy me. My father looks confused and slightly irritated at the interruption of what had been a productive business discussion.

And I... I'm calculating, planning, preparing for whatever revelation Nathaniel is about to deliver and how best to counter it.

The suite is spacious and elegant, with a separate sitting area as my father mentioned. He gestures for us to take seats, then turns to Nathaniel with an expectant expression. "Now, what's this urgent matter that couldn't wait?"

Nathaniel reaches into his briefcase, withdrawing a folder. "I've been conducting some research into Mrs. Knight's background," he begins. "Specifically, her activities before she appeared on the business scene three years ago with Ascendant Group."

"Is there a point to this invasion of my privacy?" I interject coolly. "Or is this standard practice for the Pierce family—investigating business competitors for personal reasons?"

"The point," Nathaniel continues, unperturbed, "is that Olivia Knight didn't exist before three years ago. At least, not under that name."

He opens the folder, removing several documents which he hands to my father. "These are immigration records from Singapore. They show a woman entering the country five years ago on a medical visa. A pregnant woman traveling alone, using the name Olivia Morgan."

My father's head snaps up at the name, his eyes widening as he looks from the documents to my face. "Morgan?"

"A coincidence," I say dismissively, though my heart is pounding. "Morgan is a common surname."

"Is it?" Nathaniel challenges. "Because this Olivia Morgan entered Singapore five years ago, exactly when your daughter disappeared from New York. And the entry photo, while not conclusive due to poor quality, shows a woman who could certainly be a younger version of Mrs. Knight here."

My father is staring at me now, really looking at me perhaps for the first time since my return. I can see him searching my face, looking past the changes in my appearance to the daughter he once knew.

"That's absurd," I say, maintaining my composure through sheer force of will. "Mr. Morgan, I understand this must be difficult, given your family history, but I assure you I am not your long-lost daughter."

"Then you won't mind providing a DNA sample to prove it," Nathaniel suggests with a cold smile. "A simple test would settle the matter definitively."

It's a trap, of course. A DNA test would confirm exactly what Nathaniel suspects—that I am indeed Olivia Morgan, returned to reclaim what was stolen from me. But refusing would make me appear guilty.

"This is outrageous," I say, injecting indignation into my voice. "I came to Chicago for a legitimate business discussion, not to submit to genetic testing based on wild conspiracy theories."

My father hasn't spoken, his gaze still fixed on my face with an intensity that's becoming uncomfortable. Is he seeing through my disguise? Recognizing the daughter he once adored beneath the sophisticated exterior I've cultivated?

"Charles," Nathaniel presses, "think about it. The timing of her appearance in New York. Her specific interest in Morgan Group. The convenient marriage to Ethan Knight that gives her social standing and protection. It all fits."

"What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Pierce?" I ask, turning the tables. "That I orchestrated a complex, years-long deception including marriage to one of New York's most prominent businessmen and the acquisition of a struggling division of Morgan Group... for what purpose? Revenge? That seems rather melodramatic, doesn't it?"

The question is calculated to make the accusation sound ridiculous when stated plainly. And it works—my father's expression shifts from intense scrutiny to uncertainty.

"Nathaniel," he says finally, "these documents prove nothing conclusive. A woman with a common surname entered Singapore five years ago. That's hardly smoking gun evidence."

"But the timing—" Nathaniel begins.

"Is circumstantial at best," my father interrupts. "And frankly, this entire conversation is inappropriate. Mrs. Knight is here to discuss a business proposition, not to have her personal history interrogated based on flimsy evidence."

Nathaniel looks stunned at this dismissal. "Charles, you can't be serious. The resemblance alone—"

"I said enough," my father states firmly. "I appreciate your concern for Morgan Group's interests, but this line of inquiry is closed. Now, if you'll excuse us, Mrs. Knight and I were in the middle of a business discussion."

The dismissal is clear. Nathaniel gathers his documents, shooting me a look of pure venom before stalking out of the suite, slamming the door behind him.

In the silence that follows, I wait for my father to speak, uncertain whether his defense was genuine or strategic—a way to continue our conversation privately without Nathaniel's interference.

"I apologize for that interruption," he says finally, moving to the suite's bar to pour himself another whiskey. "Nathaniel can be... overzealous in his loyalty to our family."

"No apology necessary," I reply carefully. "Though I admit, being accused of assuming a false identity was not how I expected this meeting to go."

My father returns with two glasses, offering one to me. "Nathaniel's theory is absurd, of course. My daughter was nothing like you."

The casual dismissal stings more than it should. "Oh? How so?"

"Olivia was..." he pauses, searching for words. "Softer. More trusting. Brilliant with business strategy but naive about people. She never saw the betrayal coming until it was too late."

"Betrayal?" I echo, unable to resist probing.

A shadow crosses my father's face. "She became involved with inappropriate people. Made poor choices that damaged her reputation and the company's. When the evidence became overwhelming, she ran rather than face the consequences."

The "evidence" Cassandra manufactured. The "poor choices" that never happened. The narrative they constructed to explain my disappearance without admitting their own culpability.

"And you believed this evidence?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral despite the anger simmering beneath the surface.

My father looks surprised at the question. "It was irrefutable. Security footage, witness statements, financial records showing embezzlement."

"All of which could have been manipulated," I point out. "If someone wanted to remove her from the company badly enough."

He stares at me, something like doubt flickering in his eyes. "Why would anyone want that?"

"Perhaps someone who stood to gain from her removal," I suggest. "Someone who would take her position once she was gone."

"Cassandra," my father murmurs, the name barely audible.

"I'm speaking hypothetically, of course," I add quickly. "I don't know the details of your family situation. But in business, I've often found that when someone is suddenly discredited, it's worth looking at who benefits from their fall."

My father is silent for a long moment, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he considers my words. "You're very perceptive, Mrs. Knight," he says finally. "And perhaps... perhaps there are aspects of that situation I should have questioned more thoroughly at the time."

It's the closest thing to an admission of doubt I've ever heard from him—a crack in the certainty that led him to believe Cassandra's lies and abandon his own daughter.

"It's never too late to reexamine old assumptions," I say softly. "To look for the truth beneath convenient narratives."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I think he sees me—really sees me, not as Olivia Knight, business associate, but as his daughter returned from exile. But then the moment passes, his expression becoming professional once more.

"About your proposal for a minority stake in Morgan Group," he says, changing the subject. "I'm interested in seeing the details. As I said, send them to me Tuesday, and I'll review them personally before taking them to the board."

"Thank you," I reply, accepting the shift back to business. "I believe this partnership will benefit both our companies significantly."

As we finish our drinks and conclude our meeting with handshakes and professional pleasantries, I wonder if I've accomplished what I came for. Nathaniel's attempt to expose me seems to have failed—for now. But he won't give up easily, and neither will Cassandra once he reports back to her.

And my father... did I plant a seed of doubt about the past? Will he begin to question the narrative he's accepted for five years? Or will he dismiss our conversation as irrelevant to the business at hand?

Only time will tell. But one thing is certain—the game has accelerated, the stakes raised. My carefully constructed identity is under threat, and I need to move quickly to secure my position before Nathaniel or Cassandra can gather more evidence against me.

As I leave the hotel, my phone buzzes with a text from Ethan: "Leo wants to know if you'll be home in time for bedtime stories. Says dinosaurs miss you too."

The simple message, so domestic and normal amidst the high-stakes drama I've just navigated, brings an unexpected lump to my throat. In Chicago, I'm playing corporate chess with my father and fending off Nathaniel's accusations. But in New York, I have a son who misses me and a husband who, despite our unconventional arrangement, is becoming increasingly important to me.

I text back: "Flight lands at 7. Tell Leo and the dinosaurs I'll be there for stories."

As my car heads to the airport, I find myself genuinely looking forward to returning home—to Leo's enthusiastic welcome, to the penthouse that's becoming more comfortable with each passing day, and yes, to Ethan, whose presence in my life is evolving from a strategic necessity to something I'm not quite ready to name.

Complications upon complications. But perhaps, as Ethan keeps suggesting, some complications are worth navigating together.

The thought is both terrifying and strangely comforting as my plane takes off, carrying me back to New York and the increasingly complex life I've created there.