Chapter 7

The news van was, as advertised, in the parking lot.

Dorian stood in the light rain outside his own restaurant and watched the reporter — a young man in a windbreaker — setting up in front of the entrance. The camera light was already on. The reporter's hair was being sprayed by a production assistant with a can.

"Dorian Ash," the reporter said into the camera, "owner of the Ashwood Grill, is tonight at the center of a story that has gone from a family dispute to a national conversation about the cost of denial. In video obtained by this station, Ash can be seen shoving a woman — later identified as his ex-wife, Lena — into the rain, then throwing cash at her, in front of a dining room full of customers — including, as viewers have confirmed, the ex-couple's young son."

The camera operator swung toward him.

"Mr. Ash! Mr. Ash — do you have a comment?"

Dorian couldn't form the words. "I — I need to find my son."

"Your son? So you confirm the boy is yours?"

"I — " Dorian stopped. The camera was rolling. He felt as if the night had caught him in an endless loop, each beat louder and brighter, closing in on him. "The birth certificate. The birth certificate says — "

"Does it say the boy is yours?"

Dorian swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "Yes."

"How many years did you have to open it?"