DONOVAN (Gray Wolf Security, #1)(79)

That caught Penelope’s attention. She was looking at me—finally—but there was new suspicion on her face.

“Yes, sir.”

The judge sat back, his gaze almost like that of a lover or a crazed fan. “I was just reading about you in Forbes,” he said with something like the giggle of an excited girl. “They say your fortune will surpass Elon Musk’s in a few months if things continue as they’re going now.”

I shot Penelope a glance. Her eyes had narrowed and her lips were slightly puckered. It was just another secret she wasn’t pleased to hear.

I nudged my lawyer and he stood, moving immediately into his argument. The judge listened, but his gaze remained glued to me. And mine to Penelope. The only person who didn’t seem lost in their own agenda was Penelope’s lawyer. But then again, he cast a few glances in Penelope’s direction that made me wonder if there was more than a lawyer-client relationship going on there.

“Your Honor,” my temporary lawyer said, “my client was robbed of his only child’s infancy: his first steps, his first words, his first day of kindergarten. He was robbed of everything a parent holds dear about raising a child. It’s only fair that he be allowed to share in what is left of his son’s childhood.”

Penelope’s lawyer stood as my lawyer sat, clearing his throat before he began his own argument.

“Jonathon Tyler Monroe has been in the custody of the Monroe family since he was a day old. He has never known another family, another life. His parents entered into a contract with the boy’s biological mother with the understanding that the biological father had given up his rights. It is no fault of the Monroe family or JT himself that there was some sort of irregularity with the father’s signature. Please don’t punish this young man for the actions of people he’s never even met.”

Silence fell over the courtroom. The judge stared at me a moment longer, then his gaze shifted to Penelope.

“Why aren’t…” He consulted the papers his clerk had laid in front of him. “…Dale and Robin Monroe here in the courtroom?”

Penelope’s lawyer rose again as Penelope shot me a hateful glare.

“The Monroes were killed in a car accident three years ago, Your Honor. Ms. Monroe, their daughter, was granted custody in this court in May of that same year.”

The judge shifted his gaze back to me.

“Who do you suggest forged your signature on the adoption papers?”

My lawyer stood, but the judge waved his hand. “I’d prefer to hear from the complainant himself.”

I stood, clasping my hands in front of me in a proper show of respect.

“I was not aware any of this had taken place until several months ago. At that time, JT’s biological mother informed me that a lawyer had visited my home and gotten my signature. However, during the time period she stated this took place, I was a student at Stanford.”

“And that can be verified?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who do you think signed the paperwork in your place?”

Before I could answer, the judge gave his clerk a piece of paper that he brought to me. It was the back page of the adoption contract. Julia’s name was written in her juvenile scrawl. My name appeared above it. But it was clearly not my signature. This was neater, marked with curlicues that I recognized immediately. My heart sank, a realization I hadn’t considered sinking in.

I had so wanted to blame my father for this mess. But this…I could no longer continue to vilify my father when it was so obvious he wasn’t alone in his attempts to control the path of my life.

“Do you recognize that handwriting, Mr. Philips?” the judge asked.

I nodded slowly. “I do.”

“Could you tell me who you believe signed your name to those adoption papers?”

I set the paper down on the table and looked over at Penelope. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost something in all of this. She wasn’t the only one who would be forced to make a few difficult decisions as we continued to fight this out. She wasn’t the only victim of someone else’s lies.

“My mother.”

*****

The judge left the courtroom a few minutes later, promising to have a decision in fifteen minutes. I got up and walked to the side of the room, tugging my cellphone out of my pocket.

“Did you know?” I demanded the moment the line was answered on the other end.

“Know what?”

“I saw the papers. I saw the signature.”

“Harry…”

“Did you know it was Mom who signed my rights away?”

Libby hesitated and I felt betrayal wash over me like a heavy, oily mess. She had known.

“How long?”

“I didn’t know for sure. But when you told me about JT, I remembered something Mom had said just after Daddy’s funeral. Something about how glad she was that you didn’t have any complications, or else she and I might have been lost. It seemed odd at the time and I tried to ask her about it, but she refused to elaborate.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because there was no point. I had no proof. And you were so ready to blame Daddy—“

“You should have told me, Libby. I had a right to know.”

“And now you do. Does it change the situation? Does it make it any better or any worse for JT or his sister? It doesn’t, Harrison. The only thing it changes is that you can’t keep blaming Daddy for every little thing that went wrong in your life.”