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I’m reading the first email when my admin knocks softly on the door. “Carson, the young man is here to see you.”
“Alright, thanks.”
As she turns away, a young, raw-boned boy with a backpack slung over his shoulders stands hesitantly in the doorway. But his eyes are boring holes in me. There’s an unsettling familiarity about him: his dark hair and brows, the blue of his eyes. I feel like I should know him.
“Are you Carson Knight?” He bluntly asks.
“Yes,” I give him a cool look as I take in his jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes, mentally cataloging every detail. “What brings you to Knight Security?”
I watch as he shuffles into my office. Instead of looking around, his gaze remains fixed on mine.
“You’re my father.”
I just about choke on a cough, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You’re my father.” He says it with utter conviction. He puts his hand in his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. He shoves it at me as he says defensively, “That’s what the DNA testing shows.”
He walks toward my desk. I reach out, take the paper, and calmly read it over. Ever since our company was featured in Billionaire Tech magazine, all kinds of crackpots have made baseless claims.
“This report says there’s a high probability that I’m your father.” I point out dryly as I raise an eyebrow at him. “What’s your mother’s name, Boy?”
“My mom is Anna Johnson.”
The blood drains from my face, and I suddenly feel light-headed. “Anna Johnson, is your mother?” I repeat in a stunned voice.
“Yeah.” That’s all he says, but he watches my face closely. Too closely. He probably saw how his words affected me. I’m suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.
“I have her picture,” he says with a defensive lift of his chin. He walks over to a chair and slings his backpack onto the seat. Then he turns toward me as he pulls out his cell phone. He swipes a few times on the screen and turns the screen toward me.
I reach out with an unsteady hand. It looks like a recent picture or maybe just a few years old. Anna is standing behind the boy with a wide smile on her face, her hand on his shoulder. She looks—like a proud mother. My head swims, and I close my eyes for a minute.
“Hey, mister, you ain’t gonna faint or something. Are you?” It sounds like he might be concerned.
I shake my head, but there’s a ringing in my ears, so I gulp in a few quick breaths.
I look up, and the kid’s eyes watch me closely. I give him a wan smile. “Why don’t you sit down?”
He nods again and steps backward. Without removing his gaze, he slides the backpack to the floor and sits, all while maintaining eye contact. It’s a little unnerving.
Neither one of us speaks for a few moments. I do the math and look at him with a cocked eyebrow, “How old are you?”
“I’m ten.”
“You look older,” I state quietly.
“Yeah.” Another shrug.
“Where is your mother?”
Finally, I see a crack in his demeanor. He wipes his palms over his knees, a sign of nervousness.
“She doesn’t know I’m here.” His eyes drop to the floor. “I skipped school to find you.”
“Where do you live?” I ask him slowly, trying to recover.
“We just moved to Orlando a few days ago. We’re from Ft. Lauderdale.”
“So, how did you get here?” I ask, curious.
