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“I understand this may make you angry and confused,” he said, “but I’d appreciate it if you heard me out.”
“I’ll give you one second for every year you’ve missed of my life. Then I don’t want to hear from you ever again.”
“Son—”
“I’mnotyour son.” I shook my head. “I’ve been fine thinking you abandoned me and died somewhere, and after tonight, I’ll continue that trajectory.”
“Your mother told me she was pregnant, but she wasn’t keeping you…” His voice cracked. “I begged her not to, told her I’d take you, but she cut off all contact, and the next I heard, she was with some other guy and then…You know.”
His seconds were up, and it was time for me to walk away, but my feet refused to move.
“I married someone else down the line and she was obsessed with college basketball,” he said. “Every time we saw your team play, she told the same joke.”
Tears streamed down his face.
“She’d say, ‘Pierce Dawson looks like your twin. He could literally be your son.’ One day I watched an interview where you said you were orphaned, then adopted, and it messed with me for a long while because the timeline added up, but…”
“I finally hired an investigator to get your DNA last year, and I waited and waited, and he found out that you really were mine.” His words were coming out between cries.
“I’m sure you could’ve lived the rest of your life without ever knowing, but I wanted you to know you do have a father, and he’s proud of you and all you’ve done. I wish things could’ve been different, but…”
He tucked the envelope into my coat pocket. “If you want to talk, I live in Staten Island with my wife and your two stepsisters. I’m done speaking now. Thank you for the extra time.”
I blinked.
There was no sarcastic, witty line I could throw his way, so I turned around and slipped into the building.
I could feel him staring at me as I waited for the elevator. I pulled out the envelope, and a familiar set of words greeted me.
Based on the analysis listed above, the probability of paternity is 99.99%
The doors glided open with a “Ping!” and an ugly dose of reality slapped me in the face.
Shit.I rushed back outside.
“How much do you want for this?” I said to him.
“Huh?”
“Don’t play stupid,” I said. “How much do I have to pay to prevent you from taking this story to the press? I imagine you’re salivating at the idea of all the interviews and potential book deals that’ll come your way, so give me a number.”
“Zero.” He shook his head. “I don’t want a dime from you. Ever.”
“Are you wearing a wire?” I narrowed my eyes. “Is there a camera crew nearby?”
A slow smile spread across his face, and then he laughed.
“I don’t see anything funny,” I said, but he only laughed harder.
I crossed my arms, waiting an eternity for him to stop.
“You definitely inherited my family’s paranoia.” He wiped his eyes. “I have plenty of my own money. Trust me.”
“How do you make it?”
He pointed to his badge. “I own the company.”
“Good to know.” I wasn’t sure what else I could say at this moment. This was too much information for my brain to process, and I needed a drink. Stat.
