Page 50 of The Rebel Billionaire

I tugged at the lid and pulled it back to find a pile of papers. I almost closed it up and moved on but my aunt's name on the label of a file folder, yellowed and curled with age, caught my eye. Why were my aunt's papers in one of the newerstoragebins?

I pulled out the file folder and flipped it open. Medical bills. Not that interesting. The folder beneath had the record of her stay in the hospital when Tate had been born. The one under that was from Vance and Annalise, the nextfromGage.

I gathered the files together and moved to put them back in the bin when I realized there was one more folder like theothers.

Older. Opening it, I looked for the date. July 6, 1981. Before Gage was born. Before she married UncleJames.

A fine tremor shook my hand as I reached for the sealed manila envelope that had been beneath the mysterious hospital bill in the folder. I worked one finger beneath the seal and carefully opened theenvelope.

Whatthehell?

Adoptionpapers?

Aunt Anna had a baby she gave up for adoption? I had a cousin—my cousins had a sibling—that none of us knew about. Unless they did know and just hadn'ttoldme.

I knew Aiden didn't tell me everything, but this was too big to keep a secret, wasn't it? I stacked the folders with the hospital records in the envelope with the adoption papers and shot to my feet, running for thestairs.

I hadtoknow.

The tread of my sneakers skidded across the polished hardwood floors as I raced down the staircase and took a hard right down the hall to Aiden's office. I screeched to a halt in his doorway, the stack of papers clutched to my chest, to find him on thephone.

One look at me and Aiden ended his call, setting his phone down onhisdesk.

"What is it?" heasked.

All my earlier haste had fled. The carpeted floor between the door and Aiden's desk was a mile wide. I trudged across it, suddenly afraid of what he would say when he saw the papers in myhands.

I couldn't imagine he'd shrug and dismiss them. He couldn't know about this. He couldn't. We'd lost enough family. Aiden wouldn't hide something like this from the restofus.

Unless they were all hiding it from me. That sounds paranoid, but the boys—the older ones—have always had a tendency to try to keep things from Annalise and me, as if we were too innocent and delicate to handle the uglier aspectsoflife.

Absurd, because we'd all seen too much ugliness before we were old enough to drive. We didn't need to be shielded. Try telling that to Aiden, Gage, and the restofthem.

I thrust the stack of files and the envelope at Aiden. He carefully took them and asked, "Where do Istart?"

"Three of the folders are from when Aunt Anna was in the hospital with Gage, Vance and Annalise, and then Tate." Aiden opened the folders one by one and scanned their contents, nodding in agreement. "But the fourth," I went on, my voice shaking. "The fourth is from July of 1981. Before she married Uncle James. The hospital was in Virginia, not Atlanta. In the envelope . . . those look like adoption papers, Aiden. Is that whattheyare?"

Aiden turned the stiff manila envelope over in hishands.

"Did you open this? Or did you find itthisway?"

He raised the ragged flap I'd torn a few minutes before and eased out the stack ofpapers.

"It was sealed. I opened it. But Aiden, all of this was in a new bin. Wouldn't this stuff have been put awayyearsago?"

His eyes flicking back and forth across the papers, absorbing every word, Aiden said absently, "There was a leak in the attic a few years ago. Must have been while you were in Texas for that internship after you graduated. Mrs. Williamson re-packed some of the damaged boxes in new bins. But none of us went through anyofit."

We fell silent as Aiden reviewed each sheet of paper from the envelope. A stapled stack of legal size documents and something that looked like an official certificate, gilt gleaming from the border and a round seal in thecorner.

I paced in front of his desk until he shot me a quelling glance over the papers. I sat, obedient for once, in one of the big leather chairs opposite Aiden's desk, wishing I hadn't drunk all of Aiden'swhiskey.

That Macallan would've come inhandy.

After what felt like hours, Aiden swept the papers back into a neat pile and slid them into the envelope, carefully sealing it shut. He lay his palms flat on the surface of his desk and let out a longbreath.

"It looks like Aunt Anna gave birth to a baby boy July 6, 1981, and put him up for adoption. There's no information in that file on the family who adopted him or what his name might be. Or who the father is. I'm making two guesses—that Uncle James knew about this, or Anna never would've brought these papers to the house, and that he wasn't thefather."

"So you didn't know?" I asked. It didn't seem like Aiden knew, but I had to be sure. He shookhishead.