Baby Vs. The Bar. M.J. Rodgers

smiled indulgently as he pointed to Nicholas, who was now being firmly held by the male lab assistant on the other side of the soundproof glass. “But he is, Dr. Westbrook. It’s all over his cute little mug. What’s his name?”

      Remy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Please leave. Both of you,” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “Immediately.”

      “Let me bring by a baby video of David that we had made from an old home movie,” Louie pleaded. “All you have to do is take a look.”

      “Mr. Demerchant, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to look at your grandson’s baby video. Even if there is a resemblance between him and my child, it proves nothing. A lot of babies resemble adults who are not their parents. Now, this is over. Leave.”

      “Come on, Mr. Demerchant,” Marc said, taking hold of his arm. “We’d best go.”

      “But he’s David’s child! He’s my great-grandchild!” Louie protested.

      “Mr. Demerchant, I’ll handle this.”

      Remy watched as Louie Demerchant reluctantly let Marc lead him toward the door. But just before they exited the room, Marc turned to Remy, his lips drawn back into a charming smile, his cobalt blue eyes icy with intent. “I’ll be back,” he said.

      It was a promise. And a threat.

      A crazy shiver filled with both excitement and dread ran up Remy’s spine.

      She was still listening to the echoes of their shoes down the long corridor and fighting her conflicting emotions, when Phil wheeled herself in from the sign-language room.

      “Well, Nicholas has pulled his strip act again and... Remy? For heaven’s sake, you look ghastly. What’s up?”

      “Phil, I’m beginning to think a trip out of the country might not be such a bad idea, after all. Do you think you could carry on without Nicholas and me for a few weeks?”

      “You’re considering leaving your work? Remy, what’s happened?”

      Remy told Phil about the visit from Demerchant and Marc Truesdale.

      “So the old guy thinks Nicholas is his great-grandson. So what?”

      “What if he comes back?”

      “You throw him out. Remy, the guy can think anything he wants. He can’t do anything about it. Nicholas is yours. You have the right to say who sees him and who doesn’t.”

      As always, Phil was right. Remy nodded. But she still worried. Because she had seen something Phil hadn’t. She had seen Marc Truesdale’s eyes when he said he would be back.

      * * *

      “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked the jury, who had returned after less than an hour’s deliberation.

      “Yes, we have, Your Honor,” the foreman said.

      “And what is that verdict?” she asked.

      “We find for the plaintiff, Mr. Louie Demerchant, in the amount of ten million dollars,” the short man with the big nose and receding chin said with a smile.

      Louie Demerchant reached for Marc’s hand and gave it a hearty shake as the courtroom erupted in response. The judge rapped for order and got only a halfhearted compliance. She gave up, thanked the jury and quickly adjourned.

      “You did a hell of a job, Truesdale,” Demerchant said as they remained at the plaintiff’s table and let the courtroom clear.

      “You got that Binick good,” Colin Demerchant echoed as he and his wife, Heddy, came forward to congratulate Marc.

      Marc acknowledged the praise with a brief nod in the direction of David’s parents.

      “Now, what are you going to do about my great-grandson?” Louie demanded.

      Marc had expected the question. But he hadn’t expected to discuss it in front of Colin and Heddy. Marc didn’t have a whole lot of respect for the couple who had ignored their only son for most of his life.

      “There’s plenty of time to decide,” Marc said evasively, gathering up his papers.

      Louie turned to his son and daughter-in-law. “Why don’t you two go see the woman in Kent who has those eighteenth-century English enamel boxes for sale that you are so eager to add to your collection. I’ve some things to discuss with Truesdale, here.”

      “She’s asking fifteen thousand apiece,” Colin said, leaning toward his father. “You’ll cover my check?”

      “I will not,” Louie said, his irritation clear. “What do you do with your money?”

      Colin’s smile flashed all his teeth, suddenly making them appear as the most prominent feature in his face. “I spend it, of course. That’s what money is for.”

      Louie flipped his wrist dismissively, shooing away his son and daughter-in-law. Colin took hold of Heddy’s bony arm and headed out of the courtroom.

      As soon as they left, Louie turned back to Marc.

      “Now, what do you intend to do about my great-grandson?”

      “I intend to do plenty. What do you want?”

      “Well, for starters, I want to know his name.”

      “It’s Nicholas Alexander.”

      “Nicholas Alexander Demerchant,” Louie Demerchant said with definite approval.

      “Nicholas Alexander Westbrook,” Marc corrected him.

      Louie waved his hand as though the reminder was merely an insignificant impediment. Then his eyes suddenly snapped back toward Marc. “Wait a minute. You knew his name? All along?”

      “No, not all along. I called Ariana Justice at her private-investigation firm yesterday during the noon break and asked her to start checking into the background of Remy Westbrook and her child. A.J. came by the office last night and filled me in on what she had learned so far. That’s how I knew his name and that his mother takes him to work with her and involves him in the sign-language research she’s conducting with a chimpanzee.”

      “If you knew his name last night, why didn’t you call to tell me?”

      “Because until you saw him this morning, you weren’t even sure he was David’s son. There wasn’t any point in telling you the name of a boy who might have been no relation to you.”