I sent the security screenshot of three men lined up to get their hair plucked, along with the scheduling spreadsheet.
Less than ten seconds later, the dots started blinking on her end.
Then ten sixty-second voice messages came firing in, one after another.
"Maureen! Where the hell did you get this? You show that spreadsheet to any of them and I'll fly back and end you!"
I held down the record button.
"Before you end me, figure out how you're going to explain your little time-management system to the three of them."
"They're tearing the world apart looking for you right now."
Silence on her end.
I switched the phone to silent and tossed it onto the coffee table.
The window gave a soft scrape.
A man in a baseball cap and black mask climbed through, tripped over the stroller, and went sprawling face-first onto the floor.
Curt Gilbert tore off the mask and slapped a black card onto the table.
"Ten million. You swear up and down I'm the kid's real father, and the money's yours."
I picked up the card and spun it between my fingers.
"Big star, out doing charity in the middle of the night?"
"Ten million to buy yourself a kid?"
"Kay loves me most. The baby's definitely mine."
Curt lifted his chin. "I'm not letting Theodore Farley and Michael Delgado steal my thunder."
I slapped the old phone flat against his face.
"See for yourself."
He fumbled to catch it, stared at the screen, and the color drained out of him by degrees.
"Thursday, Curt Gilbert, gallery date. Friday, Michael Delgado, yacht party..."
His voice started shaking as he read.
"I'm just a Thursday special?"
"She told me I was the only soulmate she'd ever had!"
"She said my singing was her favorite thing in the world!"
I pointed at the crib beside him, where the babies were starting to fuss.
"Well, you're here. Go mix the formula."
"Don't just stand there crying about it."
Red-eyed, Curt walked over to the bottle warmer, scooping powder into a bottle while tears ran down his face.
"How could she do this to me? I wrote her three songs!"
"I kept the whole front row at my concert reserved for her!"
I rapped my knuckles on the table.
"Water at a hundred and four, don't scald the baby."
"Cheap kind of soulmate, aren't you."
Curt sniffled and gave the bottle a clumsy shake.
"This isn't over. Why does Michael get Friday? What's he got that I don't?"
I took the bottle from him and slipped it into the baby's mouth.
"Pray the kid's yours first."
"Otherwise you won't even hang on to your Thursday-special status."
Curt crouched at the side of the crib, watching the baby blow spit bubbles, tears dripping down one after another.
"This kid really looks like me. Look at that nose, nice and straight."
"That's prime Gilbert genes, no question."
I glanced at the baby, whose features hadn't even settled into anything yet.
"Michael and Theodore Farley said the exact same thing."
"You three really do have remarkably consistent genes."
Curt shot to his feet and jabbed a finger toward the door.
"Bullshit! This is Gilbert blood! Once the test comes back, I'm slapping the report in their faces!"
At three in the morning, the phone on the coffee table buzzed like mad.
The testing center.
The second I answered, a harsh burst of static came down the line.
"Ms. Pruitt, something's wrong, whatever you do, don't—"
The call cut off, forced dead.
A text popped up, the red exclamation mark impossible to miss.
"DNA comparison flagged a critical anomaly! Report fully sealed!"
The three-day deadline was up.
I settled the babies in the apartment and took a cab to the testing center alone.
I'd barely stepped out of the car when a dozen thugs with steel pipes had the front doors blocked solid.
My father stood at the front, a cigarette between his fingers, and blew out a ring of smoke.
