Chapter 71 – Bloodline Unveiled

David’s POV

“Dealing with all this document is so tiring,” I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand across my forehead. My pen scratched against the paper as I signed another set of files and slid them aside. A whole new pile waited for me.

I had built David’s Group from nothing — from sleepless nights and raw determination, but the one thing I never got used to was the endless paperwork.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Outside the glass wall, the city stretched far and wide — tall buildings, car horns, and life that never stopped.

Knock! Knock!

The sound was firm but polite.

“Yes, come in,” I said, flipping to the next document.

My secretary stepped in, looking slightly unsettled. His normally calm face was tense. “Sir, there’s… there’s something strange. A report just came from one of the guards.”

I frowned. “Strange?”

He nodded nervously. “They said there’s a child downstairs, a boy who claims he’s your son.”

The pen slipped from my hand. I looked up sharply and stood up abruptly, “What?”

“He says you’re his father, sir,” the secretary continued carefully, “and the guards said he looks exactly like you. They said the resemblance is one hundred percent.”

I stared at him, unsure I’d heard right. “A boy that looks like me?”

“Yes, sir.”

For a second, my chest tightened. My heart started pounding fast, and the memory of a familiar moment came rushing back — that night at the small bar when I saw a little boy who looked exactly like me. I had thought I would never meet him again and had buried it deep within me.

“Could it be the same child?” I muttered to myself, rising to my feet.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to calm the rush of questions in my head. If this is the same child, then who is his mother? Could it be her?

My thoughts scattered like papers in a storm.

“If I meet this boy,” I whispered under my breath, “what do I even say? What if I scare him? And how do I even ask about his mother without sounding like a fool?”

The uncertainty made me restless. I began pacing around the office, the sound of my shoes echoing softly against the marble floor.

“Sir?” my secretary called hesitantly.

I stopped and turned to him. “Get the child here.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hurried out.

I stood still for a moment, my heart still drumming. I didn’t know what to expect — joy, fear, guilt, or all of them at once.

I turned toward the window, staring at the city below, my hands clenched behind my back. The thought of having a child — my child — sent a strange warmth through me, mixed with unease.

Minutes passed.

Then, a soft knock came again.

Knock! Knock!

“Come in,” I said, quickly sitting down and straightening my posture to hide my unease.

The door opened. My secretary stepped in, carrying a small boy in his arms.

The moment my eyes landed on the child, the air left my lungs.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me. I could feel it — a deep, strange pull in my chest. Blood calling to blood.

He had my face. My exact eyes. Even the way he looked around the room — curious yet fearless. It was me in another body.

My throat tightened.

The boy blinked at me, calm and confident, his small hands gripping the secretary’s shoulder.

“Wow,” I whispered, standing up slowly. “I really have a child.”

My voice trembled slightly with disbelief and quiet joy.

I stretched my arms forward. “Give him to me.”

The secretary handed the boy over gently. I took him into my arms, careful not to frighten him. He looked up at me, blinking, his lips curved into a small, cautious smile.

His warmth seeped into me instantly. My heart swelled with emotions I hadn’t felt in years.

I turned to the secretary. “You can leave. I’ll handle it from here.”

“Yes, sir,” he said softly and bowed before walking out.

When the door clicked shut, silence filled the room. Only the sound of the air conditioner remained.

I sat on the edge of my desk, keeping the boy in front of me. “What’s your name, child?”

“Jay,” he said proudly, his little voice clear and firm.

“Jay,” I repeated slowly, tasting the name. “That’s a good name.”

He smiled. “Yes, my mom gave it to me.”

His words struck a chord in my heart. “Your mom?”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly. “She’s the best mom in the whole world. She’s slim, beautiful, and very smart. She even has long hair!”

I smiled faintly, unable to stop the warmth spreading in my chest. “Then she must be the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Jay grinned. “Yes, she is!”

I chuckled softly, studying his bright eyes. He had his mother’s liveliness — whoever she was.

“So,” I asked gently, “what brought you here?”

Jay tilted his head. “I came with my siblings. I came to look for you.”

My eyes widened slightly. “Siblings? You mean you have brothers and sisters?”

He nodded seriously. “Yes. Seven of them.”

“Seven?” I echoed, my heart skipping. “You mean I have eight children?”

"Yes." Jay answered, nodding his small head. His action made him look cute.

I couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped me — it was part shock, part amazement. “And why did you come to look for me, Jay?”

“Because you’re my father,” he said simply.

I blinked. “Who told you that?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nobody told me. We saw you on TV. You were wearing a suit and walking with many people. You looked like me — exactly like me. So we all decided to come and confirm.”

He spoke with such confidence that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You all came to confirm?” I repeated softly.

“Yes,” he nodded proudly, “but when we sneaked out of school, our grandma saw us. So she caught the others outside the building. I was the only one who made it inside.”

His voice lowered slightly. “Grandma must be so worried now. And if she tells my mom, my mom will flip.”

I stared at him, the corners of my mouth lifting into a small smile. The way he spoke reminded me so much of myself at his age — bold, sharp, and unafraid.

“Alright,” I said quietly, standing. “Then let’s take you home before your grandma really flips.”

His eyes widened with surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. I want to see where my son lives.”

His small face brightened instantly. “Okay! I’ll show you the way!”

I picked him up gently, resting him against my shoulder. “Good. Let’s go.”

As I walked out of the office, my secretary stood near the door, startled.

“Clear my schedule for today,” I said, not breaking stride.

“Yes, sir,” he replied quickly.

I carried Jay into the private elevator. The moment the doors closed, he started asking questions.

“Do you have a car that can fly?”

I laughed softly. “Not yet. But I have fast ones.”

“Mom says fast cars waste money,” he said wisely.

“She sounds smart.”

“She is.”

When the elevator doors opened at the underground garage, I placed Jay down gently beside the car — a sleek black sedan. He stared at it with wide eyes.

“Whoa,” he whispered. “It’s so shiny.”

“Hop in,” I said, opening the passenger door.

He climbed in, his legs swinging, and I helped him with the seat belt.

Once I settled behind the wheel, I started the engine and glanced at him. “Now, tell me where we’re going.”

He nodded eagerly and began giving directions in that innocent, serious tone that only children had. I followed every word, slowing down at turns and watching his small hand point from the window.

We drove through the city, and soon the streets began to change. The tall buildings gave way to smaller houses, cracked walls, and uneven roads. The brightness of the city faded into dull colors and old paint.

Jay hummed softly, tapping his knees, unaware of how quiet I had become.

I gripped the wheel tighter as we passed a cluster of worn-down shops and rusted gates.

“Is this where you live?” I asked, my voice softer now.

“Yes,” Jay said cheerfully, pointing. “Turn right! That’s our street.”

My throat tightened. I slowed the car and turned as directed. The road was narrow, littered with puddles and small stones. Children played in the dust nearby, their laughter echoing faintly.

When we stopped in front of a small apartment building with faded walls, Jay pointed excitedly. “That’s our house!”

I stared for a long moment.

The structure looked weak, its paint peeling like old skin. A cracked flowerpot sat beside the door. A faded curtain fluttered through an open window. Yet despite everything, there was something… gentle about the place. Like it had seen hard times and still stood tall.

“Is this where you and your family live?” I asked finally.

“Yes,” Jay said proudly. “It’s small, but Grandma says it’s home.”

I looked around slowly. The air was heavy with the faint smell of smoke and wet earth. Somewhere nearby, a street vendor was frying plantain. The sound of sizzling oil carried faintly through the air.

I swallowed hard. “What does your mother do for a living?” I asked, keeping my tone steady.

“She works at the Blackmoore Group,” Jay answered quickly, “in the marketing department.”

My eyes widened slightly. “Blackmoore Group?”

“Yes!” he nodded eagerly.

I leaned back against the seat, letting out a low whistle. “Well, what a small world,” I murmured.

So she worked for Dominic. All this time, she’d been right under my nose.

I wondered briefly if I’d also find another child — the one who looked like Dominic, here. The thought stirred something deep inside me, something sharp and uneasy.

I shook it off and looked at Jay again. “Do we have to wait for your grandma?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nope! Put me down. I’ll open the door.”

I stepped out and went around the car, lifting him gently to the ground. He ran toward the small potted plant near the window and began digging with his tiny fingers. Dust clung to his hands, but his face was determined.

“There it is!” he said proudly, pulling out a small key from the soil.

I watched silently, both amazed and saddened by the simple cleverness of it. He ran to the door, tiptoed, and pushed the key into the keyhole.

Katcha!

The lock turned, and the wooden door creaked open slightly.

Jay turned and smiled at me. “Come in.”

I followed him inside, ducking slightly under the low doorway.

The air inside was warm and smelled faintly of baby powder and cooking oil. The living room was small but spotless. A few old chairs sat neatly around a center table. The cushions were worn, but they were clean. The curtains were faded but carefully ironed.

My eyes roamed around, taking in every detail — the small shelf filled with children’s books, a cracked wall patched neatly with paint, and a photo frame on the table showing all eight kids grinning widely.

Despite its simplicity, the place felt alive — full of care and love.

I lowered myself onto the couch. The old fabric squeaked under my weight.

Jay hurried to the small telephone on the side table. “Sit here,” he said over his shoulder, his small legs moving fast.

He reached the phone and began pressing the buttons carefully. His little fingers trembled slightly.

He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Hello? Grandma?” His voice softened. “I’m home… yes, I came back with him.”

His voice dropped to a whisper I couldn’t catch. I only sat there, watching him. The way he talked reminded me again of myself.

I looked around the room once more, and something in my chest tightened painfully.

This was the home of my child.

The walls might be cracked. The furniture might be old. But love lived here. I could feel it in the air.

Jay laughed softly into the receiver. “Okay, Grandma. Come home quick.”

He placed the receiver back gently and turned to me with a bright smile.

“Grandma’s coming soon.”?