"I am not the father," Brad Vaughn stated in no uncertain terms.

The Chicago private investigation firm of Vaughn Associates was not where Brad wanted to have this discussion. However, with his dad standing in his office, newspaper in hand, Brad had no choice.

Phillip Vaughn, head of the firm, a man who was always right, a father who was grooming his son for his position, shook the newspaper at Brad. "Are you sure? Suzette Brouchard says — "

"I don't care what Suzette Brouchard says. We had a brief relationship, but I never slept with her without protection. From the information I have so far, her baby was born forty-two weeks after our last night together.

She'd moved on to someone else, and that man is the father of her baby."

Suzette was a beautiful, sexy model, but neither of them had expected more than a few nights of good sex. She'd faded into the background after they'd stopped seeing each other, and that had been almost three years ago.

"Why would she do this?" Phillip Vaughn asked, still in an accusing tone.

"Money. She thinks if she makes enough noise, I'll settle and give her a bundle."

Brad had a bundle. Not from the fortune his father had acquired but from his own sweat. He'd earned an MBA and opted out of his father's plans for him for a few years to work on Wall Street. He'd done well and invested most of it, not in the dot-com of the moment but in solid, stable companies he'd researched. At the height of the boom, he'd sold most of it, bought real estate, sold that, reinvested in conservative investments for the future and constantly turned over the rest for profit. At thirty-five, he had more money than he'd e