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“That all sounds very noble,” she told him in a mocking tone, telling him just what she thought of his declaration.
“It also happens to be very true,” Bowie replied simply.
The truth was that she wasn’t sure if she could trust Bowie or not, but she knew that she really, really wanted to. She had already trusted him with her body. If their relationship was going to progress any further, for the sake of their baby, she was going to have to find a way to trust with the rest of her.
Drawing in a deep breath, Marlowe forced herself to dive into the deep end of the pool. She told him what he wanted to know.
“All six members of the board of Colton Oil—my father, Ace, Ainsley, Rafe, my father’s ex-wife, Selina, and I—were all sent identical emails earlier today,” she informed him grimly.
“I’m guessing that the email didn’t say you were all winners of a clearinghouse lottery,” Bowie said.
“You’d be correct,” she answered, her tone utterly gloomy. “The email claimed that my brother Ace wasn’t really a Colton or my father’s son. It went on to claim that Ace was switched the day he was born with another male baby born the same day at Mustang Valley General Hospital.”
“Switched at birth?” Bowie repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”
Marlowe blew out a frustrated breath. “I only wish that I was.”
“Even if he was switched at birth, which seems pretty improbable to me, what difference could that possibly make? Unless there’s something you’re not telling me,” Bowie qualified. “Ace was still raised as a Colton, which in my book makes him one.” Like Rafe before him, apparently Bowie didn’t see what the fuss was about.
“Unfortunately, that’s not enough,” Marlowe told him, her voice a mixture of sadness and anger. “It clearly states in the company bylaws that the CEO of Colton Oil must be a Colton by blood only. If this crazy claim for some reason turns out to be true and not a hoax, I’m not sure what we’re going to do,” she confessed.
And therein obviously lay the problem, she thought.
Bowie said, “Changing the bylaws comes to mind.”
Marlowe blinked, stunned by Bowie’s suggestion. “Excuse me, but have you met my father?” she asked. “He’d sooner topple Mount Rushmore than change the company bylaws.” Despite herself, she was already picturing the chaos that would result once news that Ace wasn’t really a Colton became public. “I don’t know what this is going to do to the company, to our family—”
“Aren’t you jumping the gun a little here?” Bowie asked. “You’re already assuming that this crazy claim is true, and it could just be someone trying to undermine everything that your family’s worked so hard to build. You know, there’s a simple way to clear all this up,” he told her.
She knew what he was going to say. The same thing that had been suggested in the email. “I know, I know. A DNA test,” she said flatly. “We’ve already agreed to have Ainsley take Ace in for one first thing tomorrow when the lab opens. Chief Barco said he’s willing to go with them to bear witness to t
he whole process. Drawing the blood, sealing the vial, everything. That way, he can attest that everything was aboveboard if anyone should contest the results—provided that the test results point to Ace being the genuine article.”
“How would you feel about that?” Bowie asked her.
Marlowe shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Feel about what?”
“What if the test results come back and they point to Ace not being an actual Colton,” he told her. “Would that change anything?”
“Of course it would change things. It would change everything,” she cried. Hadn’t Bowie been paying attention? “I already told you, he couldn’t be on the board, and—”
“No,” Bowie said, cutting her short, “for you. Would it change anything for you? Would you suddenly see Ace differently if the blood running through his veins wasn’t that of a genuine Colton?”
“No,” Marlowe informed him indignantly. “Of course not. I wouldn’t see him any differently than I do right now.”
“Then that DNA test really doesn’t matter,” he told her. “Ace will still be your brother whether or not Colton blood is running through his veins. Besides,” he continued, “it’s not the blood that makes you family. It’s the day-to-day living and what’s involved in that day-to-day existence that does it.
“Now, don’t buy trouble,” Bowie advised. “If something bad is going to find you, that’ll happen soon enough. Until it does, just go on with things as if everything’s all right.”
She was oddly heartened by his words, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Instead, she told him, “You sound like a fortune cookie, Robertson.”
“It’d have to be a pretty big cookie to accommodate all that writing,” Bowie said, visibly amused. “In the meantime, do you or your family have any idea who sent this bundle of enlightening information to all of you?”
Well, she’d already told him this much, so she supposed there was no harm in telling him the rest. “I put our IT expert on it, but he told me not to get my hopes up that we’d get an answer. He feels that it came through the dark web, and some of the dealings there might never be unearthed.”
“Maybe I can help,” Bowie offered.
Marlowe turned toward him, stunned. “You?” she questioned.
