My stepdad raised me after I lost my mother — just hours before he d*ed, he gripped my hand and whispered, “There’s something I’ve hidden from you your entire life.”

And there’s a restraining order filed in 2014 — a woman named Diane Kowalski.

It was dropped after six months.”

I wrote the names down on the back of an envelope.

“He’s not who he presents himself as,” Paulson said.

“I want you to meet with me today.

Bring everything Frank gave you — the letter, the birth certificate, the nurse’s statement.

All of it.”

“He’s going to expect to hear from me,” I said.

“Gerald.

He texted last night.

If I go silent, he’ll know something is wrong.”

Paulson thought for a moment.

“Can you send him one short reply?

Something that keeps him calm and doesn’t reveal where you are?”

I typed: *Thank you, Gerald.

I’m with family.

I’ll be in touch soon.*

I showed Miriam before I sent it.

She read it and nodded.

“Family,” she said.

“That’s true now.”

I sent it.