The will reading was held in Mr Hughes's office a week later.

Elaine sat in the front row with Amber and Tom. When I walked in, Elaine stood up.

“Why is she here?”

“Because Mr Whitfield asked for her to be here,” said Mr Hughes calmly. “Please sit down, Mrs Whitfield.”

Most of the will was what everyone expected. The house to Elaine. Shares in Whitfield Motors to Tom.

Then Mr Hughes turned a page.

“‘I leave twenty per cent of Whitfield Motors to my grandson, Noah Moore, to be held in trust until he is eighteen. This gift is on one condition: that a DNA test confirms Noah is the son of my son, Thomas.'”

The room exploded.

“Over my dead body!” Elaine shouted. “That boy is a stranger's! Frank was confused at the end. He was ill!”

Amber had gone pale. She gripped the arm of her chair.

Tom said nothing. He was staring at the floor.

“The test can be arranged quickly,” said Mr Hughes. “A simple cheek swab, at an accredited laboratory. Mr Whitfield, do you consent?”

Everyone looked at Tom.

For seven years, he'd refused.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I consent.”