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The day my father brought his illegitimate son home, I was signing a billion-dollar contract. My assistant, Chris, called, his voice shaking. "Mr. Lane, Mr. Richard Lane... He..." "Speak," I ordered, my pen never lifting from the document. "He brought back a young man, and he says... he's your younger brother," Chris replied. My pen skidded across the signature line, leaving a long, ragged streak of ink. I set the pen down and looked out at the gray, overcast sky. Just as I thought, this was bound to happen.