Preston stood up, turning to face the thirty-two people in the room. “Actually, Lawrence, let’s be blunt. My father’s will states that his estate is to be divided among his biological children. But for years, there has been a cloud over Elena’s legitimacy.”
The room erupted. Outrage and agreement clashed in a cacophony of elite bickering. I sat in the back, my heart a dull thud in my chest.
“In the interest of justice,” Preston continued, “I demand a DNA test before a single cent is touched.”
“Fine,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. I stood up, meeting Preston’s victorious gaze. “I’ll take the test. But if we’re honoring the ‘biological’ clause, we should be thorough. Everyone claiming a share of the inheritance gets swabbed. No exceptions.”
Preston laughed, the sound echoing off the mahogany shelves. “Fine by me, little sister. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
But as he spoke, I caught a glimpse of Diane. For the briefest of seconds, her composure shattered, and a look of pure, unadulterated terror flickered across her face.
Chapter 2: The Clinical Cold
The following week was a blur of sterile white walls and the humming of refrigeration units at GeneTech Labs in Cambridge. Dr. Rachel Morrison, a forensic DNA specialist who looked like she hadn’t smiled since the late nineties, oversaw the collection.
Preston went first, swaggering into the office like he was there to accept an award. He winked at me on his way out. “Clarity is coming, Elena. Hope you like your tiny apartment, because you’re going to be in it for a long time.”
