“Zero biological relationship detected. There is no genetic match between Preston Carmichael and the deceased.”
The room didn’t erupt this time. It went cold.
“That’s a lie!” Diane screamed, lunging to her feet. “Lawrence, you’ve been bought! Elena tampered with the samples! This is fraud!”
“It’s not fraud, Diane,” I said, sliding the red folder across the mahogany desk. “It’s history. Dad knew. He’s known since 2013.”
Lawrence opened the folder, his eyes widening as he saw the medical records and the secret DNA test. He looked at Diane, then at the divorce decree.
“Mrs. Carmichael—or should I say, Ms. Shaw,” Lawrence said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “This document indicates your marriage to William was dissolved in September of 2019. You have been residing in the Wellesley house under false pretenses and have no legal standing as a spouse.”
Diane turned to Preston, her voice a frantic, high-pitched warble. “Preston, honey, it was for us! I did it to protect your future! William was a cold man, he didn’t understand—”
“Who is he?” Preston asked. His voice was hollow, dead. “Who is my father, Mom?”
Diane’s mouth worked soundlessly. “Marcus Bennett,” she finally whispered. “It was… it was a mistake.”
