Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Glass
"Don't you dare touch him," Clara snapped as Victoria reached for Julian's arm.
Julian pulled away from his mother's touch as if burned. He backed into the wall, the paper crinkling in his fist. "Answer me. Clara is saying the embryo used for our transfer came from someone else—and that my own DNA doesn't match you. Is that true?"
Victoria smoothed the front of her blazer, the mask of society elegance snapping back over her panic. "Clara is manipulating medical records to tear this family apart. She knows our estate is bound by a strict hereditary trust. Without a legitimate heir, the board dissolves her access to the trust funds."
"I don't give a damn about your trust fund!" Clara said, tears dripping onto Maya’s swaddling blanket. "I had this test run privately at Saint Jude's General, not your boutique clinic. They ran the DNA three times because the genetic flags were identical to a sealed criminal inquiry from thirty years ago."
Victoria’s breath caught—a tiny, choked sound that betrayed her completely.
Julian noticed. He had spent thirty-two years reading his mother's subtle cues in boardrooms and family dinners. That split-second hitch in her breathing meant she was cornered.
"What criminal inquiry?" Julian demanded, stepping closer to Clara’s bed. "Clara, tell me."
"The hospital couldn't release the full case file without a subpoena," Clara explained, her heart hammering against her ribs. "The technician only gave me the docket code scribbled on the back of the envelope. Julian, check the back."
Julian flipped the cream envelope. In smudged blue ink, seven characters were handwritten across the bottom flap: CR-1994-08.
Victoria lunged. She snatched the envelope from Julian's hand, tearing the paper in two as she tried to rip it away. Julian grabbed her wrists, holding her off with a look of horror.
"That was the year I was born," Julian said, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "June 1994. The year Dad died in the car accident."
Victoria looked into her son’s eyes, her gaze desperate and unhinged. "You were sick, Julian. You were dying when you were an infant. I did what a mother had to do."
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"What did you do?" Julian yelled, his voice echoing out into the quiet corridor.
From the doorway, two uniformed police officers appeared, their hands resting cautiously on their belts.
