Chapter 2 - The DNA Test That Condemned Me
The door opened six inches.
Ezra Cain stood outside.
Cassian's right-hand man smiled at me.
"Problem?"
The nurse pulled her wrist from my hand.
"No."
I looked at her.
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
Ezra entered.
Tall. Gray suit. Perfect tie. The kind of face that could reassure a banker while ordering somebody buried beneath a highway.
"I'll take the samples."
"No," I said.
His smile remained.
"Excuse me?"
"The courier takes them."
"Mr. Raldi asked me personally."
"Then call him."
The room went still.
Ezra's gaze dropped to the transport case.
Then to me.
"You're very protective of this test."
"I'm protective of chain of custody."
"You're a nurse, Mrs. Raldi. Not a detective."
"Today I'm both."
Cassian appeared behind him.
"Give the case to the courier."
Ezra's expression barely changed.
"Of course."
For one second, his eyes met mine.
Cold.
Patient.
The samples left with an independent courier.
I thought I'd won.
I hadn't.
Forty-eight hours later, twenty members of the Raldi family gathered in the mansion library.
Cassian hadn't invited them.
His uncle Vittorio had.
That distinction mattered.
A physician stood beside the fireplace holding an envelope.
I sat opposite Cassian.
The physician cleared his throat.
"The prenatal paternity analysis excludes Mr. Cassian Raldi as the biological father."
Nobody moved.
Then somebody whispered, "Whore."
Cassian's head turned.
The room became silent again.
I stood.
"Let me see it."
The physician handed me the report.
Probability of paternity: 0%.
I read the markers.
Again.
Again.
My pulse hammered.
"This isn't possible."
Vittorio laughed.
"The science was useful when it said Cassian couldn't have children. Suddenly it becomes unreliable when it exposes you?"
"I didn't say unreliable."
I looked at the physician.
"I said impossible."
Cassian hadn't spoken.
That hurt more than the insults.
"Tell me his name," he finally said.
"There is no name."
His jaw flexed.
"Thirty seconds."
"Cassian—"
"Thirty."
I walked directly toward him.
"Look at me."
He did.
"There was no other man."
"Twenty-five."
"I don't care what this paper says."
"Twenty."
"I woke beside you after being drugged."
"Fifteen."
"And if you believe I'm lying, then you've learned nothing about me."
He stopped counting.
Vittorio leaned forward.
"Throw her out."
Cassian looked at his uncle.
"Nobody gives orders concerning my wife except me."
Wife.
The word landed strangely.
Then Cassian looked back at me.
"Go upstairs."
"What?"
"Now."
I obeyed because his face told me this wasn't finished.
In our bedroom hallway, Odette was waiting.
"Pack."
My stomach dropped.
"Cassian told you?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"Because I've worked for this family for twenty-eight years."
She shoved a suitcase onto my bed.
"And when Mr. Vittorio starts smiling, someone is about to lose something."
I packed.
Not because I planned to leave.
Because Odette was frightened.
Five minutes later, Cassian entered.
"You're leaving."
I stared at him.
"So that's it?"
"No."
"It sounds remarkably like it."
"My uncle has already called two board members and three captains. If you stay here tonight, I can't guarantee your safety."
"You think sending me away protects me?"
"I know it does."
"Where?"
"Anywhere they don't know."
I laughed once.
"My apartment lease ended when I married you."
He placed an envelope on the bed.
Cash.
I pushed it back.
"I don't want your money."
"You'll need it."
"I needed your trust."
Something flickered across his face.
Then disappeared.
"Until I know the truth, I don't know what I can give you."
I removed my wedding ring.
His eyes dropped to it.
I placed it on the envelope.
"Then keep both."
I left through the front entrance carrying two bags.
By morning, my hospital administrator called.
I was suspended.
Anonymous allegations claimed I'd stolen controlled medication.
My bank account was frozen because my father's old creditors had suddenly reopened claims Cassian's attorneys had supposedly settled.
Elm Grove called next.
My mother's lifetime-care arrangement had been "placed under review."
Within twelve hours, I had lost my home, job, money and mother's security.
That wasn't family outrage.
That was coordinated.
I rented the cheapest motel room I could find using emergency cash hidden inside my nursing bag.
Then I spread the paternity report across the bed.
I couldn't fight Cassian's empire.
But I understood blood.
I compared the fetal markers.
Mine made sense.
The alleged paternal markers did not.
Then I noticed something else.
Cassian's ABO type on the report was AB positive.
I stared.
The night I saved him, I had typed his blood manually because we were preparing for the possibility of emergency transfusion.
Cassian wasn't AB positive.
He was O negative.
I still remembered because I'd told Ezra how dangerous universal-donor assumptions could be when dealing with uncrossmatched blood.
Someone hadn't merely falsified the baby's result.
They had substituted Cassian's sample.
And whoever had done it didn't know I remembered his blood type.
My motel phone rang.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a woman's voice whispered:
"You found the blood type."
My entire body went cold.
"Who is this?"
"You need to stop looking."
"How do you know what I found?"
A pause.
Then:
"Because I switched the tube."
The call ended.
Seconds later, somebody knocked on my motel door.
May you like
Three slow knocks.
Exactly the same pattern I'd heard outside the laboratory.
