Chương 7 - Zero Percent Match
Dr. Sterling cleared his throat, the sound dry and agonizing in the vast, silent room.
“I will begin with the quadruplets: Noah, Ethan, Grace, and Lily,” Dr. Sterling said.
He turned a page.
“The genetic markers confirm that Julian Whitmore is the biological father with an incontrovertible probability of ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine percent.”
“There is no margin of error.”
“They are his legitimate, biological offspring.”
Margaret Whitmore collapsed back into her armchair, pressing a lace handkerchief to her trembling lips as fresh sobs broke from her chest.
Julian dropped his head back against the wall, tears streaming freely down his neck.
Four true heirs.
Then, Dr. Sterling turned to the second document in the folder.
His expression hardened, turning somber and deeply troubled.
He looked toward Vanessa, who sat curled in her armchair like a trapped animal waiting for the bullet.
“Regarding the triplets: Julian Jr., Preston, and Charles II,” Dr. Sterling continued, his voice dropping into a grave, flat cadence.
“Julian Whitmore is excluded as their biological father.”
“Probability of paternity: zero point zero percent.”
The room shattered.
Charles Whitmore stood up so fast his heavy mahogany chair flew backward, crashing into the wainscoting.
“What did you say?” Charles roared, the veins in his neck bulging like thick cords.
“Zero percent, Charles,” Dr. Sterling repeated firmly.
“There is no genetic relationship between Julian Whitmore and those three boys.”
“None whatsoever.”
A bloodcurdling scream tore from Margaret’s throat.
She lunged across the rug toward Vanessa, her diamond rings flashing like claws, before two security guards grabbed her by the shoulders to hold her back.
“You whore!” Margaret shrieked, her aristocratic composure completely obliterated.
“You filthy, lying gutter tramp!”
“We gave you everything!”
“We gave you penthouses, jewelers, cars, and the family name!”
“Whose bastards did you bring into my house?!”
Julian didn't scream.
He didn't lunge.
He walked slowly toward Vanessa, his steps heavy, hollow, like a dead man walking through a graveyard.
He stopped two feet in front of her chair.
Vanessa looked up, her face drenched in sweat and ruined mascara, shaking her head frantically.
“Julian, please… please let me explain,” she choked out, reaching for his tuxedo trousers.
“I loved you! I did it because I loved you!”
Julian looked down at her with an expression of such cold, absolute revulsion that she instantly pulled her hands back.
“Who is their father, Vanessa?” Julian asked, his voice dead.
Vanessa swallowed, her chest heaving in erratic gasps.
“Answer him!” Charles thundered, slamming both palms down onto the desk with the force of an explosion.
“Answer him before I have the FBI dismantle every account you and your pathetic family have ever touched!”
Vanessa broke completely.
She buried her face in her knees, rocking back and forth as the truth finally spilled out of her lying lips.
“Marcus,” she sobbed.
“It was Marcus Vance.”
The name fell upon the Whitmore family like an atomic blast.
Marcus Vance.
Their bitterest corporate enemy.
The man Charles had bankrupted and humiliated during the hostile takeover of Vance Logistics three years ago.
“He planned it,” Vanessa wept hysterically.
“He knew Julian stayed late at the office when Evelyn was away.”
“He knew Julian was feeling pressured by Charles to have heirs.”
“Marcus paid the New Jersey clinic to swap the donor profiles during my IVF cycle.”
“The plan was to let Julian raise Marcus Vance’s three sons as the Whitmore heirs.”
“When the boys turned eighteen and inherited the majority trusts, Marcus was going to reveal the truth and seize the Whitmore Group from the inside out!”
Julian stepped back, stumbling as if he had been struck in the chest with an iron bar.
He leaned against the mantelpiece, dry-heaving violently into his sleeve.
He had betrayed his wife, signed away his marriage, and humiliated the woman he loved—all to raise the secret bastard heirs of his father’s deadliest rival.
Charles Whitmore stood frozen behind his desk.
The great billionaire, the master of industry, looked as if he had aged twenty years in twenty seconds.
His grand empire, his proud bloodline, had nearly been handed over to his enemy on a silver platter because of his own blind, arrogant greed.
“Get her out of my sight,” Charles whispered, his voice cracking with an unbearable humiliation.
“Call the state police.”
“Grand larceny. Wire fraud. Corporate espionage.”
“Make sure she never sees the sun again.”
Four security officers moved in, seizing Vanessa by her silk bridal sleeves and hauling her unceremoniously out of the salon.
Her screams echoed down the marble hallway until the heavy exterior doors slammed shut, cutting off the noise forever.
Silence returned to the room.
A thick, poisonous silence.
In the center of that silence sat my four children, safe, pristine, and completely untouched by their father’s grotesque catastrophe.
I stood up, smoothing the front of my ivory trousers.
“Come, my darlings,” I said softly to Noah, Ethan, Grace, and Lily.
“We are leaving.”
Julian snapped his head toward me, terror flashing across his tear-stained face.
“Evelyn, no!” he cried, rushing toward the door to block our exit.
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