Chapter 4 - The Unborn's SecretI didn't wait for the police. The legal system was too slow, and Dr. Vance was currently destroying the medical evidence at his private clinic.
Leaving Marcus and his armed tactical team to secure my estate, protect my newborn son, and guard my mother and brother, I took my black SUV and tore through the rainy night toward Vance’s private clinic on the outskirts of the city.
The clinic was a sterile, two-story brick building tucked behind a row of pine trees. A single light burned on the second floor.
I bypassed the electronic lock on the back door with a military bypass key, sliding silently into the darkened hallway. The air smelled of antiseptic and fresh paint.
I crept up the stairs, my weapon raised.
Through the frosted glass door of the main office, I heard Dr. Vance speaking angrily on a landline.
"I don't care what Margaret said!" Vance barked into the receiver. "The soldier came home early! If an autopsy is performed, they’ll find the succinylcholine in her blood tissue! I need the cremation permit signed NOW!"
I kicked the door open.
The heavy wooden frame splintered instantly. Vance spun around, dropping the receiver, his hands flying into the air as he stared down the barrel of my tactical pistol.
"Don't move," I said, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me.
"Daniel—listen to me!" Vance stammered, sweating profusely, his white lab coat stained with coffee. "I was forced into this! Caleb threatened to kill my family if I didn't help them!"
"Shut up," I commanded. I walked up to his desk, grabbed him by his tie, and slammed him into his leather chair. "You injected my wife with a paralytic agent."
"It... it was supposed to just induce labor!" Vance cried out, tears of terror rolling down his cheeks. "Margaret said Emily was going to ruin the family estate! She paid off my debts!"
"Where is the original medical file?" I demanded, tightening my grip on his neck.
"In... in the safe behind the painting!" Vance pointed a shaking finger at an oil painting on the wall.
I ripped the painting off the wall, forced Vance to put in the combination, and pulled out a thick yellow file folder.
As I opened the file, my eyes scanned the blood test results and ultrasound records. But as I flipped to the final page, my heart stopped beating.
The document was a DNA compatibility profile run three weeks ago.
The mother listed was Emily.
The father listed... was NOT me.
And it was NOT Caleb.
The paternal DNA matched a profile already stored in the national federal database—a profile belonging to a man who had allegedly died eight years ago in a private plane crash.
My father. Arthur Vance-Vane.
I stared at the paper in absolute horror, my brain struggling to process the grotesque reality written in black ink.
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"What is this?" I roared, grabbing Vance by the throat and lifting him half out of his chair. "WHAT IS THIS?!"
"She... she didn't know!" Vance gasped out, choking for air. "Emily didn't know! Arthur isn't dead, Daniel! He's been living under an alias in Switzerland! He came back six months ago... he forced himself onto her while you were deployed... he wanted an heir to secure his offshore empire!"
