Chapter 13 - The Mount Sinai Extraction
The antiseptic hallways of Mount Sinai’s secure executive wing smelled of bleach and sterile tension. Federal marshals stood guard at every elevator bank, blocking out the swarming paparazzi who hammered against the reinforced glass doors downstairs.
I sat in a private recovery suite alongside Dr. Evelyn Vance, watching through an interior observation window as pediatric nurses gently drew blood samples from Liam, Leo, and Lily. My babies, now active toddlers learning to babble full sentences, looked around with wide, curious eyes, entirely unaware that their existence was currently the center of a federal corporate war.
"They're completely healthy, Clara," Dr. Evelyn whispered, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Markers are pristine. The DNA match to Raymond Whitmore—and to your own lineage—is absolute and undeniable. Not a single digit of the sequence can be disputed."
"I know," I replied, staring at my reflection in the polished glass. "I just hate that they have to be subjected to this circus."
"They won't be for much longer," a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the doorway. Arthur stepped into the room, leaning on his obsidian cane, his expression grim. "The federal prosecutor just briefed me on a secondary file we uncovered while auditing Raymond’s proxy accounts last night. It wasn't just Margaret and Raymond pulling the strings on this fraud probe."
My brow furrowed. "Who else?"
"Chloe Vance," Arthur said coldly. "The social climber Raymond tried to replace you with. She didn't disappear when the stock crashed. She married a shadow investor tied to an offshore cartel in Zurich. They've been funneling millions into discrediting the trust, hoping to force a judicial liquidation so they can buy the industrial portfolio for pennies on the dollar."
Before I could process the magnitude of the revelation, the secure door burst open.
A senior federal investigator rushed in, holding an urgent printout. "Mrs. Vance-Sinclair, Mr. Vance—you need to see this. The preliminary sequencing results from the independent lab just came down the wire twenty minutes early."
He handed the tablet to Arthur.
Arthur’s eyes scanned the data, and for the first time since I had met him, his face went completely pale. He looked up at me, his voice dropping to a stunned whisper.
"Clara... it's not just a match. There's an anomaly in the secondary marker profile. Something the standard obstetric panels didn't pick up."
May you like
"What kind of anomaly?" I asked, my blood turning to ice.
"It's not just Raymond's DNA," Arthur said slowly, sliding the tablet across the table. "Look at the paternal lineage cross-check. The markers don't match Raymond Whitmore at all."
