Chapter 2 - THE DNA PARADOX
The lower levels of Roth Capital Group did not look like a corporate office. They resembled an advanced biomedical research facility. White subterranean hallways, keycard-restricted glass doors, and air that smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol and chilled steel.
Dr. Vance, a sharp-eyed geneticist who had managed the Roth family’s medical records for two decades, swabbed the inside of my cheek with practiced efficiency. Next came the baby, who let out a tiny, soft squeak as the cotton swab touched his gums, making my heart ache with an instinctual protective urge I hadn't known I possessed. Finally, Dennis offered his arm for a draw of blood.
“Results for the rapid genetic sequencing will take six hours,” Dr. Vance stated, placing the vials into a centrifuging apparatus. “If this child carries your genetic markers, Dennis, we will know by midnight.”
We returned to the top floor, where Harrison had arranged a secure executive suite for me and the baby. The room featured a king-sized bed, a private nursery nook equipped with brand-new cribs, clothes, and formula that Dennis’s assistants had rushed in from a high-end department store, and a wall of monitors displaying real-time news feeds.
I sat on the edge of the bed, gently rocking the baby in my arms. He had dark, fine hair, unlike Astrid’s blonde curls or my own auburn waves. But his eyes—when he opened them briefly—were a striking, icy gray.
The exact same color as Dennis Roth’s eyes.
“He has your eyes,” I whispered, looking up as Dennis walked into the room carrying a cup of tea for me.
Dennis paused, his gaze lingering on the boy. For a fraction of a second, the stoic mask he wore cracked, revealing a deep, unreadable storm of emotion. “My brother had those eyes too,” he said quietly, setting the tea on the nightstand.
I frowned, looking up at him. “Your brother?”
“Julian,” Dennis said, walking over to the window that overlooked the ocean. “He died three years ago in a helicopter crash off the coast of Scotland. He was the golden boy of the Roth family. The one my father actually loved. When Julian died, the responsibility of the company, the trust, and the family legacy fell entirely on my shoulders.”
I watched him closely. “Did Astrid know Julian?”
“No. Julian was long gone before Astrid interned here,” Dennis replied. “But Astrid was clever. She didn't just target me because I was the CEO. She targeted the weakness in my family’s trust structure.”
He turned around, leaning against the glass panel. “Tell me about your sister, Elsie. How did a twenty-two-year-old college student from Phoenix manage to pull off an international fraud scheme?”
I took a slow breath, feeling the familiar bitterness bloom in my throat. “Astrid was never just a college student. Since we were kids, my parents raised her to believe she was royalty trapped in a middle-class family. If she wanted piano lessons, my father worked overtime. If she wanted designer dresses for prom, I was told my university fund had to be delayed. She was smart, incredibly charming, and utterly devoid of empathy.”
I looked down at the baby’s tiny hands curling around my finger. “Six months ago, she told my parents she was moving to San Diego for a prestigious summer internship. She came back home three months ago wearing expensive clothes, carrying designer bags, and hiding a baby bump. My mother was ecstatic. She thought Astrid had secured a wealthy boyfriend. But when Astrid gave birth yesterday, she wouldn't let my parents see the medical birth certificate. She packed her bags, left the baby on her bed, and told my mother that if anyone asked, the baby belonged to the family.”
“And your mother chose you as the sacrifice,” Dennis said softly.
“I was the easy choice,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “I’m the second daughter. The law student who pays her own tuition by working twenty hours a week at a coffee shop. In my mother’s mind, my future was disposable. Astrid’s wasn't.”
Before Dennis could answer, Harrison burst into the suite without knocking. His face was pale, his tie loosened, and his tablet clutched tightly in his hand.
“Dennis, we have a massive escalation,” Harrison said, his voice laced with urgency. “The Phoenix Police Department just executed a search warrant on your sister’s house in Phoenix. They found a signed, handwritten letter allegedly written by Elsie.”
My heart stopped. “A letter? I didn't write any letter!”
Harrison tapped the tablet, casting a document onto the room’s main display screen.
It was a lined sheet of paper, written in neat, fluid cursive that looked disturbingly similar to my own handwriting.
“Mom and Dad, I can’t live with the shame of what I’ve done. I’m taking Astrid’s baby because he belongs to me now. If you try to follow me, you’ll never see either of us again. — Elsie.”
“That’s a forgery!” I screamed, standing up so fast the baby stirred in my arms. “I never wrote that! I didn't even know Astrid was leaving until I woke up yesterday morning!”
“It doesn't matter if it’s a forgery yet,” Harrison said grimly. “The Phoenix District Attorney just used that letter to obtain a formal felony arrest warrant for Aggravated Kidnapping and Extortion. The FBI has officially stepped in. They know you crossed the California border.”
I felt the room spin around me. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating me. A felony warrant. The FBI. My dream of becoming an attorney, my degree, my reputation, my freedom—everything was being wiped out in real-time by my own mother’s hand.
“Dennis...” I whispered, looking at him in sheer desperation. “They’re going to put me in prison.”
Dennis didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, grabbed my shoulders with broad, firm hands, and forced me to look directly into his eyes.
“Nobody is putting you in prison,” Dennis said, his voice sounding like iron sliding into a groove. “Harrison, initiate Protocol Seven.”
Harrison blinked in surprise. “Protocol Seven? Dennis, that involves deploying the private diplomatic transport. If the federal authorities find out—”
“I don't give a damn about the federal authorities right now,” Dennis growled. “My son is in this room, and the woman who saved him from being turned into a pawn is standing right here. We are leaving for our private compound in Big Sur in twenty minutes. Get the helicopter ready on the helipad.”
Just as Harrison turned to run out of the room, the door to the lower lab clicked open, and Dr. Vance walked in holding a printed genetic report.
His face held an expression of profound, absolute shock.
“Dennis,” Dr. Vance said, his voice trembling slightly. “The DNA test is complete.”
Dennis didn't break eye contact with the doctor. “Confirm it. Is he my son?”
Dr. Vance swallowed hard, looking down at the paper in his trembling hands. “The baby is a ninety-nine point nine percent match to the Roth genetic line... but he is not your son, Dennis.”
The room went dead silent.
May you like
Dennis froze. “What did you just say?”
Dr. Vance raised his eyes, looking directly at Dennis with an expression of sheer horror. “The baby’s paternal markers don't match you, Dennis. They match your deceased brother... Julian Roth.”
