Chapter 13: The Test That Was Never Meant to Be Found
I spent that night staring at the ceiling.
Twenty-two years ago.
That was how long someone had possessed a document that might have answered the most personal question of my life.
Who was my biological father?
And why had everyone decided I didn't deserve to know?
At seven the next morning, Thomas Bennett called again.
"I've reviewed the document Robert sent," he said.
"There are several problems with it.""
I sat up in bed.
"What kind of problems?""
"First, it's a photocopy without a verifiable chain of custody. Second, it identifies the tested individuals by initials only. Third, the laboratory name appears to belong to a facility that closed years ago.""
"So it could be fake?""
"It could be genuine, altered, or entirely fabricated. We cannot responsibly conclude which.""
I rubbed my eyes.
"What about the date?""
"The date is plausible. Private paternity testing existed then, although the methods and reliability varied. But we need the original records, if they still exist.""
"And Robert says it proves he's not my father.""
"Robert says many things. Until we have independently verified evidence, we should treat his claim as exactly that—a claim.""
I looked toward the bedroom door.
Jasmine had let me stay on her couch, and she was already in the kitchen making coffee.
"Thomas, why would he suddenly send you a test result now?""
"Perhaps he wants to influence the investigation. Perhaps he believes it will protect him. Or perhaps he has a document he genuinely thinks is conclusive. We don't know.""
I thought about the anonymous messages.
Your grandmother was right about the money.
Don't trust Robert.
"Can you find out who ordered the original test?""
"I'll make inquiries through the appropriate channels. Meanwhile, the accredited laboratory can arrange a new test involving you and James Whitmore. That will help establish whether James is your biological father.""
"And if he isn't?""
"Then we continue examining the evidence. Paternity is not something we should decide through family arguments.""
After the call, I stood at Jasmine's kitchen window and watched the city wake up.
Cars moved through the intersection. A delivery driver unloaded boxes. Somewhere, a child was laughing.
The world continued as if mine hadn't been pulled apart.
Jasmine set a mug beside me.
"You don't have to solve your whole life today," she said.
"I know.""
"Do you?""
I looked at her.
She folded her arms.
"Olivia, you've spent weeks finding out that your mother stole your education money, your uncle may have been involved in your father's death, and your family has been hiding something about your birth. You're allowed to be exhausted.""
I gave a weak laugh.
"I think exhausted is the nicest word for it.""
She touched my shoulder.
"Then today, you do the next right thing. Not every right thing. Just the next one.""
At nine, James Whitmore arrived at the testing clinic.
He looked older than he had during our first meeting. Perhaps it was the uncertainty, or perhaps I was finally seeing him as a person rather than an answer to a question.
He stood when I entered the waiting room.
"Olivia.""
"James.""
For a moment, we simply looked at each other.
Then he said, "I want you to know that whatever the results show, I'm sorry.""
I frowned.
"For what?""
"For the years I wasn't there.""
I sat beside him.
"You told me you received a letter from my mother.""
"I did.""
"And you stayed away because she asked you to.""
"Yes.""
"Did you ever wonder whether I was safe?""
His eyes filled.
"Every day.""
"Then why didn't you try to find out?""
He looked down at his hands.
"Because I told myself that respecting your mother's wishes was the honorable thing to do. I convinced myself that if she wanted me involved, she would contact me.""
"And when she didn't?""
"I accepted the explanation she gave me.""
I waited.
He looked at me again.
"I was afraid, too. I was young. I didn't know whether I was your father, and I didn't know how to challenge a married woman's account of her own child's paternity without causing damage to everyone involved.""
I understood the fear.
I didn't excuse the decision.
"You could have asked for a test.""
"Yes," he said.
"I should have.""
His willingness to admit that mattered more than a perfect apology would have.
A technician called us into a private room and explained the process. We provided the required samples, signed the consent forms, and were told the laboratory would contact us when the results were ready.
Outside, James offered to buy me breakfast.
I almost declined.
Then I remembered Jasmine's advice.
One next right thing.
"Okay," I said.
We sat in a quiet diner a few blocks away. James ordered coffee and eggs. I ordered toast because the thought of food still made my stomach turn.
For several minutes, we spoke about nothing important.
Then he asked, "What was Daniel like?""
I looked at him.
"You knew about him?""
"I knew Denise married him. I knew he was raising you. I didn't know much beyond that.""
I thought of the man in the photographs, the gentle voice I barely remembered, and the letter in the storage unit.
"He was kind," I said.
"At least, that's what everyone tells me. I remember him reading to me. I remember him carrying me when I fell asleep in the car.""
James smiled sadly.
"He sounds like a good man.""
"He was my dad.""
James lowered his coffee.
"I hope you know that I don't want to replace him.""
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Good. Because nobody can.""
"I wouldn't ask you to.""
My phone buzzed.
A message from Detective Harris.
*We have located the retired officer who handled the original incident. He has agreed to speak with us. There may be additional records.*
I showed James.
He read it carefully.
"Do you think Robert hurt Daniel?""
"I think there are reasons to investigate. I don't know what happened.""
"That's fair.""
Then my phone buzzed again.
This time, the message came from an unknown number.
*You have the wrong idea about the old DNA report. Ask Thomas who paid for it.*
I stared at the screen.
James leaned forward.
"What is it?""
I showed him.
His expression changed.
"Did you receive messages like this before?""
"Yes. One told me to ask my mother what happened the night Daniel died. Another warned me not to trust Robert.""
He looked unsettled.
"Have you given the number to the detective?""
"Not yet.""
"Please do. Whoever this is, they seem to know details about the case.""
I forwarded the message to Detective Harris.
Then I called Thomas.
When I asked who had paid for the original DNA test, he went silent.
"Thomas?""
"I'm checking something.""
"What does that mean?""
"It means I remember an invoice in your grandmother's files. I hadn't connected it to the report because the name on the invoice was not Daniel's.""
"Whose name was it?""
"Denise Carter.""
My stomach tightened.
"My mother paid for the test?""
"According to the invoice, yes. But the payment alone does not establish who requested it or why.""
I thought about the letter Daniel had written.
Denise has discovered the DNA report.
If she had paid for the test, then why had she stopped it?
Unless she had received a result before the testing was suspended.
"Thomas, can you find the original laboratory?""
"I'll try.""
"Please.""
After we hung up, I sat motionless.
James watched me.
"What are you thinking?""
"That maybe my mother wasn't afraid of finding out who my father was.""
I looked at the message on my phone.
"Maybe she was afraid that someone else already knew.""
An hour later, Thomas called back.
He had located a surviving archive connected to the laboratory. The facility had closed, but some records had been transferred to a medical records company.
The archive could not release confidential information based on a telephone request. Thomas had begun the formal process to establish what records could lawfully be accessed.
But he had discovered something else.
The original report number listed on Robert's photocopy matched an entry in the archive index.
There was a record.
And it had not been destroyed.
Before I could ask another question, Thomas said, "Olivia, the index identifies three participants, not two.""
"Three?""
"Yes.""
I gripped the phone.
"Who were they?""
"I can't verify the identities from the index alone. But one participant was listed as a child.""
I felt my pulse race.
"Me?""
"I don't know. The age is consistent with yours, but we cannot assume that.""
Then Thomas read me the last line of the entry.
*Supplementary sample received following reported family emergency.*
I closed my eyes.
The test had not simply disappeared.
Someone had returned to the laboratory after the original request was suspended.
May you like
Someone had provided another sample.
And whatever the laboratory discovered, the result had remained hidden for twenty-two years.
