Chapter 4 : The Midnight Sabotage
The following evening, the atmosphere in the Brooks manor was thick with tension. The sky outside had darkened into a fierce summer thunderstorm, ironically mirroring the night twenty-six years ago that had set this entire tragedy into motion. Lightning flashed across the massive bay windows of the drawing-room, casting long, erratic shadows.
William sat at the head of the long table. Emma sat to his right, feeling entirely out of place as a butler—a man who had scolded her for polishing the silver too slowly just three days ago—poured her a glass of sparkling water with trembling reverence.
Victoria and Thomas sat across from them, their expressions carefully composed masks of polite skepticism.
"Dr. Aris should be arriving any moment," William announced, checking his antique pocket watch.
"Father, I beg you to prepare yourself," Victoria said, adopting a tone of faux-sympathy. "I know how desperately you want this to be true. But grief makes us see miracles where there are only coincidences. When this girl turns out to be a fraud, you must not let it destroy your health."
"I am not a fraud," Emma said quietly, her voice steady. She touched the brass token resting against her collarbone. "I never asked for this. But I know who I am."
"We will see," Thomas muttered under his breath.
The heavy double doors swung open, and Dr. Aris stepped in, his raincoat dripping onto the Persian rug. He held a sealed manila envelope in his hands. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"William," the doctor began, clearing his throat. "I have the results from the central lab."
Victoria leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with suppressed triumph. "Go ahead, Doctor. Read them. Let us put an end to this circus."
Dr. Aris broke the seal. He pulled out the crisp, official document. His eyes scanned the text, and he let out a heavy sigh. "According to the genetic markers processed by the central facility... there is a zero percent probability of a biological relationship. Emma Carter is not your granddaughter."
The room plunged into a suffocating silence.
Victoria let out a theatrical gasp. "Oh, Father! I am so sorry!" She turned on Emma, her mask slipping to reveal pure malice. "You treacherous little liar. You manipulated an old man's grief! I want you out of this house tonight!"
Emma felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at William. "Mr. Brooks, I swear to you—"
"Pack your bags, Emma," Thomas ordered, standing up. "You are lucky we don't press charges for fraud."
William didn't move. He didn't look devastated. He didn't look heartbroken.
Instead, a terrifyingly calm smile spread across the old man’s face.
"Is that so?" William murmured. He stood up slowly and walked over to the mahogany sideboard, pouring himself a measure of brandy. "Zero percent probability. Fascinating."
Victoria frowned. "Father? Did you hear the doctor?"
"I did," William said, taking a sip of his drink. "But you see, Victoria, I didn't build a billion-dollar empire by trusting a single point of failure."
William reached into the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a second, identical manila envelope.
Thomas’s face went pale. "What is that?"
"This," William declared, his voice booming with sudden, thunderous authority, "is the result of the second swab I took from Emma. The one I had flown via private helicopter to an independent, secure laboratory in Geneva, Switzerland, while you two were busy bribing the central lab technician in the city."
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Victoria stumbled backward, knocking over her crystal wine glass. It shattered—just like the glass Emma had dropped days ago.
William slammed the Swiss envelope onto the table. "Ninety-nine point nine percent probability. Emma is Claire’s daughter. She is my blood. And you, Victoria, are a traitor."
