Chapter 5 - The Results in Hand
The morning of the preliminary divorce and asset preservation hearing arrived with a heavy downpour over the Nashville Metropolitan Courthouse.
At 8:30 a.m., inside a private conference room on the fourth floor of the court building, Julian sat beside his newly retained public defense attorney, a stressed young man named David Miller, who was frantically shuffling through a disorganized stack of papers.
Julian looked ghastly. He had not slept in forty-eight hours. His charcoal suit was wrinkled, his face pale, dark purple bags hanging beneath his bloodshot eyes. He held a sealed, white cardboard envelope tightly in his right hand—an envelope stamped with the official red seal of St. Jude's Diagnostic Pathology Bureau.
The DNA test results had been delivered to his hotel room thirty minutes ago.
He had not opened it yet.
His fingers hovered over the paper flap, trembling so violently he could barely hold the cardboard steady.
"Mr. Mercer," his young attorney urged nervously, checking his watch. "The hearing begins in ten minutes. If those DNA results prove you are the biological father of the twins, we can use that to argue for temporary emergency family support allowances from the court, even with the corporate asset freeze."
Julian swallowed hard, his throat dry as dust. "Yes... yes, of course. They are my children. Vanessa promised me. She swore to me on her life."
With a sudden, frantic jerk, Julian tore the top flap of the envelope open.
He pulled out the multi-page certified laboratory report. His eyes skipped past the complex genetic marker charts, past the allele frequency tables, straight down to the bold, capitalized conclusion printed at the bottom of page three:
PATERNITY EVALUATION SUMMARY:
ALLELE MATCH PROBABILITY (INFANT A - MALE): 0.00%
ALLELE MATCH PROBABILITY (INFANT B - FEMALE): 0.00%
CONCLUSION: THE TESTED MALE (JULIAN MERCER) IS DEFINITIVELY EXCLUDED AS THE BIOLOGICAL FATHER OF BOTH INFANTS.
Julian’s vision went completely white.
The cardboard folder slipped from his numb fingers, hitting the carpeted floor. The air in his lungs evaporated, leaving him clutching his chest, gasping for breath as if he were drowning in open water.
0.00%.
"Mr. Mercer?!" David Miller gasped, picking up the paper from the floor and scanning the page. "Oh... oh, my God..."
Julian stood up abruptly, his chair flying backward, crashing against the wooden wall. He didn't say a word. He didn't look at his lawyer. He burst through the conference room door, staggering down the marble corridor toward the elevators like a madman.
Twenty minutes later, the front door of the Gulch penthouse was thrown open so hard the brass handle punched a hole through the drywall.
Vanessa was standing in the kitchen, dressed in an expensive silk gown, holding a bottle of baby formula. When she saw Julian burst into the room, his eyes wild, his face contorted in demonic rage, she instantly stepped back toward the nursery hallway.
"Julian! What is wrong with you?!" Vanessa shouted. "Are you insane?!"
Julian didn't speak. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the crumpled DNA report, and threw it straight into her face. The white papers scattered across the marble floor like dead leaves.
Vanessa frowned, leaning down to pick up the top sheet. As her eyes hit the bold red text at the bottom—0.00% PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY—her face didn't show shock. It didn't show panic.
It showed an immediate, icy, and absolute detachment.
Julian stared at her, his entire body shaking as tears streamed down his cheeks. "Vanessa... tell me it's a mistake... tell me the lab made a mistake... please!"
Vanessa slowly straightened her back. She tossed the paper onto the kitchen island, took a slow sip of her coffee, and looked at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated contempt.
"The lab didn't make a mistake, Julian," Vanessa said, her voice dropping into a calm, mocking tone that cut deeper than any knife.
Julian let out a ragged, broken sob, falling to his knees on the marble floor. "Why...? Why would you do this to me?! I gave you everything! I gave you nine hundred thousand dollars! I destroyed my marriage for you! I threw away my life for those children!"
"You didn't give me anything, Julian," Vanessa sneered, stepping close to him, looking down at his weeping form. "You were an arrogant, weak little clerk who thought he was a corporate mastermind. You were so desperate to feel like a powerful man that all I had to do was whisper in your ear, let you touch my waist, and tell you that Madeline didn't appreciate your genius."
"Who... who is the father?" Julian whimpered, clutching his head.
Vanessa chuckled—a cold, cruel sound that echoed off the high glass walls.
"Marcus Vance," Vanessa revealed smoothly. "The man who actually owns a logistics empire. The man who paid me five hundred thousand dollars to use your pathetic, insecure ego to gut Rowan Meridian from the inside out."
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Julian stared up at her, his mouth open, his mind completely pulverized by the horrific magnitude of his own stupidity.
"Now get up off my floor," Vanessa commanded, her eyes burning with pure venom. "And get out of my penthouse before I call building security to have you thrown into the street where you belong."
