Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO TOASTED OUR MARRIAGE
Helen Rhodes had hugged me after our vows.
She told me I was exactly what Callum needed.
Then gave us a crystal bowl I had pretended to understand.
Now she was sitting in her Gold Coast apartment staring at us as though we were rude for arriving without an appointment.
Callum placed Lucy’s photograph on the table.
Helen did not flinch.
“You know her.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six years.”
I watched Callum absorb another betrayal.
“Why did you offer Lena money?”
“To protect the family.”
Callum laughed.
“That sentence is getting old.”
Helen’s face hardened.
“The first DNA test was unreliable.”
“Then why pay her?”
“Because unreliable claims can still destroy estates.”
“She was carrying Evan’s child as far as she knew.”
“She was carrying someone’s child.”
Cold.
Too cold.
I asked:
“Why did you know about the second test?”
Helen looked at me.
“You’re involved now?”
“I’m his wife.”
That word suddenly carried legal weight.
She disliked it.
Good.
Lena had contacted Helen three months ago because she needed medical-history information for Lucy.
The girl had developed an inherited cardiac rhythm abnormality.
Not immediately dangerous.
Treatable.
But doctors wanted paternal family history.
Lena could no longer avoid the Rhodes question.
She repeated the DNA test independently.
Again:
Callum.
Helen panicked.
Why?
Because if Lucy became recognized as Callum’s biological child, part of the descendant trust shifted.
Not from Callum directly.
From the family remainder pool.
Helen’s children also benefited from that pool.
Lucy’s recognition would reduce their eventual distributions.
Money.
There it was.
“How much?” Callum asked.
Helen looked offended.
“It isn’t about the amount.”
“How much?”
Matthew’s documents estimated:
Approximately $8 million over decades.
Enough.
Helen said:
“I was protecting my children.”
Callum replied:
“By erasing another one?”
She flinched.
Then:
“We still don’t know she’s yours.”
“Exactly.”
“So why did you already try to buy her silence?”
No answer.
Then I noticed a photograph on Helen’s bookshelf.
Callum.
Evan.
Helen’s son, Andrew.
All teenagers.
Same summer camp.
Same dark blond hair.
Same eyes.
I looked at Callum.
Then at Andrew.
“Could the DNA test confuse close relatives?”
Matthew had warned us.
Standard paternity testing can distinguish most relatives, but certain incomplete panels or sample mix-ups can create misleading probabilities.
Callum followed my gaze.
“Helen.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“Did Andrew ever use that fertility clinic?”
Silence.
Too long.
Helen stood.
“This conversation is over.”
Callum remained seated.
“Did he?”
She looked away.
“Yes.”
My pulse accelerated.
Andrew and his wife had undergone IVF years earlier.
Same clinic network.
Multiple Rhodes male samples.
Callum.
Evan.
Andrew.
That did not prove anything.
But it destroyed certainty.
Then Callum asked:
“Where is Andrew?”
Helen’s expression became pale.
“New York.”
Matthew, who had joined by video, interrupted.
“No.”
Everyone turned toward the screen.
“I checked this morning.”
Andrew had returned to Chicago two days before our wedding.
He attended the reception.
I remembered him vaguely.
He left early.
Then hotel security sent another clip.
At 11:38 p.m., five minutes before Diane placed the envelope in Callum’s tuxedo, Andrew Rhodes approached the coat rack.
May you like
He reached inside Callum’s jacket first.
And removed something.
