Chapter 8 - The DNA Test That Changed Everything

# Chapter 8 - The DNA Test That Changed Everything

The doctor who examined my daughter three years ago hadn't been looking for an illness.

He had been looking for a genetic match.

And when Detective Harris finally obtained the laboratory records, he discovered that Lily's DNA had been compared against someone whose identity was hidden behind a confidential patient number.

I stood in the hospital corridor, holding my phone so tightly that my fingers hurt.

"Was there any medical reason for genetic testing?" Harris repeated.

"No. Lily had a fever. Vanessa recommended Dr. Adrian Bell, and he came to the house."

"Did you authorize a DNA test?"

"Absolutely not."

"Did Claire?"

I looked through the glass panel of my wife's hospital room.

"I don't know."

Harris was silent for a moment.

"Daniel, I need you to ask her."

"Why?"

"Because Dr. Bell's records may be the first physical evidence connecting Lily to Ashcroft House."

My stomach tightened.

"Are you saying someone was testing whether she belonged to our family?"

"I'm saying we need to establish what the test was intended to determine."

I thought about the foundation established in Lily's name.

The mysterious photographs.

The attempted access to her hotel floor.

The men who had watched her sleep.

And now a DNA test performed without my knowledge.

"What did they want from my daughter?" I whispered.

Harris didn't answer.

That frightened me more than anything he could have said.

Claire was awake when I entered her room.

She was sitting against the pillows, carefully brushing her long blonde hair with a comb a nurse had given her.

For a moment, the sight almost broke me.

Before her disappearance, Claire had loved her hair.

She spent far too much time complaining about split ends, experimenting with shampoos, and asking whether she should cut it shorter.

Now it hung unevenly past her shoulders, thin and tangled from eighteen months of confinement.

She looked up.

"Dan?"

I sat beside her.

"Do you remember Dr. Adrian Bell?"

The comb slipped from her hand.

I watched it fall onto the blanket.

"Where did you hear that name?"

"He examined Lily three years ago."

Claire's expression changed.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

"Vanessa arranged it," I continued. "He supposedly came because Lily had a fever."

Claire looked toward the door.

"Did he hurt her?"

"I don't think so. But he collected a DNA sample."

Her eyes widened.

"What?"

"A cheek swab. Lily remembered it."

Claire pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"Oh, God."

"Did you know?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Daniel, I would never have allowed that."

I wanted to believe her.

But the documents from Northbridge still haunted me.

Her signature had appeared on financial authorizations she claimed not to recognize.

She had known my mother was alive.

She had concealed her connection to Eleanor for years.

And my father had left a message warning me not to trust her.

"Claire, why would anyone want Lily's DNA?"

She stared at me.

Then she whispered, "Because of the trust."

I felt my chest tighten.

"Explain."

She took a slow breath.

"Your father established certain inheritance conditions before Lily was born."

"I know."

"No, Dan. You don't know all of them."

I leaned forward.

"What conditions?"

Claire looked down at her hands.

"There was a provision concerning biological descendants."

I frowned.

"That's normal in family trusts."

"Not this one."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitated.

"The original agreement required genetic verification before certain assets could pass to the next generation."

I stared at her.

"Why?"

"Your father was obsessed with bloodlines. He believed the Mercer fortune should never pass to someone outside the biological family."

I remembered Richard's lectures about legacy.

He had always talked about the importance of preserving the family name.

But requiring DNA verification?

That was something else.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't know about the provision until I began investigating."

I looked away.

Claire touched my hand.

"Dan, whatever those people are doing, Lily is our daughter."

I turned back.

"Of course she is."

Her eyes searched mine.

"Promise me you won't let them make you question that."

I felt an unexpected chill.

"Why would I question it?"

Claire didn't answer.

At ten thirty, Harris arrived with an update.

Investigators had obtained a partial copy of the genetic testing records from a laboratory that previously handled work for Ashcroft House.

The documents were incomplete.

Several patient names had been replaced by numerical identifiers.

But one file contained Lily's date of birth.

Another contained a specimen collection date matching the physician's visit to our home.

Harris placed the records on the table.

"Dr. Bell submitted two samples for comparison."

"Two?"

"One was collected from Lily."

"And the other?"

"We haven't identified the donor."

I stared at the document.

"Was it mine?"

"We don't know."

"Claire's?"

"Possibly."

"My father's?"

"Also possible."

I rubbed my forehead.

"What did the results show?"

Harris hesitated.

"The report indicates a high probability of a biological relationship."

My heart pounded.

"Between Lily and whom?"

"That's the problem. The second sample is identified only as Patient E-17."

I looked at him.

"E-17?"

He nodded.

"That identifier appears in several Ashcroft House records."

I felt a chill.

"Who was Patient E-17?"

"We're still investigating."

I stared at the paper.

The numbers seemed meaningless.

Yet someone had spent years concealing the identity behind them.

"Could it be Eleanor?"

Harris studied me.

"Why do you ask?"

"My mother was associated with Ashcroft House."

"That's one possibility."

"And if the sample belonged to her, the test would confirm Lily was her granddaughter."

"Potentially, depending on the actual test and its results."

I looked at the document again.

"Then why hide the name?"

Harris closed the folder.

"That's what concerns me."

By noon, Marcus Whitmore had been released after questioning.

He called me immediately.

I almost declined.

Then I answered.

"Daniel."

"What do you want?"

"To explain."

"You've had fourteen years."

"I know."

I stepped into an empty waiting room.

"Start with my mother."

Marcus sighed.

"Richard told you she's alive."

"Yes."

"Then he probably told you about Ashcroft House."

"He told me she owned it."

"Partly."

"What does that mean?"

"She controlled the original property company. But the ownership changed several times."

"To whom?"

"Northbridge."

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

The same holding company connected to the missing money.

"Marcus, did you know Adrian Bell?"

Silence.

Then he said, "Yes."

My pulse accelerated.

"How?"

"He treated Richard after his neurological event."

"Was he involved in faking my father's death?"

"I don't know."

"Did you arrange for him to examine Lily?"

"No."

"Did you know he collected her DNA?"

Another pause.

"Daniel, there are things about the trust that you need to understand."

I felt anger rise.

"Stop saying that."

"I'm trying to help."

"Then tell me the truth."

Marcus lowered his voice.

"Your father didn't create the genetic verification provision."

I froze.

"What?"

"Your mother did."

I stared at the wall.

"Eleanor?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because she believed someone had been manipulating the family records."

"What family records?"

"Birth certificates. Marriage records. Adoption documents."

I felt my stomach tighten.

"Whose?"

Marcus hesitated.

Then he said, "Yours."

For several seconds, I couldn't speak.

"My birth certificate?"

"Yes."

"What was wrong with it?"

"I don't know exactly."

"Marcus."

"Richard never let me see the original documents."

I laughed bitterly.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth."

"Then why mention it?"

"Because Eleanor was investigating whether certain family relationships had been falsified."

I looked down at my hands.

My entire life seemed to be dissolving.

My mother hadn't died.

My father hadn't died.

My wife had hidden her connection to both of them.

And now Marcus was suggesting that my own birth records might be unreliable.

"Are you telling me Richard isn't my father?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying Eleanor believed someone had altered records connected to the trust."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

I closed my eyes.

I was exhausted by the endless half-truths.

Every answer created another question.

Every person claimed to know only part of the story.

And every road led back to my daughter.

"Marcus, where is Eleanor?"

"I don't know."

"Who does?"

He hesitated.

"Samuel Voss might."

"The attorney?"

"Yes."

"Then why hasn't she contacted me?"

Marcus said nothing.

I felt a sharp ache in my chest.

"She's my mother."

"I know."

"She let me mourn her for twenty-six years."

"I know."

"And now she's filing legal documents instead of calling her son."

Marcus's voice softened.

"Daniel, Eleanor has spent a long time being afraid."

"Of whom?"

A pause.

Then he whispered, "Of what Richard might do if she returned."

That afternoon, I met Samuel Voss.

He agreed to speak with me at his office after my attorney contacted him.

Voss was a thin man in his late fifties, with silver-rimmed glasses and a precise manner of speaking.

His office occupied the upper floor of a restored brick building downtown.

When I entered, he was standing beside a large window.

"Mr. Mercer."

"Where is my mother?"

He gestured toward a chair.

"Please sit."

"I didn't come here to sit."

"I understand."

"Then answer my question."

Voss studied me.

"I represent Eleanor Mercer."

"Is she alive?"

"Yes."

"Have you seen her?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Recently."

"Then tell me where she is."

"I'm not authorized to disclose her location."

I stared at him.

"She's my mother."

"I understand."

"No, you don't."

My voice rose.

"For twenty-six years, I believed she was dead. I buried my father seven years ago, only to discover he's alive. My wife spent eighteen months locked inside a wall, and someone is threatening my daughter."

Voss remained silent.

"I am done with secrets."

He folded his hands.

"Mr. Mercer, I sympathize with your situation."

"Then help me."

He looked away.

For the first time, his composure seemed to weaken.

"Eleanor wants to see you."

I froze.

"What?"

"She has wanted to see you for a long time."

"Then why hasn't she?"

"Because she believes doing so would endanger you."

I laughed bitterly.

"Everyone keeps telling me that."

Voss opened a drawer.

He withdrew a sealed envelope.

"She instructed me to give you this if you came."

I stared at it.

My name was written across the front.

Not in my father's handwriting.

In hers.

I recognized the elegant loops.

The distinctive way she crossed the letter T.

My mother used to write notes for my school lunches.

I hadn't seen her handwriting in twenty-six years.

My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

My dearest Daniel,

There are no words that can justify the pain my absence caused you.

I have watched you grow into a man from a distance, and I have hated myself for every birthday, every Christmas, and every moment I could not share.

I know you have questions.

I know you deserve answers.

But there is one truth you must understand before we meet.

The people who destroyed our family are not finished.

They have already taken years from us.

Do not let them take Lily.

With all my love,

Mom.

I read the letter twice.

Then a third time.

My eyes burned.

For twenty-six years, I had imagined what I would say if I could speak to my mother one more time.

Now she was alive.

And I couldn't even ask her why she had left.

I looked at Voss.

"Tell her I want to see her."

He nodded.

"I will."

"Today."

"I can't promise that."

I stood.

"Then tell her something else."

"What?"

"Tell her I'm not sixteen anymore."

As I reached the office door, Voss spoke again.

"Mr. Mercer."

I turned.

"There's something you should know about the DNA testing."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"Eleanor authorized an investigation into the trust's biological inheritance provisions."

"Did she authorize Dr. Bell to test Lily?"

His expression changed.

"No."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know."

I stared at him.

"You're her attorney."

"That doesn't mean I know everything she does."

I took a step closer.

"Was Eleanor trying to establish whether Lily was biologically related to the Mercers?"

Voss hesitated.

Then he said, "She was trying to establish whether the original family records were accurate."

"Whose records?"

He looked directly at me.

"Yours."

I felt my chest tighten.

"Why?"

Voss's expression became guarded.

"That's something Eleanor must explain herself."

I stared at him.

"Did my mother believe I wasn't Richard's son?"

He didn't answer.

"Mr. Voss."

"I'm sorry."

I turned and walked out.

But as the elevator descended, one thought wouldn't leave me.

If Richard Mercer wasn't my biological father, then Lily's inheritance might be affected.

And if someone had discovered that possibility years ago, they might have been using it to control the trust.

The DNA test wasn't necessarily about Lily.

It might have been about me.

At six that evening, Detective Harris called with news about Dr. Adrian Bell.

"We found him."

I stopped walking.

"Where?"

"At a private residence outside the city."

"Is he cooperating?"

"Not yet."

"Why?"

"He's dead."

I froze.

"What?"

"His body was discovered this afternoon."

I leaned against the wall.

"How?"

"We're waiting for the medical examiner."

"Was he murdered?"

"We can't confirm that yet."

I closed my eyes.

Another person connected to Ashcroft House.

Another person who might have answered our questions.

Gone.

"Did you find his records?"

"Some."

"What about Patient E-17?"

Harris hesitated.

"Daniel, there's something unusual."

"What?"

"Bell kept a separate archive."

My pulse quickened.

"Of what?"

"Genetic testing records."

"Did you find Lily's file?"

"Yes."

I felt my stomach tighten.

"And?"

"The file contains a second report."

"What report?"

"A comparison involving a different subject."

I stared at the wall.

"Who?"

Harris took a breath.

"Daniel Mercer."

My blood ran cold.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Compared against whom?"

"The same unidentified patient."

"E-17?"

"Yes."

I closed my eyes.

"Did it show a relationship?"

Harris paused.

"The report indicates a close biological relationship."

I felt my pulse hammer.

"What kind?"

"We need the laboratory to verify the findings."

"Detective, please."

He hesitated.

"According to Bell's notes, Patient E-17 was considered a potential biological parent."

I couldn't speak.

A parent.

Not a grandparent.

Not a distant relative.

A parent.

"Was it Richard?"

"We don't know."

"Eleanor?"

"We don't know that either."

I pressed my hand against my forehead.

Then Harris said, "There's another issue."

"What?"

"The records suggest Bell wasn't testing only for inheritance purposes."

I felt a chill.

"What else?"

"Medical compatibility."

I frowned.

"Compatibility for what?"

"Potential tissue donation."

I returned to the hospital immediately.

Claire was sitting beside the window.

She looked up when I entered.

"Dan?"

I closed the door.

"Adrian Bell is dead."

Her face went pale.

"What?"

"The police found his body."

She covered her mouth.

"Oh, God."

"He tested Lily's DNA."

"I know."

"He also tested mine."

Claire stared at me.

"What?"

"And both samples were compared against the same unidentified patient."

She looked frightened.

"Who?"

"Patient E-17."

The color drained from her face.

I stepped closer.

"Claire, do you know who that is?"

She shook her head.

But her eyes told me something different.

"Claire."

"I don't know for certain."

"Then tell me what you suspect."

She began trembling.

"At Ashcroft House, Vanessa sometimes talked about a patient."

"What patient?"

"Someone who needed medical treatment."

I felt my stomach tighten.

"What kind?"

"She never said."

"Did you ever see this person?"

"No."

"Then why do you think it's connected?"

Claire looked down.

"Because once, Vanessa said the family had finally found a compatible donor."

I stared at her.

"A donor?"

She nodded.

"What did she mean?"

"I don't know."

I thought of Lily.

The DNA test.

The surveillance.

The attempted access to her hotel floor.

Suddenly, the threat seemed far more immediate.

Someone might not simply want control of her inheritance.

They might want something from her body.

I felt sick.

"Claire, did Vanessa ever mention Lily in connection with the patient?"

She hesitated.

Then whispered, "Yes."

My chest tightened.

"What did she say?"

Claire began crying.

"She said Lily was the last chance."

At 9:12 p.m., Harris arrived with a sealed report.

His expression was grim.

"Daniel, we have preliminary confirmation from the laboratory."

I stood.

"About E-17?"

He nodded.

"The genetic results are consistent with a close biological relationship between you and the unidentified patient."

"Is it my mother?"

"We're working to confirm the identity."

"And Lily?"

"Her sample was also tested for compatibility."

I felt my pulse quicken.

"Compatibility for what?"

Harris opened the report.

"The notes mention a possible hematopoietic stem-cell donation."

I stared at him.

"A bone marrow transplant?"

"Potentially."

My stomach dropped.

"From Lily?"

"That's one possibility the records suggest."

I looked toward Claire.

She was crying silently.

I turned back to Harris.

"Who would need a transplant badly enough to have people watching my daughter?"

He hesitated.

"We found another document in Bell's archive."

"What document?"

"A treatment summary."

"Whose?"

"Patient E-17."

I stepped closer.

"What's the diagnosis?"

Harris looked down at the report.

"An aggressive hematologic malignancy."

My heart pounded.

"And the name?"

He swallowed.

"Daniel, the patient identity was concealed in the laboratory file. But Bell kept a handwritten cross-reference."

I felt the room grow cold.

"Who is E-17?"

Harris looked directly at me.

"According to that note, E-17 is Eleanor Mercer."

My mother.

Alive.

Seriously ill.

And someone had been testing my daughter as a potential donor.

Before I could speak, Claire suddenly reached for my arm.

"Dan."

I turned.

Her eyes were fixed on the report.

"There's something wrong."

"What?"

She pointed to