Chapter 12 - The Child Who Went Home With the Wrong Family)
The sentence sounded absurd.
Christopher almost laughed.
"What children?"
Juliette shook her head.
"That's all he told me."
Cole leaned forward.
"When did he say this?"
"Three weeks ago."
"Exact words."
Juliette closed her eyes.
"He said, Thomas fired me because I discovered the wrong baby went home."
Christopher felt the blood drain from his face.
Grant and Thomas.
Two infants connected to the same family history.
One recognized.
One hidden.
Margaret had believed Grant was Christopher's grandfather's son.
A blood test said otherwise.
Now there was a possibility that the test had been correct for the wrong reason.
Cole requested hospital records from thirty six years earlier.
Most were archived.
Some had been destroyed.
But one crucial document remained.
Thomas Whitmore and Grant Mercer had not been born the same year.
The switched babies could not be them.
Margaret frowned.
"Then who?"
Evelyn searched family records.
Thomas had one child.
Christopher.
Christopher had one child.
Emma.
No obvious switch.
Until Yvette spoke.
"Mrs. Whitmore."
Christopher turned.
"Rachel?"
Yvette nodded.
"She once asked me whether Emma wore a hospital bracelet after she was born."
Christopher stared at her.
"Why?"
"She never explained."
Emma had been born at St. Vincent's Hospital.
So had another child the same night.
A power failure struck the maternity wing during a storm.
Backup generators activated within minutes.
But the electronic tracking system remained offline for nearly half an hour.
Christopher remembered none of this.
He had been exhausted.
Happy.
Rachel had been holding Emma.
Nothing had seemed wrong.
Hospital records identified twelve babies in the maternity unit.
Eleven were easily accounted for.
The twelfth record had been sealed by court order.
Cole obtained access.
A girl was born nine minutes before Emma.
Her mother's name was Rebecca Lane.
Christopher stared at the screen.
The name Rachel had later used at the clinic.
Coincidence no longer felt possible.
Rebecca Lane had left the hospital with a baby.
Six weeks later, Rebecca died from an overdose.
Her infant daughter disappeared into state custody.
The records ended.
Christopher's hands trembled.
"Are you saying Emma might not be my daughter?"
No one answered quickly enough.
Christopher stood.
"No."
Cole remained calm.
"We don't know that."
"She is my daughter."
"Biologically and legally may be separate questions."
"I don't care about legally."
Cole nodded.
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
Christopher looked toward the ceiling, toward Emma's room.
"I held her thirty seconds after she was born."
Evelyn spoke gently.
"Then whatever a DNA test says, you're her father."
Christopher looked at her.
"But somebody cares what it says."
That was the point.
The trust required biological descent.
If Emma were not biologically connected to Thomas Whitmore, her claim could potentially be challenged.
The entire conspiracy suddenly had a different shape.
Maybe Emma's death had been one solution.
Exposing her parentage could be another.
"We test," Christopher said.
Evelyn hesitated.
"We need to think about the legal implications."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"I care whether someone is trying to kill my daughter because of a lie surrounding her birth."
He looked at Cole.
"Do the test."
Samples were collected from Christopher and Emma.
The waiting was unbearable.
Christopher spent that evening building a blanket fort in the library because Emma asked him to.
She did not know people were arguing over her blood.
She did not know documents worth millions carried her name.
She only knew she wanted her father inside the fort.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Are you mad at me?"
Christopher stared at her.
"Never."
"You look mad."
"I'm mad at grown ups."
"Julie?"
"Some."
Emma considered that.
"Did Julie hate me?"
Christopher struggled with his answer.
"I don't know what was inside Juliette's heart."
Emma hugged Bunny.
"I liked her before."
"I know."
"Is that bad?"
"No."
Emma looked relieved.
Children should not have to feel guilty for loving adults who failed them.
Christopher kissed her forehead.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
She leaned against him.
For one peaceful minute, the mansion disappeared.
Then the door opened.
Cole stood outside the blanket fort.
Christopher saw his expression.
"The test?"
Cole nodded.
Christopher crawled out.
They moved into the hallway.
"Tell me."
Cole handed him the report.
Christopher read.
Probability of paternity greater than 99.99 percent.
He closed his eyes.
Emma was his biological daughter.
Relief nearly brought him to his knees.
"Then the switch doesn't involve her."
"Not you and Emma."
Christopher opened his eyes.
"What does that mean?"
"We tested Emma against DNA preserved from Thomas Whitmore."
Christopher frowned.
"Why?"
"Because of the trust."
"Result?"
Cole handed him another page.
Thomas was not Emma's biological grandfather.
Christopher stared.
"That's impossible."
"If Thomas is your biological father and you're Emma's biological father, then it would be impossible."
Christopher understood.
One of those assumptions was wrong.
"But the test said Thomas was my father."
Cole nodded.
"Using the hair Margaret provided."
Christopher's eyes widened.
"The hair wasn't Thomas's."
"We retested against a medical sample held from Thomas's surgery ten years ago."
Christopher waited.
"Thomas Whitmore was not your biological father."
Christopher leaned against the wall.
The first test had been manipulated by the sample itself.
Margaret's lock of hair had belonged to someone else.
Someone genetically close enough to create confusion.
"Who?"
Cole answered quietly.
"We ran the profile against Grant's DNA from a drinking glass recovered at his home."
Christopher stopped breathing.
"The hair belonged to Grant?"
"No."
Cole looked directly at him.
"The hair belongs to Grant's biological father."
Christopher stared.
"And whoever that man was, he's also your biological father."
The corridor seemed to stretch away.
Christopher and Grant were not cousins.
Not uncle and nephew.
They were half brothers.
A sound came from the front of the mansion.
The doorbell.
Three slow rings.
Yvette answered.
A courier stood outside holding a package.
No return address.
Inside was a hospital bracelet.
Christopher Whitmore.
May you like
And beneath it was another.
Baby Boy Hale.
