Chapter 3 - The Lab Had Moved, Not Disappeared
The address printed on the report belonged to a physical-therapy practice now.
That had been my useless first attempt before the retirement party.
Daniel did better.
He hired Nina Cho, a family-law attorney who also helped coordinate an independent records investigation.
The original laboratory had been acquired twice.
Its parent company still maintained archived records.
Getting anything took weeks.
The surviving file did not contain Daniel’s entire childhood medical history.
It contained enough.
Order placed by:
Cornelius Mercer.
Child:
Daniel Edward Mercer, age 8.
Alleged father:
Cornelius James Mercer.
Testing method:
DNA parentage analysis.
Result:
Exclusion.
The report on the cake was authentic.
Then Nina found a second record.
Before ordering the test, Cornelius had contacted a family-law attorney.
We did not get privileged legal advice.
But old billing descriptions survived in Cornelius’s own accounting archive.
CONSULTATION — PARENTAGE / MARITAL SEPARATION.
Daniel stared at the date.
“My parents almost divorced when I was eight.”
“You remember?”
“They fought constantly that year.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Mom took me to Aunt Catherine’s for two weeks.”
His mother, Evelyn, had died six years earlier.
Cancer.
Daniel adored her.
Cornelius rarely mentioned her except on anniversaries when being widowed made him look sympathetic.
The paternity report changed Daniel’s memories of that year.
He remembered Cornelius refusing to attend his school concert.
Remembered being told:
“Stop following me everywhere.”
Remembered his mother crying in the kitchen.
Then, strangely, everything went back to normal.
No divorce.
No move.
No explanation.
Nina cautioned him.
“Do not fill missing years with assumptions.”
Daniel nodded.
But assumptions came anyway.
Affair.
Secret lover.
Maybe Cornelius discovered Evelyn had cheated.
Maybe Daniel was the result.
That explanation was painful.
It was also familiar enough to feel believable.
Then we searched Evelyn’s remaining papers.
Most had been packed into storage after her death.
Tax records.
Christmas cards.
School photographs.
One box labeled:
DANIEL — KEEP.
Inside were report cards, drawings, vaccination records, and every Father’s Day card Daniel had ever made.
At the bottom sat a photograph.
Evelyn.
Cornelius.
And another man.
All three looked about thirty.
The man resembled Daniel so strongly that I knew before he did.
Daniel sat down.
On the back, Evelyn had written:
St. Agnes. June 1989. Thank you, Victor.
Daniel whispered:
“Victor is Dad’s brother.”
I knew the name.
Barely.
Victor Mercer had not attended our wedding.
Had never met Ethan.
Cornelius said they had been estranged for decades.
Daniel stared at the picture.
Then:
“If my mother cheated with my uncle, why would she write thank you on the photo?”
May you like
Good question.
The affair theory had lasted less than twenty-four hours.
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