Chapter 7 - The DNA Confrontation
By Wednesday morning, Caleb was back in custody, this time held without bail due to flight risk after investigators discovered a one-way ticket to Belize booked under an alias on his computer.
Denise, however, had retreated into her fortress of denial. She hired a high-priced criminal defense lawyer who immediately filed a motion claiming Belle’s pregnancy was an outright fabrication designed to extort the Reynolds estate.
“They’re demanding a court-ordered prenatal paternity test,” Belle told me as we sat in the waiting room of the clinical genetics lab.
Belle looked exhausted. Her skin was sallow, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. But she held her head higher than she had four days ago. My family had moved her into a secure corporate apartment, and my personal physician was now overseeing her prenatal care.
“Let them test,” I said, squeezing her hand. “The truth is the only currency that doesn't depreciate, Belle.”
The door opened, and Denise swept into the clinical waiting room, accompanied by her attorney, a slick, silver-haired man named Henderson. Denise was dressed in dark sunglasses and a trench coat, looking around the sterile white room with undisguised disgust.
When she saw Belle and me sitting side by side, her mouth twisted into a venomous sneer.
“Look at the two of you,” Denise scoffed, lowering her sunglasses. “The failed bride and the cheap little tramp, playing best friends. Do you really think this charade is going to hold up in court? Caleb will be cleared of all charges. The judge will see this for the coordinated shakedown it is.”
“Mrs. Reynolds, please refrain from speaking to the complainants,” Henderson murmured, looking deeply uncomfortable.
“I will speak however I please!” Denise hissed. She turned her glare onto me. “You think you’re so clever, Clara. You think you’ve won. But Caleb never loved you. Not for a single day. He used to laugh at how desperate you were to please him, baking his bread, sewing your pathetic little dress like an eighteenth-century seamstress. You were nothing but an ATM to us!”
I stood up. I was several inches taller than Denise, and without Caleb standing between us, her aura of aristocratic power shrank into petty, pathetic desperation.
“You’re right about one thing, Denise,” I said quietly. “He didn't love me. But he didn't love you, either. Do you know what the state police found in his safe along with the forged loan documents?”
Denise’s eyes flickered with a sudden, guarded tension. “What are you talking about?”
“A transfer of corporate assets,” I said. “Caleb was planning to liquidate Vanguard Crest’s physical warehouse in Boston—the one property that was entirely in your name, Denise. He had your signature forged on the deed of transfer three weeks ago. If Belle hadn't shown up, and if we hadn't seized that safe on Sunday, Caleb would have sold your home and your only income-generating property out from under you while we were on our honeymoon.”
Denise went dead white. “That’s... that’s a lie. Caleb would never—”
“The documents are with the state prosecutor,” Belle added, standing beside me. “He didn't care about my baby, he didn't care about Clara, and he certainly didn't care about you. He was running from all of us.”
Before Denise could formulate a response, the clinic technician opened the inner door. “Belle Martin? We’re ready for the blood draw.”
Belle walked past Denise without a second glance.
Forty-eight hours later, the results arrived via certified courier.
The non-invasive prenatal paternity test concluded with 99.9% certainty: Caleb Reynolds was the biological father. But accompanying the report was a supplemental finding that blew the case wide open.
Belle’s medical records revealed that three months prior, someone had attempted to access her obstetrician’s digital portal to cancel her appointments and had routed her insurance claims through a fraudulent corporate address.
May you like
The IP address used to tamper with Belle’s medical care matched the private Wi-Fi network registered to Denise Reynolds’s home. Denise hadn't just encouraged Belle to show up at the wedding; she had been surveilling Belle’s medical life for months, trying to control every move the girl made like a piece on a chessboard.
***
