Chapter 4 - The Seal of Genetech
Michelle stood up so abruptly her chair tipped backward, hitting the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. "Ethan, stop her!" she choked out, her voice cracking with sudden, unadulterated panic. "Don't let her speak—security, get her away from that microphone!"
Not a single security guard moved. They all knew Marcus. They all knew the Richardson family crest. And more importantly, they were all paralyzed by the sheer electric tension of a public execution turning upside down in real time.
Ethan took one heavy step forward, his face flushing a dark, congested crimson. "Curtis, this is a private family matter," he barked, his voice losing its aristocratic polish and reverting to the raw, snarling tone he usually reserved for closed-door screaming matches in his study. "Turn off that microphone. Step away from the stage right now, or you will regret the consequences for the rest of your life."
"Consequences?" I tilted my head, letting a cold, humorless smile touch the corners of my lips. "Father, you spent the last five minutes broadcasting our private family history to five hundred witnesses under the guise of transparency. Surely you wouldn't want to deprive our guests of the complete picture?"
I reached into the silver clutch and withdrew the manila envelope.
I didn't rip it open with theatrical rage. I slid my index finger under the heavy gummed flap, peeled it open with crisp efficiency, and slid out a multi-page document bound by a heavy metallic staple. On the top sheet, bold and inescapable, was the official letterhead of the Genetech Genomic Analysis Center, complete with digital timestamps, state licensing numbers, and a matching pair of notarized affidavits signed by two independent medical examiners.
The room went dead silent. You could literally hear the hum of the overhead projectors in the control booth.
Nathan pushed himself away from the pillar, taking two rapid steps forward. "What is that?" he demanded, his voice cracking slightly as he stared at the paper in my hand. "What kind of fake garbage did you print out?"
"It’s not garbage, Nathan," I said, my voice cutting through the hall like a razor blade. "In fact, it’s the exact reason you’ve been sleeping in the master suite while I was relegated to the guest house. It’s the reason father has spent the last ten years making sure you never had to look at a balance sheet or earn a single dollar on your own merits. Because truth be told... you aren't who he thinks you are either."
Ethan froze mid-stride. The color drained from his face so fast it looked like someone had pulled a plug in his veins. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out—only a ragged, strangled intake of breath.
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"What did you say?" Ethan whispered, his voice trembling for the first time in thirty years.
"I said," I replied, stepping closer to the microphone, "that paper is proof, Father. And your mother always taught you that blood is thicker than water—except when the bloodline was forged in a clinic in Montreal twenty-six years ago, while my mother was recovering from surgery and Michelle was working as your private secretary."
