Chapter 4: The Result Arthur Buried
I called my own lawyer at eight the next morning.
Her name was Patricia Osei.
I had used her once before, years ago, when Arthur had tried to restructure my equity stake in the company without my signature.
She had stopped it in forty-eight hours.
When I told her what Carmen had described, she was quiet for a moment, then said: "Send me everything Carmen has.
Today."
"I don't have the documents yet.
Carmen has them."
"Then Carmen needs to send them directly to me.
Not to you.
To me.
If this goes where I think it's going, we need a clean chain of custody."
"Patricia." I kept my voice low.
The girls were still asleep.
"The second test.
The private one Arthur commissioned.
I don't know what it says."
"Do you want to know before we proceed, or after?"
I thought about Maya's face.
The way she had asked about her toys in the cab.
The complete innocence of the question.
"Before," I said.
"Then get me the documents."
Carmen sent everything to Patricia by noon.
Patricia called me back at 3:15 while I was sitting on Renata's back steps watching Maya and Sophia chase each other around the yard.
"Mariana." Her voice was careful in the way that meant she was choosing each word.
"I've reviewed both documents."
"Tell me."
"The first test — the one Arthur showed Beatrice — was fabricated.
The laboratory it references does exist, but the case number corresponds to a different client entirely.
Someone paid to have a convincing-looking document produced.
The real test, the original, shows no biological match between Arthur and Mateo."
"Mateo is not his son."
"Correct."
Maya laughed at something Sophia did.
The sound carried across the yard.
"And the second test," I said.
Patricia paused for exactly one second too long.
"The second test was conducted eight months ago at a licensed genetic laboratory in Milwaukee.
Arthur submitted the sample himself.
The result—" She stopped.
"Mariana, the result confirms that Arthur is Maya's biological father."
I had been holding my breath without knowing it.
I let it out slowly.
"So she is his."
"Yes."
"Then why did he test her?
Why secretly?
Why eight months ago, right in the middle of—" I stopped.
The timeline landed.
Eight months ago was exactly when Arthur had started the divorce proceedings.
Exactly when his attorney had first raised the question of asset division.
Exactly when my forty-three percent of Vance Fine Furniture had become the central point of dispute.
"Patricia," I said slowly.
"If Maya is his biological daughter, and he had proof of that, why would he hide it?"
"That," Patricia said, "is the right question."
She let me sit with it for a moment.
"Because if Maya is his," she continued, "and he confirmed that privately, then he knew he was walking away from his own biological child.
Voluntarily.
Without a custody fight.
Which means—"
"Which means he didn't want custody of Maya specifically." My voice had gone flat.
"Not just the girls in general.
Maya in particular."
"It also means," Patricia said, "that if this test becomes part of the legal record, his decision to waive custody while holding private confirmation of paternity looks very different to a family court judge than a man who simply didn't contest the divorce."
Through the window I could see Renata in the kitchen, pretending not to watch me.
"There's one more thing," Patricia said.
"Arthur Sr.
called my office this morning.
He said Carmen left him a copy of both documents last night.
He wants to meet with you."
Arthur Sr.
had never once called a lawyer on my behalf.
In sixteen years, he had always stood behind his son.
"What did he say exactly?"
"He said, and I'm reading directly from my notes: 'Tell Mariana I owe her an apology that is long overdue.
And tell her I know what my son did to the company books.'"
The yard was quiet except for the girls.
"The company books," I repeated.
"I'd like you in my office tomorrow," Patricia said.
"Bring whatever financial records you still have access to."
I looked at Maya, who had stopped running and was now crouched in the grass, examining something small and serious near the fence.
Arthur Sr.
May you like
knew about the books.
Which meant there was something in those books that Arthur had not wanted me to find.
