At first, her face held that familiar smug expression.
Then it vanished.
All the color drained from her cheeks—then rushed back so quickly she turned blotchy red.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“This… this makes no sense,” she whispered.
My heart started pounding.
“What does it say?” Dave demanded.
She folded the paper too quickly. “There must be a mistake.”
Robert extended his hand. “Give it here.”
“It’s obviously wrong,” she snapped.
“Patricia.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
She hesitated—but he took the paper from her anyway.
He read it for maybe ten seconds.
Then he looked up at her and said, “You’ve dug your own grave.”
The room fell completely silent.
Dave stood up so abruptly his chair scraped loudly across the floor. “What does that mean?”
Robert handed him the results.
I watched Dave read.
I had never seen a person’s face transform like that.
Confusion. Disbelief. Then something deeper.
He looked at Patricia. “What is this?”
She shook her head rapidly. “It means the company made an error.”
Dave looked back at the paper. “Sam is my son.”
Then, in a strangled voice, he added,
“And apparently I’m not Robert’s.”
“What?” I said.
Dave read directly: “Extended familial markers are inconsistent with a biological parent-child relationship between Robert and me.”
Patricia stood up. “This is absurd. These companies are notorious for mistakes. Robert, say something.”
Robert did.
“How long did you know?”
She stared at him. “I didn’t.”
He let out a harsh, ugly laugh.
“You expect me to believe that?”
She burst into tears instantly. “It was a long time ago.”
Dave went rigid. “A long time ago.”
She turned to him. “David—”
“No.” His voice cracked. “Don’t. Answer me.”
Her chin trembled. “I made a mistake.”
He asked quietly, “So all those years? All those comments about my wife? About my son? You were doing that while knowing this could come out?”
She looked at me then—and I saw it. Not shame. Panic.
“She pushed for the extended test,” Patricia said, pointing at me. “She wanted to humiliate this family.”
I laughed.
“You accused me of cheating for years,” I said. “You tried to use my child to cut him out of the will. You set the table for this.”
Robert slammed his hand down, making the silverware jump.
“Enough.”
Patricia flinched.
He looked at her like a stranger. “You used my illness to force this. You threatened my grandson over inheritance.”
“I was protecting what was ours,” she said weakly.
“Ours?”
Then Dave spoke—and his voice was worse than shouting.
“You spent five years trying to prove Sam wasn’t family.”
She reached for him. “You are my son.”
He stepped back. “That is not what I said.”
She sobbed harder. “I was scared.”
“Of what?” he asked. “Losing money? Losing control?”
“Please don’t do this here,” she pleaded.
“You already did this here,” Robert said coldly.
