Chapter 8 - The Indisputable Blood
"They what?"
The whisper tore from my throat, lethal and venomous. I pulled my hand from the incubator, stepped out of the NICU, and stripped off my sterile gloves, throwing them into the biohazard bin with enough force to rattle the metal can.
"Julian Sterling’s legal team filed an emergency ex-parte motion with a family court judge twenty minutes ago," Detective Miller explained, leading me into a private conference room outside the ward. "They produced a certified pre-birth surrogacy contract signed by Grace Thorne, naming Brooke Sterling as the legal mother and sole custodian upon delivery. They are claiming Grace was an unstable surrogate who suffered a psychotic break, stole the fetus, and assaulted Brooke at the church."
"It’s a forgery!" I roared, slamming my fist against the laminate conference table. "The thumb drive! Marcus sent you the audio files! Brooke confessed to kidnapping her! She confessed to planning a forced induction!"
"We have the files, Mr. Vance," the second detective, a woman named Alvarez, said calmly. "And they are damning. But Julian Sterling has three former state supreme court judges on his payroll. They are claiming the audio is an AI-generated deepfake created by Grace’s family to extort the Sterling estate. Under New York family law, a signed surrogacy affidavit with an active court filing creates an immediate jurisdictional hold. Until the chain of custody is sorted out, Child Protective Services is being dispatched to place that child into temporary protective wardship—meaning neither you nor the Sterlings can take him."
"No," I snarled, stepping up into the detective’s space. "Nobody touches my son. Brooke is a sociopath who locked his mother in a basement for seven months! Look at the physical evidence! Did my firm’s security footage deepfake Miller’s thugs turning off the cameras in Brooklyn?"
"We raided the Catskills property forty minutes ago, Mr. Vance," Detective Alvarez said, her eyes softening. "State Police breached the cottage. What we found there... it confirms everything Grace said."
I stopped. "What did you find?"
"A soundproofed basement bedroom with steel deadbolts on the exterior," Alvarez said grimly. "Zip-ties in the trash matching the ligature marks on Grace’s wrists. A medical examination table. Boxes of prescription sedatives and labor-inducing hormones registered to Dr. Jonathan Klein—Julian Sterling’s private physician. Klein is currently in handcuffs at the state barracks in Monticello. He broke under interrogation fifteen minutes ago. He’s singing like a canary to save his medical license."
A wave of fierce, cold vindication rushed through my veins. "Then Brooke’s surrogacy claim is dead."
"Not completely," Detective Miller cautioned. "Not until the biological paternity is established beyond any legal shadow of a doubt. The Sterling lawyers are trying to block your parental rights by claiming you aren't the biological father—that Grace was sleeping with someone else when she vanished. If they create enough doubt about paternity, they can keep this tied up in probate court for two years while Grace sits in an institution and the child remains in foster care."
"Do the test," I said instantly, rolling up the sleeve of my dress shirt. "Draw my blood right now. Run the fastest DNA panel this hospital is capable of."
"We already pulled a cord-blood sample from the delivery," Dr. Chen said, appearing in the doorway holding a sterile vacutainer tube. "If Mr. Vance consents to an immediate blood draw, our genetics lab can run an expedited STR-PCR profile. We can have a 99.9% conclusive paternity match in four hours."
"Do it," I demanded.
Dr. Chen didn't hesitate. Within sixty seconds, a needle was in my vein, filling three vials with dark crimson blood.
"Now," I said, glaring at the detectives as I pressed a cotton ball to my inner elbow. "Where is Brooke?"
"Released on conditional bail thirty minutes ago," Alvarez admitted reluctantly. "Julian paid two million dollars in cash to get her out before the federal indictment could be unsealed. Her passport is confiscated, and she’s under house arrest at the Sterling Penthouse on 5th Avenue with an ankle monitor."
"She’s at the penthouse?" I asked, my voice dropping dangerously low.
"Mr. Vance, do not go near that building," Detective Miller warned sternly. "The DA is preparing a grand jury indictment for first-degree kidnapping, aggravated assault, and conspiracy to commit murder. The net is closing. Let the law do its job."
I looked through the glass window of the NICU, watching the steady, fragile rhythm of my newborn son’s respirator.
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"The law was asleep for seven months while my family was being tortured," I said softly, turning back to the detectives. "I'm going to make sure the Sterlings understand that money doesn't make them gods."
***
