Chapter 9 - 0.00 PERCENT
The paternity laboratory sent the result at 7:32 on Tuesday morning.
Preston saw the email before he got out of bed.
For several minutes, he did not open it.
He sat on the edge of the mattress staring at the subject line.
CONFIDENTIAL PATERNITY ANALYSIS AVAILABLE.
His hand trembled.
He told himself that fear did not mean anything.
Brielle had been with Evan twice.
She had been with Preston many more times.
The timing overlapped, but probability was still on his side.
At least that was what he had told himself.
He opened the report.
The first page contained laboratory information.
Sample identification.
Chain of custody.
Testing methodology.
He scrolled.
Then he stopped.
The answer sat in the middle of the screen.
Probability of Paternity: 0.00%.
Preston did not move.
He read it again.
0.00%.
Then again.
0.00%.
There was no ambiguity.
No fifty-fifty.
No uncertainty.
No “likely.”
No “possibly.”
Excluded.
Preston Hale was not the biological father.
He sat there for nearly ten minutes.
His phone began ringing.
Marian.
He declined it.
Then Celeste.
Declined.
Then Brielle.
He stared at her name.
For months, seeing it had made him smile.
Now his stomach turned.
He let it ring.
A message arrived.
I saw the result.
Another.
Please let me explain.
Another.
I swear I didn’t know.
Preston laughed.
It sounded strange in the empty townhouse.
Of course she had not known.
That was the problem.
She had not known.
Yet she had allowed Preston’s family to call the baby their heir.
She had accepted gifts.
Money.
A home.
Attention.
Plans.
She had watched Preston reduce time with Ava and Grace.
She had watched him destroy his marriage.
And every day, she had known there was another possible father.
Preston stood.
He walked into the living room.
The framed photograph of Ava and Grace sat behind the laptop.
He picked it up.
For a long time, he stared at his daughters.
Then he did something he had not done in years.
He cried.
Not dramatically.
No shouting.
No broken furniture.
He simply sat on the floor holding the photograph and cried.
It was easy to tell himself he was grieving the baby.
Maybe part of him was.
He had imagined a son.
He had named him privately.
Benjamin Everett Hale.
He imagined teaching him golf.
Taking him to the company.
Watching his father hold him.
But beneath that grief was something uglier.
Shame.
Because Ava’s question returned word for word.
If the baby turns out not to be yours, do we get to matter again?
Preston realized he had no answer that would not expose him.
If he called the girls now, it would look exactly like what Ava feared.
The boy disappeared.
So the daughters returned to value.
He put the photograph down.
His doorbell rang.
Marian stood outside.
He almost did not answer.
She rang again.
Then Everett’s voice came through the door.
“Open it.”
Preston did.
His parents entered.
Marian’s eyes were already wet.
Everett looked older than he had a week earlier.
Nobody needed to ask about the result.
Preston handed them his phone.
Marian read the report.
Her mouth trembled.
“No.”
Everett took the phone.
He read silently.
Then he closed his eyes.
Marian sat.
“But the blood test.”
Preston laughed bitterly.
“It told us the baby was male.”
“I know.”
“It never told us whose male baby it was.”
Marian covered her face.
Everett remained standing.
After a long silence, he asked.
“What are you going to do?”
Preston looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“With Brielle.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“It isn’t my child.”
Everett’s expression tightened.
“The baby did nothing to you.”
Preston stared at his father.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Preston stood.
“Do not start.”
Everett remained calm.
“I’m asking because I’m watching the same reflex.”
“What reflex?”
“The moment someone fails to fulfill the role you wanted, you discard them.”
Preston’s face hardened.
“That is not what this is.”
“Perhaps not.”
Everett paused.
“But you should ask yourself.”
Marian whispered.
“Everett.”
He turned toward his wife.
“And we should ask ourselves.”
She looked away.
Everett continued.
“We celebrated that baby because we believed he was Preston’s biological son.”
“We did not celebrate him because he existed.”
“We celebrated what we thought he represented.”
Nobody spoke.
Marian began crying again.
“I bought a crib.”
Everett sat beside her.
“I know.”
“I stopped calling the girls.”
“I know.”
“I sent Brielle flowers every Friday.”
“I know.”
Marian looked at Preston.
“What have we done?”
Preston could not comfort her.
He barely understood what he had done himself.
His phone rang.
Brielle again.
Everett glanced at the screen.
“You should speak to her.”
“No.”
“Eventually.”
“Not today.”
Marian wiped her face.
“What about Evan?”
Preston shrugged.
“He wanted the test.”
“Does he know?”
“He’ll know soon.”
Everett stood.
“What about Lena?”
Preston looked up sharply.
“What about her?”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Why?”
Everett stared at him.
“Because she knows why you abandoned your daughters.”
Preston’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t abandon them.”
His father said nothing.
That silence was enough.
Preston stood.
“I gave Lena custody because she is a good mother.”
“You gave her custody because you wanted freedom.”
“Stop rewriting everything.”
Everett’s expression hardened.
“I am finally reading what was written.”
Preston turned away.
Marian spoke quietly.
“Call Ava.”
He closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the test is negative.”
Marian looked confused.
Preston turned toward her.
“She asked me whether she would matter again if the baby wasn’t mine.”
Marian’s face crumpled.
“I cannot call her an hour after getting this result.”
Everett watched him carefully.
For once, he nodded.
“That is the first intelligent decision you’ve made this week.”
Preston looked toward him.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Everett answered simply.
“Become someone worth answering when she eventually calls.”
That afternoon, the result reached Brielle.
She sent Evan a copy.
He replied with only three words.
I’m coming tomorrow.
Brielle sat alone in her sister’s apartment with one hand across her stomach.
For the first time, the baby moving inside her was no longer a strategy.
No longer a Hale heir.
No longer a path toward prestige.
He was simply her child.
And Brielle suddenly had to face the possibility that every adult around him had already used him for something before he was even born.
Across the ocean, I received a message from Rebecca.
Paternity result is confirmed. Preston is excluded.
I read it twice.
Maeve sat across from me.
“Well?”
“He isn’t the father.”
She studied my face.
“You don’t look happy.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
I looked toward the garden where Grace was drawing with chalk.
“Because Ava is going to think she was right.”
Maeve understood immediately.
“That her father only wants her when the boy is gone.”
“Yes.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Preston.
I expected an explanation.
An apology.
Maybe anger.
Instead, it contained one sentence.
I will respect Ava’s request for space.
I stared at it.
For once, I did not know what to think.
Then another message appeared.
Please tell Grace I will still call Sunday if she wants me to.
No mention of the paternity test.
No demand that we return.
No accusation.
It was the first message Preston had sent since the divorce that was entirely about what the girls wanted.
I did not forgive him.
I did not trust him.
But I noticed.
I replied.
I will tell her.
That evening, Marian posted something publicly.
Not about Brielle.
Not about the test.
A photograph of Ava and Grace from the previous summer.
The caption said:
I have failed these two beautiful girls in ways I am only beginning to understand.
Being someone’s grandmother is not a title.
It is a responsibility.
The post disappeared twelve minutes later.
Not because Marian regretted it.
Because Everett told her apologies meant more when given directly.
The following morning, Ava received a handwritten letter.
It had been overnighted to Ireland.
The envelope was from Marian.
Ava looked at me.
“Do I have to read it?”
“No.”
She put it on her desk.
For three days, she left it unopened.
On the fourth night, I found the envelope torn open.
The letter remained inside.
Ava never told me whether she read all of it.
But the next Sunday, when Grace sat down for her call with Preston, Ava did something unexpected.
She walked through the room.
She did not stop.
She did not speak.
But as she passed the screen, she looked at her father.
Just once.
Preston saw her.
His entire expression changed.
He did not call her name.
He did not ask her to stay.
He simply let her walk away.
That small act might have been the beginning of something.
But before Preston could build on it, another problem arrived.
The Hale family company’s auditors found that Northline was not the only entity connected to hidden marital money.
There was a fourth account.
May you like
And this one did not belong to Brielle.
It belonged to Preston’s father.
