CHAPTER 8 – Blood Doesn't Lie
No one spoke for several seconds.
The words on the lockbox's screen seemed impossible.
DNA VERIFICATION REQUIRED.
Vivienne looked from the screen to her father.
"Dad..."
Richard's eyes were filled with uncertainty.
"You are my daughter."
He paused.
"No matter what a machine says."
Vivienne forced a faint smile, but her heart was racing.
She had never questioned where she belonged.
Now, in a single night, everything she believed about her past had begun to unravel.
Detective Laura Bennett stepped closer to the lockbox.
"A DNA verification system designed twelve years ago?"
The forensic technician nodded.
"It was extremely rare back then."
"But not impossible."
He examined the scanner.
"Theodore must have spent a fortune building this."
Richard quietly added,
"He only would have done that if whatever was inside was worth protecting with his life."
Samuel, the elderly concierge, sat down heavily.
"I've carried this secret for decades."
Everyone turned toward him.
"I never knew which babies had been switched."
"I only knew the hospital director ordered every employee to remain silent."
"What happened to the director?" Detective Bennett asked.
Samuel's expression darkened.
"He resigned two weeks later."
"Then disappeared."
"No forwarding address."
"No public record."
"It's as though he vanished."
Dominic felt a chill.
"My father knew all this?"
Samuel nodded slowly.
"Not at first."
"But a few years before he died..."
"He came back asking questions."
"What questions?"
"He wanted the original birth records."
Samuel looked at Richard.
"He believed someone had destroyed them."
Richard closed his eyes.
"The envelope..."
Everyone looked at him.
"The envelope Theodore gave me before he died..."
"I think it contained those records."
"But it disappeared after his funeral."
Detective Bennett frowned.
"So someone stole it."
Richard nodded.
"And whoever stole it has been trying to keep the truth buried ever since."
A forensic officer walked in carrying a portable DNA analyzer.
"We can run a rapid comparison."
Richard looked surprised.
"How long?"
"About thirty minutes."
Vivienne glanced at the countdown.
"We don't have thirty minutes."
The technician smiled.
"We're not testing family relationships."
"We only need enough DNA to unlock the scanner."
"It should take less than five."
Vivienne placed her thumb on the scanner again.
A tiny sterile needle extended almost invisibly from the edge.
She barely felt the prick.
A single drop of blood disappeared into the machine.
The lockbox emitted a soft hum.
Processing...
Everyone held their breath.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Then—
ACCESS DENIED.
The room collectively exhaled in disappointment.
Another message appeared.
PRIMARY SUBJECT NOT VERIFIED.
SECOND SUBJECT REQUIRED.
Richard frowned.
"Second subject?"
The technician examined the screen.
"It needs another blood sample."
"But from whom?"
At that moment, the lockbox displayed another line.
THE MAN WHO MADE THE PROMISE.
Richard's face turned pale.
"The promise..."
He whispered.
"Theodore."
"No..."
Samuel interrupted quietly.
"He isn't talking about Theodore."
Everyone looked at the old concierge.
"I heard the conversation."
"The night Theodore visited you."
Richard's eyes widened.
"You were there?"
Samuel nodded.
"You promised him something."
Richard slowly remembered.
He could hear Theodore's voice as though it were yesterday.
"If I can't protect them..."
"Promise me you will."
Richard had answered without hesitation.
"I give you my word."
Samuel nodded.
"You're the man who made the promise."
Richard stepped toward the scanner.
"If I'm wrong..."
The technician stopped him.
"There's only one chance."
"If the wrong DNA is entered..."
"The lockbox permanently seals."
Silence filled the room.
Vivienne looked at her father.
"You've trusted me my whole life."
"It's my turn to trust you."
Richard smiled sadly.
Without another word...
He placed his thumb onto the scanner.
The tiny needle pricked his finger.
A single drop of blood disappeared inside.
The machine hummed again.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
The green light flashed.
Then...
A loud metallic CLICK echoed through the ballroom.
The countdown disappeared.
One by one...
Five heavy steel locks retracted.
The lid slowly lifted by itself.
Everyone leaned forward.
Inside...
There was no cash.
No jewelry.
No legal documents.
Only three items rested neatly inside black velvet compartments:
An old leather-bound journal.
A sealed envelope marked "To My Son."
A small USB drive labeled in Theodore Hawthorne's handwriting:
"Play this only after the truth begins."
Richard reached toward the journal.
But before his fingers touched it—
A phone inside the ballroom rang.
It wasn't anyone's cellphone.
It was the hotel's long-disconnected executive landline.
Samuel stared at it in horror.
His lips trembled.
"That phone..."
"It hasn't rung..."
"...since the night Theodore Hawthorne died."
The ringing continued.
Once.
Twice.
May you like
Three times.
No one dared to answer.
