Chapter 4 - The DNA Test That Shouldn’t Exist
Thomas tapped the laboratory name.
“Call them.”
I did.
I gave the report number.
The woman on the phone searched.
Then searched again.
“We have no test with that reference number.”
I looked at Thomas.
“What about my name?”
Another search.
Nothing.
“Could records have been deleted?”
“Not like this.”
I asked whether the report format looked authentic.
She requested that my attorney send it through proper channels.
Two days later, the lab responded formally.
The document was not theirs.
The logo was outdated.
The signature belonged to a technician who had retired years before Maisie was born.
The DNA report was fake.
My mother had submitted forged evidence suggesting I wasn't Maisie’s father.
I felt sick.
But Thomas warned me.
“We still need to prove Evelyn created it.”
Having a fake document wasn't the same as forging it personally.
So we followed the source.
The email Evelyn sent to Thomas had an attachment.
Metadata identified the file creator as:
**ECarter_Admin.**
Evelyn Carter.
Still not perfect proof.
But getting closer.
Then Rebecca remembered something.
“Mom asked me for a photo of Daniel’s signature last Christmas.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“She said she was ordering some family certificates.”
I had never received a certificate.
Now I wondered what else my signature had been used for.
We checked the guardianship petition more closely.
There were supposed “medical observations” attached.
One described Maisie arriving at Evelyn’s home with bruises.
Another described poor hygiene after Daniel allegedly left for a trip.
But the dates bothered me.
On one of those dates, Maisie had spent the previous three days with Evelyn.
Not me.
I checked my calendar.
Another “injury” had been documented less than six hours after I left for Denver.
I had personally bathed Maisie that morning.
There had been no bruise.
I found photographs from breakfast.
Timestamped.
Her arms were clear.
Six hours later, Evelyn photographed a mark on Maisie’s shoulder and wrote that it showed “ongoing neglect in Daniel’s home.”
My hands began shaking.
She had hurt my daughter.
Then photographed the injury.
Then blamed me for it.
Rebecca covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
We documented everything.
No confrontation.
No screaming phone call.
I wanted evidence preserved properly.
Then a pediatric specialist examined Maisie.
Several marks were consistent with injuries that required explanation.
Nothing proved every incident.
But the pattern concerned the doctor enough to trigger formal reporting.
The investigation began.
Evelyn reacted exactly as I expected.
She called me ungrateful.
She called Rebecca disloyal.
She claimed Maisie was “too young to know what happened.”
Then she said something I recorded through my attorney’s advice during a documented conversation:
“You have no idea what I sacrificed to keep that child from destroying this family.”
That child.
My daughter.
“Destroying what?”
Evelyn went silent.
Then:
“Ask your wife.”
May you like
Claire was dead.
But apparently, Evelyn believed Claire had left behind more than money.
