Chapter 6 - Ninety-Nine Point Nine Nine
The lab director met us in person.
Dr. Lauren Webb was calm, precise, and clearly annoyed by drama. I liked her immediately.
"We ran the relationship panel twice," she said. "Then I asked another technician to repeat it without seeing the first result."
My hands were locked together so tightly my knuckles hurt.
Emily sat beside me, pale and silent.
"And?" Sarah asked.
Dr. Webb placed the report on the desk.
"The probability of a biological mother-daughter relationship is greater than 99.99 percent."
For a moment, I heard nothing.
Not the air conditioner. Not traffic. Not Sarah's sharp inhale.
I looked at Emily.
She looked at me.
Neither of us moved.
Then she whispered, "Mom?"
It was not a declaration.
It was a question.
That made it worse.
I reached for her, stopped halfway, and let her choose.
Emily fell into my arms.
I had imagined holding my daughter again so many times that the fantasy had worn smooth. In every version she was still a baby.
But the person crying against my shoulder was eighteen years old. She smelled like coffee, laundry soap, and the vanilla lotion from the restaurant employee bathroom. She had a whole life I had missed.
I held her anyway.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"For what?"
"For not finding you."
She pulled back. "You thought I was dead."
"Someone made sure I thought that."
Sarah picked up her phone.
"Now we stop treating this as a family mystery. We take it to law enforcement."
By noon, a detective from the financial crimes unit and another from major crimes were in her conference room. The birthmark and locket were emotional evidence. The DNA was scientific evidence. Daniel's incident log was corroborating evidence.
But they wanted proof of who moved the baby and who falsified the death.
Thomas arrived before the detectives left.
He walked into the lobby with two attorneys.
"Margaret," he said, "come home."
I slid the DNA report across the conference table.
He read it.
His face did not change.
"A lab test doesn't prove a crime."
Sarah said, "It proves your wife found the daughter you told her was dead."
Thomas looked at Emily.
"You have no idea what you're getting into."
Emily held his gaze.
"Actually, I think I'm finally getting out of it."
One of the detectives stood.
"Mr. Ashford, we'd like to ask you some questions about the night of October 17, 2008."
Thomas smiled faintly.
"Ask my lawyer."
Then he turned to me.
"Before you accuse me, Margaret, ask yourself who signed the death authorization."
I frowned.
May you like
He leaned closer.
"It wasn't me."
