Chapter 4 - The Mark of Blood
The temperature in the library seemed to drop ten degrees. Senator Winthrop swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously above his silk necktie.
"Eleanor, that was thirty years ago," Winthrop said, his voice defensive. "You're dredging up fairy tales and ancient paranoia. Rosalind was unstable. She got involved with the wrong crowd, she made bad financial choices, and when she couldn't face the family, she ran. My father did everything he could to help your family through that scandal!"
"Your father framed her," Eleanor said, her voice rising with an iron fury that defied her frail body. "Your father owned the brokerage firm that handled the Vale family foundation. When five million dollars went missing, all the paper trails pointed directly to an eighteen-year-old girl who didn't know the difference between a treasury bond and a ballet slipper! And who bought up her grandfather's harbor properties when the estate had to liquidate? The Winthrop Trust!"
"That is slander!" Winthrop blustered, but sweat had broken out across his upper lip. "Adrian, are you going to stand there and allow this hysterical nonsense?"
Adrian didn't look at Winthrop. He turned to me.
"Maya," Adrian said softly. "Will you allow us to perform a DNA test? Tonight."
I looked down at Lucia. She had climbed down from the settee and was holding onto my wrist with both hands. Her tiny fingers were warm, grounding me in reality.
I thought about my mother. I remembered her sitting at our wobbly kitchen table under the flickering fluorescent bulb of our tiny apartment, icing her swollen ankles after working a twelve-hour shift at the dry cleaners. I remembered how she used to look out the window at the distant glow of the Boston skyline with a look of infinite, unnamable sorrow.
*Some songs carry memories too painful to explain,* she had told me once when I asked why she never danced in public anymore. *When the world is too cruel, little bird, you must build your nest in the shadows where they can never find you.*
She hadn't been hiding because she was ashamed. She had been hiding to protect me.
"Yes," I said clearly, looking straight into Adrian Vale’s gray eyes. "Do the test."
"Adrian, you can’t be serious!" Celeste shrieked. "You’re going to run a paternity or kinship test on a random servant based on a coincidence and an old photograph? What about us? What about our wedding next month? What will the papers say?!"
Adrian looked at Celeste as if seeing her true face for the very first time.
"The wedding is postponed indefinitely," Adrian said.
"Postponed?!" Celeste gasped, her voice shrill with disbelief. "You cannot do this to me! You cannot disgrace my family like this!"
"I said postponed," Adrian replied, his tone chillingly dismissive. "Consider yourself fortunate I don't call the security team to throw you out the front gates. Leave. Both of you."
Senator Winthrop grabbed his daughter’s arm, his expression murderous. "You will regret this, Adrian. Vale Global needs my committee’s approval for the new harbor terminal expansion. You cross my family, and I will destroy your company."
"Try it, Thomas," Adrian whispered, stepping close to him. "And see what I give the Boston Globe about your offshore accounts before the markets open tomorrow."
Winthrop dragged Celeste toward the door. As she reached the threshold, Celeste spun around, her gaze locking onto me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You think you’ve won something, don't you?" she sneered, her voice trembling with spite. "You’re just a cheap caterer with a bastard kid. Even if her blood is in you, you don't belong in our world. You never will."
She slammed the double doors shut.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Adrian exhaled, turning to his assistant. "Call Dr. Vance at Massachusetts General Hospital. Have him bring two rapid-sequencing blood-draw kits to the private estate on Beacon Hill. We aren't doing this in a public hospital. Tell him discretion is paramount."
"Yes, Mr. Vale," the assistant said, bowing slightly before exiting through a side door.
Adrian walked over to Lucia. He knelt down so that his tall frame was at eye level with her. For a man who ran a multi-billion-dollar empire, he looked remarkably uncertain, almost reverent.
"Lucia," he said gently. "Are you hungry?"
Lucia looked at the plate of untouched pastries, then back at him. "Do you have grilled cheese? Grandma Rose said rich people don't know how to make good grilled cheese because they use fancy bread that doesn't melt right."
A faint, genuine smile broke through Adrian’s severe features for the first time that night. It transformed his face, making him look startlingly younger.
"I’ll tell the chef to use the plain white bread and extra cheddar," Adrian promised. "Will that work?"
May you like
Lucia nodded solemnly. "Yes, please. And extra butter."
***
