Chapter 3 - The Yellow Envelope
A collective gasp rippled through the gathered crowd.
Raymond’s face flushed a deep, violent red. He stepped forward, pointing an angry finger at the older woman. "Teresa, have you lost your mind?! You're a hired servant! Hand over whatever trays you're holding and get off my property before I have the police remove you!"
"Your property?" Teresa countered, a cold, bitter smile touching her lips. "This house was paid for by the dividends of Pacific Oak Crafting—dividends earned by Brenda Miller while you were spending company funds at luxury hotels in Cabo with that woman standing next to you."
"Get her out of here!" Florence shrieked, her voice cracking into a high-pitched scream. "Gavin! Raymond! Escort her out!"
Gavin Miller, Raymond's younger brother, stepped out from the library holding a glass of scotch. He didn't move to help. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe with a dark, cynical grin. "Let her speak, Mother. Teresa’s been cleaning this house for ten years. She probably knows where more bodies are buried than anyone else here."
"Gavin, shut up!" Raymond roared.
Teresa unsealed the yellow envelope with steady, practiced fingers. She pulled out a stack of medical documents, laboratory reports, and financial transaction sheets stamped with official seals.
"Six months ago," Teresa began, her voice carrying clearly across the silent lawn, "Mr. Raymond brought a DNA test home to show his mother. He claimed it proved that little Leo was his biological son. Mrs. Florence cried tears of joy, gave Brenda Vance a fifty-thousand-dollar allowance, and started the divorce proceedings against Mrs. Brenda."
Teresa pulled a specific document from the stack and held it up for the guests in the front row to see.
"What Mr. Raymond didn't know," Teresa continued, "is that when he threw the original clinical intake form into the study wastebasket, I emptied the trash. I recognized the name of the clinic—it was a private fertility and genetics facility in Tijuana."
Brenda Vance’s face went completely white. The smug smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated panic. She instinctively pulled Leo closer to her hip, taking a small step back toward the garden gate.
"Brenda, what is she talking about?" Raymond asked, turning his head slowly toward his mistress.
"She’s lying, Raymond!" Brenda Vance stammered, her voice trembling. "She’s an old, crazy housekeeper who probably got paid off by your ex-wife to ruin tonight!"
"Mrs. Brenda Miller knows nothing about this letter," Teresa said firmly. "She was too proud to dig through your trash, Mr. Raymond. But I wasn't."
Teresa pulled out a second sheet of paper—a certified paternity analysis from the San Diego County Forensic Laboratory, performed three weeks prior using a hairbrush Raymond had left in the master bathroom and a saliva swab collected from the boy’s cup.
"This is a second, independent DNA test," Teresa announced, her voice cold as ice. "Conducted by a accredited lab right here in California."
She turned the page toward Raymond.
"The probability of paternity between Raymond Miller and the child known as Leo Vance... is zero percent."
The silence in the garden was absolute. You could hear the distant roar of the ocean waves crashing against the Point Loma cliffs.
Raymond stared at the paper in Teresa's hand, his mouth open, his breathing becoming shallow and erratic. "Zero... percent?"
"Furthermore," Teresa added, pulling out the final document, "the original Tijuana clinic record shows that the first DNA test was altered. It was paid for using three wire transfers totaling thirty thousand dollars... originating from an account held by Gavin Miller."
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Raymond turned like a wounded animal, his eyes locking onto his younger brother.
Gavin’s cynical grin vanished instantly. He froze, his scotch glass trembling in his hand.
