“I’ve been crushing digoxin into his morning ginger smoothies. One day, he’ll fall asleep in his chair and never wake up. Then we control everything.”
Chaos erupted.
People shouted. Board members stood. Margaret staggered backward, pale and shaking.
“That recording is illegal!” Madison screamed.
“Funny you mention recordings,” I said.
The screen went black.
Then the café audio played.
“Sign the medical power of attorney over to me today, or I go to the press,” Madison’s voice hissed. “I don’t care about your name, old man. I care about the money.”
Madison sank into her chair as people moved away from her in disgust.
Ethan rushed onto the stage, crying.
“Dad, please. I didn’t know about the poison. I swear.”
“I know you didn’t,” I said. “But I also know what you did when I was lying on the rug. You found my phone ringing with a call from my attorney, and you turned it off.”
He froze.
“I panicked,” he whispered. “I’m your son.”
“That brings us to the final slide.”
The screen changed.
DNA RESULTS.
Charles Whitman and Ethan Whitman.
Probability of paternity: 0%.
The ballroom went silent.
Ethan turned toward Margaret.
“But if I’m not his…”
“Read the next line,” I said.
Ethan Whitman and Pastor Daniel Brooks.
Probability of paternity: 99.9%.
Every head turned toward Daniel.
The pastor gripped the back of a chair, his face gray.
“Daniel,” I said, “I might have forgiven a moment of weakness forty years ago. But I cannot forgive what you did to my company and to your church.”
The next slide appeared.
Bank records. Transfers. Offshore accounts. Gambling payments.
“Four million dollars meant for the poor,” I said, “used to pay your son’s bookies. The FBI already has the files. The police are waiting in the lobby.”
Daniel collapsed to his knees.
Ethan sobbed.
“Dad, please. Blood doesn’t matter. You raised me.”
I looked at the man I had loved as my son. I remembered teaching him to ride a bike. I remembered graduation. I remembered every birthday.
Then I remembered him turning off my phone.
“A son protects his father,” I said. “He does not sign his death warrant for money.”
I faced the crowd again.
