Chapter 11 - The Trap at the Table
Arthur turned his gaze slowly from Julian to Dr. Vance. A strange, terrifying calm seemed to settle over the old man’s features. The rage that had been simmering since the dining hall incident vanished, replaced by the calculating coldness of a strategist who had finally seen all the pieces on the board.
“Very well, Harrison,” Arthur said smoothly. “We will do the test here. In the dining hall. At the same table where this circus began.”
Dr. Vance nodded. “Acceptable. As long as the sample is drawn in my presence and sealed in a tamper-proof container.”
Ten minutes later, the grand dining hall was re-lit. The overturned chair had been stood upright, though the white birthday cake with its colorful sprinkles still sat ruined on the marble table, a stark reminder of the evening’s cruelty.
Clara brought Lily down, wrapped in a warm fleece blanket. The little girl looked sleepy and frightened, holding Arthur’s pinky finger tightly as she was seated at the head of the table.
Dr. Vance opened his black briefcase, pulling out a sterile syringe, a vial, and an electronic DNA sequencing device—a portable unit capable of reading primary markers within fifteen minutes.
“This will only take a tiny prick, little one,” Vance said in a soft, practiced medical voice, reaching for Lily’s arm.
“Wait,” Arthur commanded, stepping between Vance and the child.
Vance frowned. “Arthur, we agreed—”
“We agreed to a test,” Arthur interrupted, reaching into his own suit pocket and pulling out a small, sealed glass vial containing a drop of dried blood on a cotton swab. “But before you test Lily, I want you to run this sample first.”
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Vance stared at the vial in Arthur’s hand. “What is that?”
“That is a sample taken from Thomas’s body six years ago, before you signed his cremation certificate in Zurich,” Arthur said, his voice dropping into a deadly, resonant tone. “Run it, Harrison. Let’s verify the baseline.”
