Chapter 3 - The Doctor Who Was Supposed to Protect Me
Dr. Cole had delivered Victor into the world.
That was what Helena told me at my first prenatal appointment.
“She’s practically family.”
I had believed that was reassuring.
Now I watched her sit beside Raul and discuss my pregnancy as if it were a transaction.
“The pregnancy is healthy,” she said.
Raul leaned forward.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Cole’s face tightened.
“I won’t harm a fetus.”
Victor laughed.
“My wife?”
Cole looked away.
Helena answered:
“Elena is temporary.”
The recording ended.
I nearly vomited.
Matteo closed the tablet.
“I’ll handle Cole.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“No more handling things without me.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’m not stupid.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
“Good.”
That was apparently the first test.
Within an hour, hospital security removed Dr. Cole from my care.
Police arrived.
Not city officers connected to the Serranos.
State investigators Matteo had contacted through attorneys.
I gave a statement.
So did Nora’s recordings.
Victor was arrested for aggravated assault.
Helena and Raul were questioned.
Nora tried claiming she filmed everything because she was “afraid.”
I remembered her laughing.
No.
Then Victor’s lawyer arrived.
Arthur Bell.
Expensive.
Calm.
He asked to speak with me privately.
Matteo refused.
I allowed it.
Arthur sat.
“Mrs. Serrano, my client is prepared to cooperate.”
I laughed.
“With what?”
“Your protection.”
“From himself?”
“From his father.”
Interesting.
Victor wanted to blame Raul.
Of course.
Arthur placed a folder on the table.
“Victor has been controlled by Raul since childhood.”
“That doesn’t explain what he did.”
“No.”
At least he didn’t insult me.
“But Victor believes the violence escalated because Raul threatened him.”
“With what?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Disinheritance.”
I stared.
“That’s supposed to make me sympathetic?”
“No.”
Another honest answer.
Then he said:
“Raul told Victor something about your unborn child.”
My body went still.
“What?”
Arthur looked toward Matteo.
“He said the baby isn’t Victor’s.”
I almost laughed.
“What?”
“I’m not saying it’s true.”
“It isn’t.”
“Raul showed him a DNA report.”
Impossible.
No amniocentesis.
No paternity test.
Nothing.
Arthur handed me a photocopy.
Prenatal paternity analysis.
Victor excluded.
Another male relative highly probable.
My stomach dropped.
“This is fake.”
“Possibly.”
Matteo took it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He pointed at the laboratory.
DeLuca Medical Genetics.
A company owned through one of his foundations.
“I didn’t authorize this.”
“Who could?”
He didn’t answer.
That frightened me.
Then Arthur said:
“Victor saw the report three weeks ago.”
The worst violence began three weeks ago.
Victor had believed I cheated.
Still no excuse.
But a clue.
“Who is the relative?”
The report withheld the name.
Only:
Candidate B.
Then Dr. Patel entered.
She looked uncomfortable.
“Elena, there’s something unusual in your prenatal record.”
My heart sank.
“What now?”
“Your original intake blood sample was replaced.”
Matteo stood.
“When?”
“First trimester.”
“By whom?”
“We don’t know.”
Dr. Patel continued:
“The current blood type in your chart is not yours.”
“What?”
She had retested me after admission.
The file said O positive.
I was AB negative.
Someone altered basic medical data.
Why?
Then Dr. Patel looked toward the paternity report.
“If the lab used the wrong maternal blood sample…”
The result was meaningless.
Someone manufactured a reason for Victor to believe the baby wasn’t his.
Matteo’s eyes hardened.
“To provoke him.”
I covered my stomach.
Somebody had wanted Victor angry.
Violent.
Out of control.
Maybe even arrested.
Why?
Then my door opened.
A nurse entered.
“Mr. DeLuca, there’s an elderly man asking for you.”
“Name?”
“Gabriel Navarro.”
My entire body went cold.
My father’s name.
The man who had supposedly died twenty-two years earlier.
Matteo stood so abruptly his chair fell.
“That’s impossible.”
The nurse looked frightened.
“He says you’ll say that.”
Then:
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“He also says he’s Elena’s father.”
And for the second time in one day, death apparently decided it had been misunderstood.
