Chapter 5 The Bloodline Truth

# Chapter 5: The Bloodline Truth

The laboratory waiting room was sterile and cold, much like the truth I was about to face. Daniel sat beside me, his presence reassuring even in silence. Across from us, Melanie Morris fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, her eyes occasionally meeting mine before darting away. Neither Helen nor Elsie had been brought here; both were being held in separate locations under supervision.

Dr. Abernathy, the geneticist who had conducted the tests, emerged from his office holding a manila folder. His expression gave nothing away as he gestured for me to follow him.

"I'd prefer if Ms. Morris and Mr. Reeves joined us," I said firmly. "Whatever you have to say concerns all of us."

He nodded, leading us into a conference room where three identical folders were placed on the table. I sat down, my hands steady despite the hurricane raging inside me.

"Ms. Harvey," Dr. Abernathy began, "I want to be clear that these results have been verified by two independent labs. There is no margin for error."

I nodded once. "Just tell me."

He opened his folder, revealing charts and data I couldn't decipher. "The DNA comparison between you and Richard Harvey shows a paternal match. He is, without question, your biological father."

A small measure of relief washed over me. At least that much was true.

"However," he continued, "the comparison between you and Melanie Morris shows no maternal match. She is not your biological mother."

Melanie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "That's impossible! I gave birth to Richard's daughter on May 12, 1993. I held her in my arms before they took her away."

Dr. Abernathy's expression remained neutral. "The science is conclusive, Ms. Morris. You are not genetically related to Lara Harvey."

My mind raced. If Melanie wasn't my mother, then who was?

"There's more," the doctor continued. "We also tested Elsie Stephens against both Richard Harvey and Melanie Morris."

He slid a chart across the table. "Elsie Stephens is the biological daughter of Melanie Morris. However, her paternal DNA does not match Richard Harvey's."

The room seemed to tilt on its axis. I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself.

"What are you saying?" Melanie whispered, her face ashen.

"I'm saying that Elsie Stephens is your biological daughter, Ms. Morris, but Richard Harvey is not her father. And while Mr. Harvey is Lara's biological father, you are not her mother."

Silence descended as we absorbed this revelation. The pieces of the puzzle were rearranging themselves in my mind, forming a new and terrible picture.

"The babies were swapped," I said finally, voicing the conclusion that seemed inescapable. "Someone switched us at birth."

Dr. Abernathy nodded slowly. "That would be consistent with these results."

Melanie collapsed back in her chair, tears streaming down her face. "All these years... I've been searching for the wrong child."

I turned to her, a new thought forming. "If Richard isn't Elsie's father, then who is?"

Before she could answer, Daniel's phone buzzed. He checked it, then looked up at me grimly.

"The results from Helen Morris's DNA test just came in. She's a maternal match to you, Lara."

"Helen is my mother?" The words felt foreign on my tongue.

Daniel shook his head. "Not exactly. Helen and Melanie are identical twins. Their DNA is virtually indistinguishable. But given Helen's condition and age, it's highly unlikely she's your mother."

"Then who—"

"Catherine," Melanie interrupted, her voice hollow. "Catherine Reynolds. Richard's secretary. My sister Helen was her closest friend."

The name struck like lightning. Catherine Reynolds—my mother. The woman who had raised me until her death when I was eight. The woman I had mourned, whose photos lined the walls of my childhood home.

"You're saying Catherine Reynolds was my biological mother, and Richard Harvey my father," I said slowly. "And you gave birth to Elsie, but Richard wasn't her father."

Melanie nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. "I didn't know about the affair until after I was already pregnant. When I confronted Richard, he denied everything, said I was being paranoid. Then I found letters between him and Catherine. They had been seeing each other for years."

"So what happened?" I pressed. "How did the babies get switched?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I remember giving birth, seeing my daughter for just a moment before the nurse took her away. They told me she needed special care. When they brought her back hours later, I was heavily sedated. I never suspected..."

My phone chimed with a message from the security team watching Elsie. She was demanding to speak with me, claiming she had critical information. I forwarded the message to Daniel, who made a quick call to arrange for her transfer to our location.

Thirty minutes later, Elsie was escorted into the conference room. Gone was the polished, confident woman who had orchestrated the press conference. This Elsie looked disheveled, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, her hands trembling slightly.

"You know, don't you?" she said immediately, looking between me and Melanie. "You know we were switched."

I nodded, studying her with new eyes. This woman—the daughter Melanie had carried—had spent years plotting to take my place. Yet now I couldn't help but wonder if I had unwittingly taken hers.

"Tell us what you know," I said evenly.

Elsie sank into a chair, suddenly looking exhausted. "I've known for three years. I found the original birth records while researching my adoption. They led me to Melanie, who was still listed as Richard Harvey's wife in the psychiatric facility records."

"But the DNA test showing Richard as your father—that was falsified," Daniel interjected.

A bitter smile twisted Elsie's lips. "Of course it was. I needed leverage."

"Who is your real father?" Melanie asked, her voice barely audible.

Elsie's eyes hardened. "James Wilson. Your driver. The man you were sleeping with while accusing Richard of infidelity."

Melanie flinched as if struck. "That's not true. James and I were friends, nothing more."

"DNA doesn't lie," Elsie sneered, tossing a folded paper onto the table. "I had that tested years ago."

I opened the document—another DNA test, this one comparing Elsie's DNA to samples from both Richard Harvey and a James Wilson. The paternity match to Wilson was unmistakable.

"If you knew Richard wasn't your father, why pursue this charade?" I asked.

Elsie leaned forward, her eyes locked on mine. "Because you stole my life," she hissed. "You grew up with wealth, privilege, everything that should have been mine if the babies hadn't been switched. Meanwhile, I was shuttled between foster homes after the Stephens died. Do you have any idea what that was like?"

"You could have just come forward with the truth," I pointed out.

She laughed, a harsh sound devoid of humor. "What, and be the scandalous lovechild of the chauffeur and the crazy wife? No, thank you. I wanted what was rightfully mine—the Harvey name, the Harvey fortune."

"None of that was rightfully yours," Daniel said coldly.

Elsie's gaze shifted to Melanie. "Ask her about Maria Constantinos. Ask her what really happened that night in Santorini."

All eyes turned to Melanie, who had gone deathly pale.

"Maria was our nanny," she whispered. "She was with us in Greece when I went into labor prematurely. Richard was away on business. After I gave birth and saw the baby, they sedated me heavily. When I woke up, Maria told me my daughter had died."

"But that wasn't true," I prompted gently.

Melanie shook her head. "I was devastated, suicidal. They committed me to the psychiatric facility, diagnosed me with postpartum psychosis. Richard visited occasionally, always telling me I needed to stay there, that I was a danger to myself."

"And Maria?" Daniel asked.

"She disappeared after that night. I never saw her again until..." Her voice trailed off, eyes widening with sudden realization. "Until three weeks ago, when Elsie brought her to see me at Lakeside."

Elsie's smile was cold. "Maria had quite the story to tell, didn't she?"

"She said she witnessed Richard and Catherine plotting to switch the babies," Melanie whispered. "She claimed they paid her to disappear."

I felt sick. Could my father—the man who had raised me, loved me—have orchestrated such a monstrous deception?

"Where is Maria now?" I demanded, turning to Elsie.

"Dead," she replied flatly. "Heart attack the day after she signed her sworn statement. Convenient timing, wouldn't you say?"

Daniel made a note to verify this claim, but I was already moving on to the next question.

"And the birthmark? The one matching my father's?"

Elsie unbuttoned her collar again, revealing the crescent-shaped mark. "Cosmetic tattoo. Amazing what money can buy."

The pieces were falling into place now, forming a picture so twisted I could barely comprehend it. But one crucial element remained unexplained.

"How did you get close to me? How did you orchestrate our 'chance' meeting two years ago?"

Elsie's expression softened slightly, the first genuine emotion I'd seen from her. "That was the easy part. I studied you for years—your habits, your preferences, your schedule. I made myself into the perfect friend, someone you'd be drawn to."

"And the mimicry? The constant copying of everything I did?"

"Insurance," she replied simply. "I needed to know I could be you if necessary. Every detail had to be perfect."

A chill ran through me as I remembered Alex's warning: "She's not trying to be your friend. She's trying to be you."

"Where's my father now?" I asked Daniel, suddenly needing to hear his voice, to demand answers.

"Still in federal custody. We can arrange a meeting, but—"

The conference room door burst open, and Alex rushed in, looking harried and determined. "Lara, thank God. I've been trying to reach you."

"Alex?" I stood, surprised by his sudden appearance. "How did you find me?"

"Daniel kept me updated." He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on Elsie before returning to me. "We need to talk. In private."

"Anything you have to say can be said in front of everyone," I insisted.

He hesitated, then nodded. "I found evidence on Elsie's cloud storage. She's been planning this for years, documenting everything. Including this."

He pulled out his tablet and played a video. It showed Elsie in what appeared to be my bedroom, trying on my clothes, my jewelry—including my engagement ring. The timestamp showed it was taken three weeks ago, while I was at a charity function.

"While your mother drowned herself, I was trying on your engagement ring in your bed," Elsie narrated to the camera, her voice chillingly calm as she held up my ring to the light.

The video ended, and silence filled the room. I turned to Elsie, who stared back defiantly.

"Is that true?" I asked quietly. "Did my mother drown herself?"

Elsie's smile was cruel. "Ask your father. He's the one who drove her to it."

Alex pulled out another document—a psychiatric evaluation for Melanie Harvey dated April 1993, one month before my birth. "This is forged," he said. "The doctor whose signature appears here died in 1991. Richard used this to have Melanie committed."

"And there's more," Daniel added, producing another file. "We found the original birth certificates. Both babies were born healthy—no reason for special care or separation from their mothers."

The full horror of what had happened was becoming clear. Richard and Catherine had conspired to switch the babies, using a forged psychiatric evaluation to have Melanie committed, then fabricating a story about her attempting to harm her child.

"But why?" I whispered. "Why go to such lengths?"

"Money," Melanie said dully. "My family fortune was in trust for my children. If I had no living children, it would revert to charity. By ensuring 'my' child survived—you, raised as Catherine's—Richard maintained control of the money."

The cruelty of it staggered me. Two women, two babies, countless lives destroyed by greed and deception.

"I need to see him," I said, standing abruptly. "I need to hear him admit what he did."

Daniel nodded. "I'll arrange it. But first, there's something else you should know. The 'financial crimes' Richard confessed to? They were fabricated. He turned himself in on false charges to avoid facing these revelations."

"A diversion," Alex agreed. "He knew Elsie was making her move and tried to control the narrative."

I felt hollow, every foundation of my life crumbling beneath me. The father I'd adored, the mother I'd mourned, the identity I'd built—all of it constructed on lies.

As we prepared to leave, Elsie called out, "There's one more thing you should know, Lara."

I paused at the doorway, not turning back.

"Catherine didn't drown herself," she said softly. "She was pushed. I have proof."

I spun around, my heart pounding. "What proof?"

Elsie's eyes gleamed with malicious triumph. "A witness. Maria Constantinos saw everything. And she told me before she died."

"You're lying," I whispered, though doubt had already taken root.

"Am I? Ask yourself why Catherine died the day before your birthday. Ask yourself why Richard was so desperate to keep you away from Santorini."

I left without another word, my mind reeling. Outside, rain had begun to fall, mirroring the storm inside me. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I rarely used—the direct line to the family lawyer.

"It's Lara Harvey," I said when he answered. "I need access to my mother's autopsy report. The real one, not the sanitized version my father showed me."

"Ms. Harvey, I'm not sure—"

"Now," I cut him off. "Or I go to the board with everything I've learned today."

He agreed reluctantly, promising to email the file within the hour.

As Alex drove me to the federal detention center where my father was being held, I scrolled through my phone to a photo I'd always treasured—my mother and me on a beach, laughing at the camera. I'd been told it was taken in the Hamptons, just weeks before her drowning accident.

But looking at it now, with fresh eyes, I recognized the distinctive black sand beach of Santorini in the background.

My mother had been to the island. With me.

The autopsy report arrived as we pulled into the detention center parking lot. I opened it with trembling fingers, scanning quickly through medical terminology until I reached the conclusion:

"Manner of death: Undetermined. Evidence of bruising on upper arms and back consistent with forceful handling. Toxicology shows presence of sedatives. Drowning confirmed as cause of death, but circumstances remain unclear."

Alex read over my shoulder, his hand tightening on mine. "Lara, this doesn't necessarily mean—"

"It means she didn't kill herself," I said flatly. "And it means my father has been lying to me my entire life."

I stepped out into the rain, letting it wash over me as I prepared to confront the man who had orchestrated this elaborate deception—the man who may have been responsible for my mother's death.

The truth was finally emerging, but it was far bloodier than I had ever imagined.