Chaos erupted. People were shouting. Board members were standing up in shock. Eleanor’s face contorted into pure terror. She stumbled backward, clutching her throat as if she couldn’t breathe.
“That’s illegal!” Harper shrieked from the front row, pointing at me. “You can’t record us!”
“Funny you should mention recordings, Harper,” I said calmly over the microphone.
The screen cut to black, and an audio file began to play. It was the cafe.
“Sign the medical power of attorney over to me today, or I go to the press,” Harper’s recorded voice hissed. “I will tell them you’ve been inappropriate with me… I don’t care about your name, old man. I care about the money. Sign it.”
Harper collapsed back into her chair, covering her face as the women around her physically backed away in disgust.
Preston ran up the stairs to the stage, tears streaming down his face. “Dad! Dad, please! I didn’t know! I swear to God I didn’t know about the poison or the threats!”
“I know you didn’t, Preston,” I said softly, the microphone picking up every word. “But I also know what you did when I was lying on the rug, faking my death. I know you looked at a ringing phone from my lawyer, and you chose to turn it off so I would die quietly.”
Preston froze, his face crumbling. “I… I panicked. I’m your son! You can’t do this to your son!”
“That brings me to the final slide,” I said, my voice hardening into steel.
The screen flashed again. It wasn’t a video this time. It was a series of official documents.
“DNA Results. Richard Sterling and Preston Sterling. Probability of paternity: Zero percent.”
The silence in the room was absolute. You could hear a pin drop.
Preston turned slowly, looking at his mother. Eleanor was weeping hysterically now, her makeup running down her face in ugly black streaks.
“But if I’m not his…” Preston stammered.
“Read the next line, boy,” I commanded.
“Preston Sterling and Reverend Marcus Thorne. Probability of paternity: 99.9 percent.”
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