I tapped the screen.
The call connected almost instantly.
Within seconds, Dr. Hannah Brooks appeared on video. I turned the phone outward so everyone could see.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice steady, professional. “I’m Dr. Hannah Brooks, director of genetics at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. I understand there are questions regarding a paternity test I personally supervised.”
“This is staged,” Victoria croaked weakly.
No one even turned to look at her.
“Victoria Carile,” Dr. Brooks continued, addressing her directly, “I want to be absolutely clear. I oversaw every step of this process. The chain of custody was maintained at all times. All samples were collected and processed under controlled, recorded conditions.”
She paused briefly.
“The results are scientifically conclusive.”
“But the eyes,” someone called out. “The blue eyes.”
Dr. Brooks gave a small knowing smile.
“I anticipated that question.”
She lifted a chart into view.
“Blue eyes are a recessive trait. When a grandparent carries the gene, there is approximately a 25% chance it will appear in the grandchild, even if both parents have brown eyes. This is basic genetic recombination.”
She lowered the chart slightly.
“In addition, I reviewed multiple generations of family photographs. Arya shows clear structural similarities to her father. Nasal shape, ear formation, hairline pattern. The resemblance is quite strong once you look beyond eye color.”
Richard stepped forward.
“Dr. Brooks, is there any chance this result is incorrect?”
Her answer came without hesitation.
“Less than 0.01%. Statistically speaking, it is far more likely to win the lottery multiple times than for this result to be wrong. Arya Carile is, without any scientific doubt, Logan Carile’s biological daughter.”
Silence followed.
Heavy. Final.
Victoria looked like she might collapse. Logan sat there, his head in his hands, unable to even look up.
I lowered the phone slowly.
And they still hadn’t seen everything.
“There’s one more voice that needs to be heard,” I said, switching apps.
I pressed call.
The room filled with the sound of ringing.
Then a calm, professional voice answered.
“This is Lauren Hayes, attorney at law. Am I on speaker, Skyler?”
“You are,” I said. “Everyone can hear you.”
“Good evening,” she continued. “I represent Mrs. Skyler Carile, and I want to make something very clear, especially to you, Victoria Carile.”
Her tone sharpened. Precise. Controlled. Dangerous.
“What occurred tonight constitutes defamation of character, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and conspiracy to commit fraud.”
A man near the table stood up abruptly.
“Victor Langford, now hold on—”
“Are you representing Skyler Carile?” Lauren asked, cutting him off.
“I—no.”
“Then please sit down.”
The authority in her voice was absolute.
“Victoria,” she continued, “you publicly accused my client of infidelity and fraud in front of multiple witnesses. We have video documentation of the entire incident. The damages are substantial and measurable. Reputational harm, emotional distress, and professional impact.”
“You can’t sue me,” Victoria snapped. “We’re family.”
“Family members can absolutely pursue legal action for defamation,” Lauren replied evenly. “Especially when malicious intent is clearly documented. And based on the evidence we have, your intent is undeniable.”
Logan stood up slowly, his voice unsteady.
“This is getting out of control.”
“And Mr. Carile,” Lauren said, her tone turning cold, “you participated in this defamation. You are equally liable. The only reason my client has not initiated immediate legal proceedings is because you are the father of her child. That consideration is not unlimited.”
