“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.