Chapter 39: The Stolen DNA

 

The next morning, the Sterling Villa received an unexpected guest. Again. It was Richard Vance.

But this time, he wasn't here for business. He wasn't wearing his usual shark-like suit. He wore a casual cashmere sweater, looking less like a tycoon and more like... a grandfather.

"Mr. Vance?" Harper was surprised when she saw him in the living room.

"Please, call me Richard," the old man smiled warmly. "I came to apologize for my daughter's behavior last night. Isabella has been spoiled. She forgets her manners."

"It's okay," Harper said politely, pouring him a cup of tea. "I'm used to difficult people."

Richard watched her pour the tea. He watched her hands. He watched the way her hair fell over her shoulder. Every movement reminded him of Catherine. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable.

"Harper," Richard asked casually. "Isabella said your birthday is coming up. When is it?"

"October 12th," Harper smiled.

Richard’s hand shook, spilling a drop of tea. October 12th. Catherine disappeared in January. That was exactly nine months later.

"I see," Richard put down his cup. "A lovely autumn baby."

He stood up. "I won't disturb you any longer. I just wanted to drop off this." He handed her a box of expensive Swiss chocolates. "For the hostess."

"Thank you, Richard." Harper was touched.

As Richard turned to leave, he pretended to stumble slightly. "Oh, my old knees." He reached out to steady himself, grabbing Harper’s shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Harper asked, concerned.

"Fine, fine," Richard patted her shoulder. "Just a dizzy spell."

He walked out the door, his fist clenched tightly. Inside his palm, wrapped in a tissue, was a single, long strand of black hair he had plucked from Harper’s blazer.

---

[The Spy]

Upstairs, hiding behind a marble pillar, Isabella watched everything. She saw her father’s gentle smile. She saw the apology gift. And she saw him pluck the hair.

Her blood ran cold. Her father never apologized. He crushed people. Unless... unless he thought Harper was family.

Isabella rushed to her room and locked the door. She paced back and forth, biting her nails. "October 12th... October 12th..." she muttered.

She grabbed her phone and dialed a number. "Doctor Miller. It's Isabella Vance."

"Miss Vance?" The voice on the other end was nervous. "How can I help you?"

"My father is going to send a DNA sample to your lab today. Probably labeled 'Priority One'."

"I... I can't discuss client confidentiality..."

"Cut the crap," Isabella hissed. "I pay for your research grant. Listen to me carefully." "When that sample arrives, I want the result to be Negative." "I don't care if the DNA matches 99.9%. I want the report to say 0%."

"But... that's fraud..."

"That's survival," Isabella said coldly. "Do it. Or I'll expose your gambling debts to the medical board."

She hung up, throwing the phone onto the bed. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her perfect face was twisted with jealousy. "You won't take my inheritance, Harper," she whispered. "You can have the cripple. But the Vance fortune is mine."

---

[The Confrontation]

Meanwhile, Harper was feeling uneasy. Richard’s visit was too weird. And her parents’ reaction yesterday was too suspicious.

She decided to visit her parents at their temporary apartment again. But this time, she wouldn't ask politely.

She arrived at the apartment. Her parents were eating lunch. "Harper! Come eat!" Mrs. Evans smiled nervously.

Harper didn't sit down. She put the box of Swiss chocolates on the table. "Richard Vance gave me this."

Mr. Evans choked on his noodles. "Why... why did he give you that?"

"He thinks I'm his daughter," Harper said bluntly.

The room went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

"Harper!" Mrs. Evans stood up, her face pale. "That is crazy! I am your mother! I gave birth to you in the City Hospital!"

"Then show me my birth certificate," Harper extended her hand. "The original one. Not the copy."

"It's... it's lost," Mr. Evans stammered.

"Liar," Harper said softly. Her heart was breaking, but she had to know. "I saw the rusty box, Dad. 'Paris, 1995'. Who is Catherine?"

Mrs. Evans gasped. She collapsed onto the chair, covering her face with her hands. "It's true..." she sobbed. "We promised her... we promised we would never tell..."

Harper felt like the floor had vanished. "Promised who?"

"Catherine," Mr. Evans sighed, looking twenty years older. "Your mother... your biological mother."

He walked to the bedroom and came back with the rusty box. He unlocked it. Inside was a stack of letters, a paintbrush, and a photo. The photo showed a beautiful woman holding a baby. She looked exactly like Harper. And on the back of the photo, in elegant handwriting: My little Harper. My masterpiece. 1995.

"We were working in Paris back then," Mr. Evans explained, his voice trembling. "We were cleaners in her art studio. She was... in trouble. A powerful man got her pregnant, but his family threatened to kill the baby if she didn't get an abortion."

"So she ran away," Harper whispered, tracing the face in the photo.

"She gave you to us," Mrs. Evans cried. "She begged us to take you back to China, to raise you as an ordinary girl. She said... the Vance family eats people alive."

Harper looked at the photo. Tears blurred her vision. She wasn't a noodle shop girl. She was the daughter of a forgotten artist and a banking tycoon. And the man who abandoned her mother... was Richard Vance.

"Does he know?" Harper asked.

"He suspects," Mr. Evans said. "That's why he's investigating. Harper, you must be careful. If Isabella finds out... or if the Vance family elders find out... you are in danger."

Harper closed the box. Her sadness turned into a cold resolve. She thought of Isabella's insults. Peasant. Gold digger.

"I'm not afraid of them," Harper wiped her tears. "I'm going to find out the truth. And if Richard Vance abandoned my mother..." Her eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "I'm going to make him pay."