Betrayed Broken Husband Becomes a Billionaire Daddy

8: Hidden Truth

Two days later, Donald Mccallister called with a name and an address, his voice back to its usual polished calm, like the conversation at the courthouse had never happened.

"Ridgeline Diagnostics." He said it the way a realtor described a house, warm and confident. "Fully accredited, used by three different family courts in this state alone. Completely neutral, Mr. Legion. Stacy has no ownership there, no relationship with the staff. You can check the registry yourself."

Lucien Legion had already checked. Twice. The registry came back clean, no obvious ties to Stacy or anyone in her circle, and that alone made him more careful rather than less.

"Fine." He kept his voice flat. "I'll be there Thursday."

"Wonderful." A small pause. "One thing, Mr. Legion. Let's try to keep the process simple this time. In and out, no complications. The staff there are professionals, they know what they're doing."

Something about the word simple caught in Lucien Legion's chest and stayed there.

"Simple's fine." He kept his tone even. "As long as it's documented."

"Of course." Donald Mccallister's voice smoothed over the word like it cost him nothing at all. "Whatever makes you comfortable."

Thursday morning, Lucien Legion arrived at Ridgeline Diagnostics fifteen minutes early, a manila folder of his own tucked under one arm. The lobby looked exactly like every other clinical waiting room he'd ever stood in, gray carpet, framed accreditation certificates, a receptionist typing behind reinforced glass.

Donald Mccallister was already there, standing instead of sitting, checking his watch like a man with somewhere else to be.

"Mr. Legion." He offered a hand. Lucien Legion looked at it a moment before shaking it, brief and businesslike.

"Let's get started." Lucien Legion opened his folder and pulled out a single typed page. "Before anything touches a swab, I want this signed. Chain of custody form. Names, times, signatures, every person who handles the sample from collection to lab intake."

Donald Mccallister's eyebrows lifted, a flicker of surprise breaking through the polish. "You had this drawn up yourself?"

"A lawyer friend helped." Lucien Legion held the page out. "Standard for anything that might end up in front of a judge someday. I assume nobody here has a problem with that."

"Not at all." Donald Mccallister took the page, scanning it quickly, his jaw tightening just slightly at something in the text before he smoothed his face back over. "Very thorough."

"I want a witness in the room when the swab is taken." Lucien Legion nodded toward the reception desk. "Somebody who isn't you, isn't me, and isn't on Stacy's payroll."

"The technician can witness." Donald Mccallister's smile held, though it had gone stiff at the edges. "That should satisfy the requirement."

"I also want photos." Lucien Legion pulled out his phone, holding it up. "Sample sealed, labeled, and photographed before it leaves this room. Time stamp visible."

Donald Mccallister exhaled through his nose, a short, controlled sound, the kind of breath a man let out when he was recalculating how much resistance was worth showing in front of witnesses. "Mr. Legion, I understand the instinct here, I really do, but all this documentation, it starts to feel like you're building a case against someone rather than just running a test."

"Maybe I am." Lucien Legion held his gaze steady. "Depends what the test turns up."

For a second neither of them said anything, the receptionist's typing the only sound in the room.

"Fine." Donald Mccallister's voice dropped a register, something harder moving underneath the smooth surface now. "Photograph whatever you want. Sign whatever you want. Let's just get this done."

A technician in pale blue scrubs called Lucien Legion's name a few minutes later. He walked back with his folder still under his arm, and true to his word, he made the technician sign the custody form, photographed the swab kit before it was opened, photographed his own face for verification, and photographed the sample bag once it was sealed, the barcode and timestamp both clearly visible in the frame.

The technician handled it well enough, patient and unbothered, sliding the sealed bag into a courier envelope and stamping it with the lab's intake number right there in front of him.

"That's it." She smiled, the kind of practiced, pleasant smile that came with the job. "Results in five to seven business days. We'll send them directly to whatever address you designate."

"Mine." Lucien Legion said it plainly. "Not Mr. Mccallister's office. Mine, directly."

"Noted." She wrote it down without argument.

Donald Mccallister was waiting by the front doors when Lucien Legion came back out, arms crossed, that professional smile fixed back in place like nothing about the last twenty minutes had bothered him at all.

"See? Simple." He said it lightly, almost teasing. "No need for all that suspicion, Mr. Legion."

"We'll see." Lucien Legion folded his copy of the custody form and slid it into his jacket pocket, next to the receipt the front desk had printed for him.

They walked out into the parking lot together, an uneasy truce hanging between them, and Donald Mccallister peeled off toward a black sedan with a brief nod, already pulling his phone out before he'd even reached the door.

Lucien Legion sat in his own car a while longer, going through the paperwork one more time out of habit, the same careful read he gave every consent form before a surgery. The custody sheet looked fine. Signatures, times, all accounted for.

Then his eyes dropped to the small printed reference number at the bottom corner of the intake form, the one the technician had stamped in front of him, and he pulled the receipt out of his pocket to compare it against the number printed there.

The two numbers did not match.