The 0% Dad Is A Secret Bitcoin King

CHAPTER 5: THE LINE IN THE SAND

The heater in Garrett’s old car rattled loudly, blowing barely warm, dusty air against his hands as he drove through the morning traffic.

On the passenger seat, his duffel bag sat open just enough for him to see the three transparent plastic bags inside.

He glanced at his rough hands gripping the wheel. Five years of lifting drywall, moving pallets, and driving late-night shifts had left them hard and worn. He had worked himself to the bone for a wife who treated him like a servant.

He wasn't angry anymore. The fury he'd felt outside Toby's school had hardened into something colder—like ice.

Ten minutes later, Garrett pulled into the parking lot of Veritas Forensics, a low, gray-brick building tucked inside an industrial park outside the city. A small sign beside the glass doors read: Clinical Testing & Diagnostic Services.

He grabbed his bag, turned off the car, and stepped into the damp morning air.

Inside, the lobby smelled of floor wax and old coffee. A small TV in the corner played the morning news quietly.

Behind a high glass window sat a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and gray hair clipped back. Her name tag read Martha.

Garrett walked to the counter and set his bag on the narrow ledge.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice flat and steady.

Martha barely looked up. She stamped a stack of papers, each thump-clack breaking the silence.

“Morning. How can I help you?”

“I need an expedited DNA comparison test,” Garrett said. “Today.”

The word “expedited” made Martha’s hand stop mid-stamp.

She slowly looked Garrett up and down. His old clothes, worn flannel collar, dark circles, and the way he gripped his bag told her enough.

Martha had worked at Veritas for twelve years. She had seen that look on hundreds of men.

Desperate. Scared. Already knowing the truth but needing a piece of paper to make it real.

And when a man walked in on a Tuesday morning with a smuggled toothbrush or hairbrush, begging for fast testing, it usually ended the same way.

The child wasn't his.

Martha reached under the desk, pulled out a blue clipboard, and slid it through the opening beneath the glass.

“Paternity test with unusual samples?” she asked, her voice flat and professional.

“Yes.” Garrett nodded. “Three samples. One from me, one from another man, and one from the child.”

Martha’s eyebrow lifted slightly before she quickly hid her surprise.

Three samples.

Most men only brought something from the child. Bringing a sample from another man meant Garrett wasn't just suspicious.

He already had a reason to be.

“Normal testing for these kinds of samples takes five to seven days,” Martha said, tapping the top of the clipboard with her pen.

“If you want the emergency twenty-four-hour rush, the lab starts on it right now. But it costs a lot extra.”

“How much?”

“Eight hundred dollars for the fast rush and comparing all three people,” she said, watching his face closely.

In her job, eight hundred dollars usually made men in worn-out jackets stop and check their phones to see if they had enough money.

Garrett didn't stop to think for even a second.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and laid down his last emergency credit card. It had a one-thousand-dollar limit he hadn't touched in three years, keeping it only in case Toby ever got sick.

“Run it,” Garrett said. “I want the results as fast as humanly possible.”

Martha looked at the card, then at his eyes. There was no judgment in her face now, only quiet pity. She had seen too many working men sit in those cheap lobby chairs, watching their lives get turned upside down by a lab report.

“Fill out sections A through D,” she said softly. “Print your name, write down what each sample is, and sign the form at the bottom. The lab worker will take a swab from the inside of your cheek when you're finished.”

Garrett sat down on one of the plastic chairs in the corner. He took the cap off the pen chained to the clipboard and started writing.

Legal Father: Garrett Dalton.

Child: Toby Dalton.

Subject B: Male / Unknown.

When he finished, he unzipped his bag and pulled out three plastic bags.

The first held Toby’s blue toothbrush.

The second held a glass wrapped in paper towels, containing Theo’s saliva and fingerprints, along with three dark hairs he'd found on the rack.

The third held hair from Evelyn’s brush.

He walked back to the window and handed the clipboard and bags through the glass.

Martha took them and checked the seals carefully. She typed everything into her computer, the keyboard the only sound in the room.

“Go through the door on your left,” Martha said, pointing to the white door beside the counter. “The staff will take a swab from your cheek. When the test is done, the results will be emailed straight to you by 10:00 AM tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Garrett said.

As he turned to leave, Martha watched him go. She looked down at the three bags under the bright office lights, shook her head, and sighed.

She felt bad for him. She knew his whole world could change within twenty-four hours.

Twenty minutes later, Garrett was back in his car.

He drove out of the parking lot and onto the highway, heading toward the city center.

The scenery changed quickly. The old, rusty buildings gave way to wide, clean streets lined with skyscrapers shining in the morning sun.

Five years ago, this was his home.

Before his father’s business was ruined by greedy corporations, Garrett used to walk these streets in expensive wool clothes. He knew the bosses at the big money firms, the dining clubs on the top floors, and exactly how high-stakes business worked.

Then his family lost everything, and the city forgot him overnight. People stopped answering his calls, his credit was ruined, and Evelyn started looking at him like he was a beggar she had accidentally let into her house.

They thought he was completely broken.

Evelyn thought he was weak and would quietly disappear, starving to death in his old childhood home.

He turned off the main street and drove into the underground parking garage of The Sovereign Tower, the fanciest office building in the business district.

Garrett parked in a visitor spot between a silver Porsche and a dark blue Maserati. His old car, with its dented bumper and squeaking brakes, looked out of place, but he didn't care.

He got out, pulled his coat tight against the cold, and walked toward the elevators.

The doors opened on the 42nd floor, revealing a massive lobby.

Behind the front desk, large metal letters spelled out the law firm’s name:

BLACKWOOD & PARTNERS LLP

The firm was famous across the state. They didn't handle normal divorces or minor legal issues. They dealt with massive corporate lawsuits, stolen fortunes, and brutal divorces for the richest people in the country.

The floor was polished black marble, and giant windows overlooked the city skyline. The air smelled of polished wood, fresh flowers, and money.

Behind a curved stone counter sat a young woman in a black jacket, typing quickly with a headset resting in her hair.

As Garrett stepped onto the floor, his heavy work boots thudded against the marble.

The woman looked up and immediately noticed his old clothes and dusty boots.

Her polite smile faded, replaced by a cold distance.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice polite but chilly. “Welcome to Blackwood & Partners. Do you have an appointment?”

Garrett stopped in front of the desk and stood tall, showing no fear or embarrassment.

“No,” he said calmly. “I’m here to see Julian Blackwood.”

The receptionist blinked, surprised by how confident he was.

Julian Blackwood was the head boss—a terrifying lawyer who charged fifteen hundred dollars an hour, and hiring him alone cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

“Mr. Blackwood is fully booked for the next month,” she said, her voice turning sharper. “And he only takes clients who are referred by other executives. If you just need general family law help, I can give you a list for the free county legal clinic—”

“Tell him Garrett Dalton is standing in his lobby,” Garrett cut her off quietly, looking her straight in the eye. “And tell him I’m here to hire him to get my money back and handle a bad divorce.”

The receptionist froze. The cold confidence in his voice shocked her, especially coming from a man dressed in such old clothes.

She hesitated for a few seconds, meeting his eyes before looking down at her computer screen.

Slowly, she picked up her phone.