Chapter 2 - The Scene at the Luxury Suite
Back in Chicago, inside the presidential postpartum suite at Northwestern Memorial, the room was covered in blue silk ribbons and white hydrangeas.
Patricia Cole sat on the velvet sofa, adjusting her pearl necklace while watching a private postpartum doula, Evelyn Wright, examine the newborn infant in the clear acrylic bassinet.
"Make sure you only use organic bamboo swaddles, Evelyn," Patricia instructed with regal arrogance. "This boy carries the Cole family legacy. He will inherit forty million dollars in prime commercial real estate."
Vanessa lay back against the pillows in a designer silk robe, sipping imported elderflower water, smiling smugly as Nathan leaned over to kiss her cheek.
"He looks just like me, doesn't he, Mom?" Nathan beamed, stroking the baby’s downy dark hair. "Look at that strong jawline."
"He has your exact aristocratic nose, darling," Patricia cooed. "Thank heaven we got rid of Rebecca and her ungrateful brats before this angel arrived."
Evelyn, a veteran postpartum caregiver with thirty years of clinical obstetrics experience, picked up the infant’s green medical folder to log the routine four-hour vitals and jaundice markers.
She checked the maternal delivery logs, turning the page to the official lab panel.
Her hands stopped mid-motion.
Evelyn adjusted her reading glasses, leaning closer to the red-stamped laboratory confirmation slip.
"Excuse me, Mr. Cole," Evelyn said, her brow furrowing with clinical confusion. "Are you the biological father of this infant?"
Nathan frowned, standing up straight with annoyed posture. "Of course I am. My name is on the birth registry form on that table."
Evelyn turned the chart toward him, pointing a gloved finger at the immunological breakdown. "Sir, your pre-admission file notes you are O-negative, and Miss Blake is confirmed O-positive."
"Yes, and?" Nathan scoffed. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"The child’s umbilical cord blood panel was processed two hours ago," Evelyn said, her voice dead serious. "He is B-positive. Biologically, genetically, and medically, this baby cannot possibly be yours."
The room plunged into an arctic, suffocating silence.
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Patricia dropped her crystal teacup. The fragile porcelain shattered against the hardwood floor, splashing hot tea across her Italian leather pumps.
Vanessa’s face went from glowing pink to the color of wet plaster in less than two seconds.
