Chapter 5 - The Envelope Does Not Prove Paternity
Martin stopped me the next morning.
“You cannot tell reporters she is your daughter yet.”
“I told Lucasta.”
“That was not a legal paternity determination.”
“I saw the dates.”
“Dates are not DNA.”
“She looks like me.”
“So does half your extended family.”
Fair.
The envelope contained substantial evidence.
Not proof enough for court.
Tamsin’s birth certificate listed:
Father: not recorded.
Mara had left the field blank.
There was a notarized statement:
I, Mara Jean Ellison, state that Corvin Ashford is Tamsin’s biological father to the best of my knowledge. There was no other possible father during the conception period.
Then thirty-one pages of correspondence records.
A letter dated six years earlier.
Corvin,
I found out after I left New York that I am pregnant.
I don’t know what I want from you yet except that you should know.
That letter had been sent by overnight courier to:
Ashford Family Private Office, Attn: Lucasta Wynn — Personal Liaison for C. Ashford.
Signed receipt.
Not by Lucasta.
Mailroom employee.
Next document:
Internal routing log.
Delivered to Lucasta Wynn.
Then nothing.
No reply.
Another letter four months later:
I’m due in May. If Corvin wants a paternity test after birth, I agree.
Delivered.
Routed to Lucasta.
No reply.
Then a letter after Tamsin’s birth:
She was born May 14. Her name is Tamsin.
Photograph enclosed.
Delivered.
Routed.
No reply.
Then Lucasta’s first apparent response to Mara.
Not on Ashford letterhead.
An email printout.
Mara,
Corvin has asked that you continue through me. He will not pursue contact while you are requesting privacy. He does not wish to litigate paternity unless you do.
That wording was clever.
Not:
Corvin denies the child.
Not:
Corvin refuses.
It let Mara believe I had received the letters.
It let me remain ignorant.
Martin looked at me.
“This is why I nodded.”
“Because?”
“The internal routing logs appear authentic.”
“Lucasta received them.”
“Yes.”
“Could someone else have used her account?”
“Possible.”
“Did she know?”
“We need evidence.”
I hated lawyers.
“Fine.”
Then:
“DNA.”
Mara had already agreed.
We used an accredited laboratory.
No private Ashford facility.
No family doctor.
Buccal swabs.
Chain of custody.
Tamsin thought the cotton swab was funny.
I did not.
Forty-eight hours later:
Probability of paternity greater than 99.99 percent.
Martin handed me the result.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
My hands shook.
I had a daughter.
Not a possibility.
Not Mara’s claim.
Not Lucasta’s pale face.
A daughter.
Six years old.
I had missed her birth.
First steps.
First word.
First day of kindergarten.
Six birthdays.
Six Christmas mornings.
No villain could give those back.
May you like
That was the part revenge could never solve.
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