Chapter 7 - The Red Folder
Grant Miller stood up immediately. He was an imposing figure, exuding a cold, detached professionalism that contrasted sharply with the emotional wreckage of the party. Tucked securely under his left arm was a thick, unmistakable red folder.
He walked down the center aisle toward the stage without greeting anyone, without smiling, his eyes fixed dead ahead. The guests watched him in bewildered silence as the heavy thud of his leather shoes echoed on the marble.
Natalie’s triumphant smile finally began to falter, slowly sliding off her face as confusion took root. She gripped the microphone tighter.
“Who is that?” she asked, her voice losing its arrogant edge.
I stepped up onto the stage and reached out. I took the microphone firmly from her hand. She tried to keep hold of it for a brief second, but I twisted my wrist, applying just enough leverage to force her to release it.
“He’s the man who has been keeping something for four months that even you don’t know exists,” I told her, my voice booming through the speakers.
Grant reached the front. He placed the heavy red folder onto the table holding the three-tier cake, right next to the napkins embroidered with our initials. With deliberate precision, he opened it. He removed a single sheet of paper, heavily stamped with the raised seal of a certified medical laboratory, and handed it up to me.
May you like
I took the paper and held it up high, facing the stage lights so my sister could see the stark black text and the official insignia clearly.
“Sis,” I said into the microphone, my hand completely steady, devoid of a single tremor, “that baby you are carrying isn’t Eric’s.”
