Chapter 7 - The Court of Lies
The steps of the Manhattan Family Court were swarming with reporters, camera crews, and curious onlookers. Satellite trucks blocked the street, their antennas raised high into the overcast sky.
Preston was in his element. He wore a crisp navy suit, his expression a masterclass in performative sorrow and noble fatherhood.
"All I have ever wanted is to protect this innocent child," Preston announced into the microphone, his voice trembling with rehearsed emotion. "My estranged wife, Evelyn Monroe, comes from unimaginable wealth. She believes she can buy the truth. When she discovered that Sloane and I were opening our hearts to give this young boy a stable, loving home, she used her corporate leverage to lock me out of my own company. She is using her billions to punish a child."
Sloane dabbed at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief, leaning her head against Preston's shoulder. "Jasper deserves a father," she whispered into the nearest microphone, ensuring the audio picked up her choked sob. "We just want peace. We just want our family."
The press swallowed it whole. Flashbulbs went off in a blinding wave as reporters shouted questions: “Mr. Chase, will you sue for full custody of your daughter as well?” “Is it true that Evelyn Chase threatened to deport Ms. Devereaux?”
"I will fight for both of my children with every breath I have," Preston declared heroically, placing a protective hand on Jasper’s head. "No amount of Monroe family money can break a father's bond."
"How touching, Preston," a calm, clear voice echoed from the bottom of the steps.
The crowd went dead silent.
The sea of reporters parted immediately as I walked through the barricades. I wore a tailored ivory coat over a dark charcoal suit, moving with absolute poise. Flanking me were Marcus Vance and a stern woman with sharp features carrying an embossed medical lockbox: Dr. Aris Thorne, the chief of genetic pathology at Mount Sinai Hospital.
Preston’s heroic smile vanished, a flicker of raw panic flashing across his eyes before he quickly composed himself.
"Evelyn," Preston said loudly, attempting to maintain his performance for the cameras. "If you came here to threaten me again, I won't back down. The press is here to witness the truth."
"I am so glad they are," I said, stopping at the base of the podium and looking up at him. "Because the truth is something you have spent five years running from."
Sloane pulled Jasper slightly behind her, her eyes darting nervously toward the medical lockbox Dr. Thorne was carrying. "This is harassment! We are filing an emergency protective order against you!"
"You can file whatever you like, Sloane," I said, stepping up the stone stairs until I stood level with them. "But before you sign another false affidavit, there's a small matter of public record we need to clarify."
I turned to the assembled journalists. "Ten minutes ago, my legal counsel unsealed the full evidentiary docket for the emergency family court hearing. Mr. Chase claimed on live television last night—and to me in private—that Jasper is his biological son, conceived while I was hospitalized four years ago."
Murmurs rippled through the press corps. Cameras swiveled rapidly back and forth between us.
Preston leaned toward the microphone, his chest puffed out. "That’s right! He is my son by blood! You kept me trapped in a loveless marriage while Sloane gave me the family I always wanted! I’m not ashamed of my son!"
"I know you're not," I replied smoothly. "Which is why you won't mind Dr. Thorne reading the certified results of the court-mandated genetic audit completed this morning."
Sloane’s entire body went rigid. "What... what audit?"
Marcus stepped forward, unsealing an official envelope bearing the gold wax stamp of the New York State Supreme Court.
"Two years ago, when Preston Chase applied for a ten-million-dollar executive life insurance policy through the Monroe Trust, his biological markers and DNA profile were entered into the national commercial registry as required by the underwriting syndicate," Marcus announced in a booming, clear voice. "This morning, under judicial subpoena 884-B, those markers were cross-referenced against the blood panel and genetic profile Sloane Devereaux submitted when establishing Jasper’s state healthcare trust."
Preston laughed nervously, though beads of sweat were pouring down his temples. "What are you talking about? That proves he's my boy!"
"Dr. Thorne?" I said calmly.
Dr. Thorne opened the folder and adjusted her glasses, speaking with cold, clinical authority into the cluster of microphones.
"Based on the comparative analysis of twenty-four distinct genetic markers, there is a zero percent probability that Preston James Chase is the biological father of Jasper Reed Devereaux."
A collective, earth-shattering gasp exploded from the press gallery.
Preston stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "What? That's... that's impossible. Sloane?"
He turned slowly to look at his mistress.
Sloane had backed away until she was pressed flat against the heavy bronze doors of the courthouse. Her face was as white as paper, her hands trembling violently.
"Sloane?" Preston repeated, his voice cracking, the polished veneer shattering completely. "What is she talking about? Tell them she’s lying! Tell them he’s my son!"
Sloane looked at Preston, then at the flashing cameras, and finally at me.
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She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. The guilt written across her face was screaming louder than any microphone could carry.
"You see, Preston," I said softly, stepping closer so only he and the front row of microphones could hear me. "You thought you were a mastermind manipulating two women to steal an empire. But you were just an arrogant, gullible fool who got played by everyone around him."
