The Birthmark of the Real Heir
The DNA Sequence results were an impossibility that made the world tilt on its axis.
According to the official records, my husband was not a biological match to Eleanor. He was an interloper, a child brought in from an overseas orphanage after a tragic family accident to ensure the Inheritance Rights remained within the male line, preventing a Trust Dissolution. The family had built their empire on a lie.
But the real shock was the second profile in the folder—it was a 99.9% match to Eleanor. The report identified a biological daughter born in secret and given up for adoption to protect her from the family's violent Corporate Rivals.
I stood frozen, the paper crinkling in my grip. I looked at the photo of the infant in the file. The baby had a distinct, heart-shaped birthmark on her right shoulder.
I slowly pulled back my sweater, staring at the mirror. There it was—the same mark I had carried my entire life. I wasn't just the daughter-in-law they despised; I was the Biological Heir Eleanor had been searching for. Just as the truth settled into my bones, the attic door was kicked open. My husband stood there, his eyes wild and bloodshot, holding a Legal Summons. He didn't want the box for the money; he wanted to destroy the only evidence that he was a fraud before I could contact a Trial Attorney.
On the back of the infant photo with the heart-shaped birthmark, a message was scrawled in red ink: 'Only the true bloodline can unlock the final vault.' I looked in the mirror, touching the mark on my shoulder, and felt a wave of nausea. If I was the only Lawful Heir, then every 'I love you' my husband had uttered was a calculated move to monitor his target. He wasn't waiting for me to find the money; he was waiting for the right moment to ensure I never spoke of it again.
As the attic door groaned under the weight of his shoulder, I knew: if I didn't get out tonight, the truth would be buried with me.
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