“I want more than child support,” I said, looking at Ashley sleeping in her secondhand crib. “I want the house back. I want the money he stole. And I want them to hurt.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s time for a paternity test,” I said. “A very public one.”
But before we could file the motion, Mia burst into my apartment the next morning, waving a heavy cream-colored envelope.
“You are not going to believe the audacity,” she said breathless.
I opened the envelope. Gold foil. Professional calligraphy.
A Prince is Coming.
Join us to celebrate Natalie and Mitchell’s Baby Shower.
It was at the Country Club. The same venue I had always wanted but was told we couldn’t afford.
“I have an idea,” I told Mia, a cold smile touching my lips for the first time in months. “But I’m going to need your help to get inside.”
“Oh, honey,” Mia grinned. “I’m already invited. They think I’m neutral. Let’s burn it down.”
The plan took two months to execute perfectly.
Rachel filed the paternity suit quietly, timing it so the subpoena for DNA testing would arrive just before the shower, but Mitchell managed to dodge the process server. That was fine. It played right into my hands.
I used the intervening weeks to secure the forensic accounting on the house. Rachel found the forgery on the quitclaim deed. It was sloppy. Mitchell had signed it, but the notary stamp belonged to a friend of Catherine’s who had lost her license years ago. It was a felony.
The paternity results from the court-ordered swab—which Mitchell finally submitted to under threat of arrest—came back three days before Natalie’s shower.
Probability of Paternity: 99.97%.
