My Arrogant Cousin Forced Me to Eat Dinner in a Bathroom at a Town Gala — So I Cancelled Her Son's $4,500 Allowance and Evicted Them Both
As Julian stormed off, nearly tripping over his own feet, I turned back towards the diner. The man from the booth, Dr. Arthur Pendelton, was now standing by the entrance, nursing a fresh cup of coffee.
He caught my eye and offered a small, polite smile. “Eleanor Albright, I presume? I’m Dr. Arthur Pendelton.”
I hesitated for a moment, then walked over to him. “Yes, that’s me. And thank you for the information about that law firm. It was… enlightening.”
“My pleasure,” he replied, his eyes still holding that academic spark. “I specialize in forensic genetics, currently reviewing historic county records for a regional university study. Local lineages, family trees, that sort of thing.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “It’s surprising what one finds hidden in dusty archives. For instance, about five years ago, Beatrice Albright’s late husband, Charles, commissioned a private DNA test.”
My gaze sharpened. “A DNA test?”
“Indeed. Regarding Julian’s parentage, specifically.” Dr. Pendelton leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “The results were… unusual, to say the least. And then, quite abruptly, they were sealed. With a rather hefty cash transfer to the county registrar listed as the ‘reason for confidentiality’.”
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Beatrice’s husband had suspected Julian wasn’t his son? And then paid to bury the truth?
“I noticed the file while doing my regional sweeps,” he continued, watching my reaction closely. “Odd details tend to stick out. Especially when they involve a large sum of money and a sudden sealing of sensitive records.”
He paused, then met my eyes directly. “I keep backup research files from my own independent investigations. If you’re considering challenging the Albright trust’s legal standing… those files might be of interest. I have them back at my motel room.”
The pieces clicked into place with a sickening thud. Beatrice’s entire legal and social standing, her claims to the Albright estate, the very reason Julian had been given the manor, all rested on the assumption of a legitimate biological connection to my late brother. If Julian wasn’t a true Albright, everything she had built would crumble.
“I’d be very interested, Dr. Pendelton,” I said, a new resolve hardening my voice. “Very interested indeed.”
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