Chapter 5: The Underworld’s Lab

The conversation with Lena, and the subsequent realization about Clara’s potentially complicated lineage, cemented my decision. A legal paternity test would be a battlefield. Elara, with her “eyes and ears everywhere,” would undoubtedly find a way to taint the results, to challenge the process, to turn it into another weapon against Clara. I needed something unimpeachable, something beyond her reach.

I remembered Dragan’s offer, his network of “contacts.” It was a world I had always avoided, a world of shadows and whispered deals, but for Clara, I was willing to step into it. Justice, it seemed, would have to be found outside the law.

I sent Dragan a coded message, a single, neutral phrase. Within hours, I received a reply: a time and a nondescript location – a coffee stand in a bustling market square. The city hummed with indifferent life around us as Dragan, wearing a dark hoodie, joined me. He blended seamlessly into the crowd, a silent observer in plain sight.

“I need a genetics lab,” I said, keeping my voice low, barely moving my lips. “Discreet. Accurate. Untraceable.”

Dragan took a slow sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the faces in the market. “Expensive,” he grunted, “and dangerous. They don’t take kindly to questions.”

“I have samples,” I clarified. “Clara’s, and Arthur’s.”

I had carefully collected a few strands of Clara’s hair from her brush after my visit, and, knowing Arthur’s meticulous habits, I had retrieved a small, silver locket from his study – a sentimental piece he always wore, containing a lock of his own hair from when he was a child, a cherished family keepsake. It was a perfect, uncontaminated sample.

Dragan nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of my request. This was not a casual inquiry. This was a deep dive into the kind of illicit services only the underworld could provide. He knew the risks.

“Payment up front,” he stated, his gaze meeting mine. “No credit in this business.”

“How much?” I asked, already calculating my dwindling savings. This would likely deplete a significant portion of what I had left.

“Ten thousand Euro,” he replied, without blinking. “For the rush, and for the discretion. Double for any ‘special requests’.”

My breath hitched. Ten thousand Euro. It was a hefty sum, almost all I had in my personal emergency fund. But I knew this was the price of truth, the cost of operating outside Elara’s poisoned influence. It was a sacrifice I had to make.

“I’ll have it,” I affirmed, my voice steady despite the financial blow.

Dragan gave another curt nod. “Meet me tomorrow, same time, same place. Bring the samples. Cash only.”

The next day, I arrived with an envelope containing the samples – Clara’s hair wrapped in a tissue, Arthur’s small, silver locket carefully placed inside a small plastic bag – and a thick wad of euro notes. The exchange was swift, almost clinical. Dragan tucked the envelope into his coat, the money disappearing into his inner pocket.

“Where is this lab?” I asked, needing to know.

“You don’t need to know,” Dragan said, his voice flat. “It’s secure. They work fast. Give them a week. Don’t call me. I’ll contact you.”

And with that, he was gone, swallowed by the crowd once more. I stood there, feeling strangely exposed, a substantial portion of my savings now in the hands of a man who worked for the underworld, entrusted with the future of a child. The air was thick with the scent of spices and exhaust fumes.

The wait was agonizing. Every minute felt like an hour, every hour a day. I tried to focus on other aspects of Elara’s scheme, reviewing the siphoned assets, trying to find another weak point, but my mind kept returning to the lab, to the unseen process unfolding in some hidden corner of the city.

I knew the people operating these labs lived by a different code, one where discretion was paramount. They weren’t bound by legal ethics, but by a strict, often brutal, adherence to their own rules. If they promised accuracy and silence, they delivered. It was the only guarantee I had.

This clandestine operation was a desperate measure, a gamble with high stakes. If the results confirmed Clara’s paternity, it would be powerful leverage against Elara. If they did not… well, I refused to consider that outcome. Arthur had loved Clara. That was the only truth that truly mattered to me. But in Elara’s world, blood was currency. And I needed to prove Clara’s coin was genuine.

The act of handing over Arthur’s locket felt like a physical wrench, separating me from a tangible piece of my friend. It was a sentimental object, a private memory, now reduced to a sample for a DNA test. This petty sacrifice, a personal item used in such a cold, technical way, drove home the brutal reality of the situation. I was sacrificing personal sentiment for strategic gain, for Clara’s future. The irony was not lost on me.

Each day that passed, my resolve hardened further. I was doing this for Arthur, for the promise I had made him, and for Clara, who deserved to know her place in the world, unburdened by Elara’s venom. The underworld’s lab was my only hope.