“He’s my son!” — an Eastern man shouts so loudly that the walls tremble.
I lose my footing. I’m shaking. I look down at the floor.
— No,
I say so quietly, my eyes fill with tears. — He’s not yours… not yours…
I repeat desperately.
I lie. Valid was mine. My first. My only.
He narrows his dark eyes. Takes a step toward me, looming.
— This. Is. My. Heir. I know. But if that’s the case, we’ll do a DNA test. And if my suspicion is confirmed, I’ll take what’s mine by right. In the car.