Chapter 3 - The DNA UltimatumWithin ten minutes, the festive holiday cheer of the Holloway Estate had completely evaporated, replaced by the chilling, suffocating atmosphere of a military tribunal.
General Marcus Holloway ordered the guests to remain in the dining hall, while Tristan, Sabrina, Grace, and the four boys were sequestered inside the private executive study.
The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut.
Tristan stood near the large stone fireplace, his hands gripping the mantelpiece so tightly his knuckles turned paper-white. He stared at the four boys sitting quietly on the leather sofa, swinging their legs, completely unfazed by the tension in the room.
"This is impossible," Tristan whispered, staring at the floorboards, shaking his head in frantic denial. "Quadruplets...? You never showed me medical records! You never brought them to my base! You kept them hidden for eight years!"
"I tried to show you my medical records, Tristan," Grace reminded him quietly, standing near the window with her arms crossed. "You told me you weren't going to take part in 'emotional manipulation.' When I called you after the ultrasound confirmed four heartbeats, you hung up on me. When my attorney sent your legal team the birth certificates and pediatric affidavits, your office marked them as 'unverified domestic disputes' and filed them away without reading them, because admitting they existed would have meant opening an investigation into your own willful negligence."
Tristan snapped his head up. "That's a lie! My legal team never received—"
"Your legal team received them," a deep, authoritative voice interrupted from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
Stepping into the study, wearing the crisp, decorated uniform of a Brigadier General in the United States Army, was General Robert Vance—the senior commander of the regional National Guard and trauma-readiness command.
Beside him stood two military police officers.
Tristan’s jaw dropped. "General Vance... sir... what are you doing here?"
General Vance walked over to where Grace stood, offering a respectful nod of his head. "I am here because Dr. Grace Holloway is the Director of our regional trauma-readiness program, Major Holloway. For the past six years, her tactical medical teams have saved the lives of hundreds of servicemen and women across the Northwest, including three pilots under my direct command."
Tristan staggered backward. "Director... of trauma-readiness...?"
"She didn't remain behind, isolated and resentful, waiting for you to remember her, Tristan," General Vance stated, his voice ringing with cold, unyielding respect. "She built an elite emergency medical infrastructure while you spent your evenings climbing the social ladder. And as for these four young men," the General pointedly looked at Mason, Caleb, Asher, and Liam, "they have grown up surrounded by soldiers who know the true meaning of honor, service, and family."
Sabrina Vance let out a hysterical, frantic laugh. "General, with all due respect, titles and medical programs don't prove paternity! This is a stunt! She could have gotten those boys anywhere!"
Mason slid off the leather sofa. He walked across the study with a calm, deliberate stride, stopping two feet in front of Tristan.
He looked up into Tristan's storm-gray eyes—eyes that matched his own down to the smallest detail.
"You want proof, Major Holloway?" Mason asked, his voice steady and clinical. "My mother never wanted your money. She never wanted your name. But if you want to settle this like a military officer instead of running away from the truth like you did eight years ago, we can walk down to the estate's private medical lab right now and execute a court-ordered cheek swab."
Tristan looked down at his son.
May you like
He saw his own chin. He saw his own hairline. He saw the exact, stubborn tilt of his mother's head.
The denial that had sustained his ego for eight years shattered into a million irreparable pieces.
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