Chapter 3 - The Cold Statistics of Biology
"Mr. Coleman," Dr. Aris began, his voice flat, measured, and entirely devoid of the warmth one usually expected when addressing an expectant father. He picked up a printed diagnostic sheet, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the edge of the paper. "Before we discuss the structural development of the fetus, I need to address a few administrative and biological discrepancies flagged by our intake screening."
David’s triumphant smile wavered, replaced by a sudden, uneasy twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Discrepancies? What discrepancies, Doctor? We’re just here to confirm the sex and health of the baby. We’re in a bit of a rush—we have a family dinner to celebrate."
"There is nothing to celebrate just yet," Dr. Aris replied coldly. He looked past David straight at Allison, whose face had gone from a healthy, sun-kissed flush to a chalky, translucent gray. "According to the gestational age markers established during this morning’s comprehensive sonogram, the fetus is precisely fourteen weeks and three days old."
The room fell into an even deeper, more terrifying silence. David frowned, doing a quick mental calculation. "Yes... fourteen weeks. That aligns perfectly with our timeline, doesn't it, sweetheart?" He looked down at Allison, expecting her to nod eagerly.
Instead, Allison was staring fixedly at the stainless-steel sink, her fingers digging so violently into the paper lining of the examination table that the paper began to tear.
Dr. Aris adjusted his glasses, his piercing gaze locking onto David. "Mr. Coleman, fourteen weeks ago places the date of conception precisely around May 22nd. However, our medical records indicate that your formal pre-employment and corporate executive health screening—which included a comprehensive, court-mandated toxicology and fertility panel required by your board of directors—took place on May 20th in this exact building."
David blinked, not yet grasping the trap. "What does a corporate physical have to do with anything? I passed with flying colors."
"Did you?" Dr. Aris raised a single, silvery eyebrow. "That same executive panel included a mandatory genetic and urological audit. The lab results explicitly documented that you underwent a successful, permanent vasectomy reversal followed by a post-operative viability check on May 21st. Furthermore, those exact clinical records explicitly state that due to severe surgical complications and localized scarring, you were rendered completely and permanently sterile. Zero sperm count. Permanent azoospermia."
The words dropped into the room like lead weights.
For three full seconds, nobody moved. Arthur Coleman let out a confused, high-pitched chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. "What kind of incompetent nonsense are you spewing, Doctor? My son has fathered children before—he has a full lineage! Check your files again. You’ve mixed up the charts."
"I do not mix up charts, Mr. Coleman," Dr. Aris said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the full weight of medical authority. He turned the monitor screen around so the harsh light illuminated Allison’s panic-stricken face. "Furthermore, genetic markers extracted from the routine maternal-fetal cell-free DNA screening show an undeniable paternal mismatch with Mr. Coleman’s DNA profile on file. In simpler terms: Mr. Coleman, you are biologically incapable of fathering a child. And even if you weren't, the DNA of this fetus matches an entirely different genetic signature."
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Megan shrieked, stepping back as if she had been physically struck. "Allison! What is this? What is the doctor saying?"
Allison burst into hysterical tears, her carefully constructed composure shattering instantly. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing incoherently as the entire Coleman dynasty stood frozen in horror, watching their golden future disintegrate before their eyes.
