Chapter 3 - The Midnight Swab
By 1:00 a.m., the main study of the Varric estate felt like an interrogation room.
Rain hammered against the tall glass windows overlooking the dark gardens. Dr. Paul Miller, a trusted private physician who had served the Varric family for two decades, sat at the edge of the mahogany desk, carefully sealing three cotton swabs into sterile plastic vials.
Nico was asleep on a leather couch nearby, wrapped in a warm wool blanket, with Liana sitting on the floor right beside him, her hand gently resting on his tiny back.
"I've collected samples from you, Mr. Varric, from the boy, and from Miss Graves," Dr. Miller said, wiping his glasses with a handkerchief. "I will run the comparison personally at my private laboratory in the city. No third parties will touch the sequencers."
"How long?" Matteo asked, standing by the fireplace, drinking a glass of neat scotch.
"Twelve hours," Dr. Miller replied. "By noon tomorrow, you will have your absolute answer."
Matteo nodded curtly. Frank escorted the doctor out through the side entrance, leaving only Matteo, Liana, and the sleeping baby in the room.
Matteo walked over, stopping a few feet from Liana. He looked down at her—at her frayed sneakers, her simple red uniform, and the dark circles under her eyes that spoke of deep, unhealed trauma.
"Why were you at Saint Jude's twenty-two days ago?" Matteo asked softly, the edge in his voice yielding slightly to curiosity.
"I went into early labor," Liana said, staring at the small rise and fall of Nico's chest. "My apartment was cold. I didn't have money for a private clinic. A charity foundation paid for my admission to Saint Jude's. The doctor who handled my delivery was Dr. Harrison Vance."
Matteo’s hand tightened around his glass until his knuckles turned white. "Vance was Clara’s obstetrician."
Liana looked up, her eyes wide. "He told me my baby had a severe heart flaw. He said the baby died twenty minutes after birth. They wouldn't even let me hold his body. They said... they said it was better for my mental health not to see him."
Matteo set his glass down on the mantelpiece with a heavy click. "Dr. Vance was paid three hundred thousand dollars by my estate for Clara’s care and Nico’s delivery. If Vance lied to you..."
"If he lied to me," Liana breathed, "it means he traded a healthy baby for a dying one. Or... or he stole my baby to replace a child who didn't survive that blackout."
The truth hit the room like a cold draft.
If Matteo’s biological son had actually died during the storm nine months ago, Dr. Vance—fearing the wrath of a notorious mafia leader over the loss of his heir and wife—might have kept a biological secret buried, waiting for a chance to swap the infant.
Or worse: someone inside the Varric family had orchestrated the entire trade.
"Clara’s brother," Matteo muttered suddenly, his eyes darkening with realization. "Julian."
Liana stood up slowly. "Who is Julian?"
"My late wife's brother," Matteo explained, his tone dropping into a deadly whisper. "Julian controls the medical trust that funds Saint Jude’s. He was at the hospital the night Clara died. He was the one who brought Vance to me with the baby."
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Matteo looked down at Nico, then at Liana. The resemblance between the young maid’s delicate features and the baby’s expressive eyes was suddenly undeniable.
"If Julian is involved," Matteo said, stepping close to Liana, "this isn't just about a stolen baby. It’s about an execution."
