Andrew did not speak.

His eyes were locked on the gold seal at the bottom of the page.

“The profile compares the DNA of your oldest son, Claire, with two potential matches,” I said, keeping my voice level and calm.

“The first comparison is with Andrew Carter.”

“The probability of paternity is zero percent.”

Claire stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor.

“How dare you!” she screamed, her face flushed with rage. “How dare you bring my children into your sick, jealous fantasies!”

“Sit down, Claire,” the General said.

His voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of thirty years of absolute authority.

Claire blinked, her mouth open in shock, before slowly sinking back into her seat.

“There is a second comparison on that page, General,” I said, pointing to the middle section of the document.

“The laboratory compared the child’s DNA with a profile on file in the military database.”

“The match is ninety-nine point nine percent.”

The General picked up the paper, his hands steady, though his jaw muscles clenched.

He read the name of the biological father.