Lawful Deception

by Pamela Samuels Young

  She gathered from one of the men’s furrowed brows that he was familiar with the name.

  “The head of Karma Entertainment?” asked one of Paul’s colleagues.

  “That would be the one. He’s my daughter’s father, but refuses to claim her. A paternity test will soon put an end to that.”

  The man’s eyes glowed. “If that’s true, you and your daughter have hit the lottery. I’d bet that over her lifetime, he’ll end up paying you a couple million dollars in child support.”

  Bliss smiled. “I’m expecting a lot more than a couple million.”

  One of the women folded her freckled arms. “The man should take care of his kid, but it shouldn’t take millions to do that.”

  Bliss took no offense. “All I want is my daughter’s fair share of her father’s income.”

  “Just be careful,” one of the men warned. “Rich people don’t like to part with their money.”

  “Well, there’s nothing he can do about it. The law is the law.” She turned to Jessica’s husband. “Hey, Paul, I need a recommendation for a good attorney. And I want a real shark.”

  Paul grunted. “No way. I’m staying out of it. I have business associates who run in his circle.”

  “I think I know just the right lawyer for you,” said Paul’s golfing buddy, ignoring a snide look from his wife.

  “Really?” Bliss said, her interest piqued.

  The man took out his phone to look up the number. “And she might just be even more ruthless than you are.”

  CHAPTER 5

  After Fletcher’s departure, I spend another thirty minutes at work, then pack up and drive home. On the way, I call my best friend Special and tell her I have some good news for her. She arrives at my Baldwin Hills home minutes after I do.

  I assume the look of excitement on her face is in anticipation of what I have to share. I’m wrong.

  “I’m finally meeting Darius tomorrow night!” She sounds like a sixteen year old who’s just gotten invited to the prom. “This brother is The One. I can feel it.”

  “Can you please just meet the man before deciding you want to marry him?”

  Special has been husband-hunting on MyHarmony.com for several months now.

  “We’ve been emailing and texting and talking on the phone for seven long weeks. I know everything I need to know about him. We have so much in common. Two women on my job found husbands on MyHarmony. They really know how to match people up. And get this. He’s an ex-Marine who worked in the counter-terrorism unit. He’s now a security consultant for Fortune 500 corporations. So he can help me with my investigations. How cool is that?”

  “You only know what he’s told you, which may not be the truth.”

  “I’m an almost-full-fledged private investigator, remember? I’ve thoroughly checked him out. Didn’t find a single red flag.”

  “Please, just take it slow.”

  “I’m trying, but it’s hard. This man is so incredible. He’s romantic and smart and funny and open. He’s definitely husband material.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  She flops into a chair at the kitchen table. “I didn’t come over here for you to rain on my parade. Can you at least fake some excitement for me?”

  “If you’re still this excited after you’ve been dating him for six months, then I’ll get excited.”

  Special waves off my skepticism. “So what’s the good news you have for me?”

  Now I’m the excited one. “First, I’m very proud of you for getting your part-time gig as a PI’s apprentice.”

  Special spends her day working as a manager at Verizon, but sleuthing is her true passion. Her investigative work uncovered evidence that led to a conviction against one of my clients being overturned.

  “Thank you very much, counselor. I still can’t believe that heffa Girlie Cortez didn’t get disbarred for what she did.”

  “At least her license was suspended for nine months. Anyway, my good news is that I need your skills on another case. Of course, you’ll need to partner with Eli since you don’t have your license yet. And this is a paying client. One with some very big dough. You can bill by the hour.”

  Special rubs her palms together in excitement. “Tell me more.”

  “My client got served with a paternity petition by his ex-girlfriend, Bliss Fenton. She claims her daughter Harmony is—”

  “Hold up. Her name is Bliss and her daughter’s name is Harmony? They must be black because that’s straight ghetto.”

  I chuckle. “Nope. I checked her out online. She’s blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Very pretty girl.

  Looks like a model. Anyway, my client swears the kid isn’t his.”

  “Has he taken a paternity test?”

  “He’s taking it tomorrow. He wants me to negotiate a settlement with the woman to go away. And he thought it would be a good idea to have a PI dig up some dirt on her just in case we need to apply a little pressure.”

  Special has a puzzled look on her face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Your client sounds a little suspect. If the kid isn’t his, why pay her anything? He should just wait for the test results.”

  “Even after the paternity test proves he’s not the father, he still expects her to try to cause more drama. He figures she’ll disappear forever if the price is right.”

  “How can he be so sure the kid isn’t his?”

  “They broke up eleven months before the child was born.”

  “So?”

  My friend has me totally confused.

  “What do you mean, so? Do the math. He couldn’t be the father if he hadn’t last slept with the woman in almost a year before the kid was born.”

  “Yes, he could.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “She could’ve stolen his sperm.”

  “Stolen his sperm. What are you talking about?”

  “Instead of throwing out the condom after he got his jollies, she might’ve stuck it in the freezer. I saw that on Being Mary Jane. And when she’s ready to pop out a little one, she just thaws it out, sucks it into a turkey baster and shoots it you know where. And boom! Dude is a papa. A lot of professional athletes get popped that way.”

  Special’s implausible scenario gives me pause. Both Fletcher and Mia described Bliss as conniving. But would she really go that far?

  “That’s crazy.”

  “But it happens. So who’s my new client?”

  I lead her into the den and wait for her to sit down.

  “It’s Fletcher McClain.”

  She rears back on the couch. “That fine-ass white boy you dumped sophomore year? Isn’t he head of Karma Entertainment?”

  “That would be the one.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “I need you to see what you can find out about his maybe-baby mama. Fletcher’s apparently not the first man she just happened to hit with an unplanned pregnancy.”

  “I can’t believe Fletcher’s finally getting married. I figured you had scarred him for life. I bet you anything he’s marrying a sista.”

  I nod. “Yep. I met her today.”

  “I knew it! That white boy definitely had the hots for black women back at USC. His fiancée is one lucky heffa.” Special takes out her cell phone.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Going to Google Images. I want to see what she looks like.”

  “You don’t even know her name.”

  “I don’t need to know her name. This is the Internet age. I’m Googling Fletcher McClain and fiancée.”

  “Oh snap!” she says in mere seconds. “Here she is. Her name’s Mia Richardson.”

  “I already know that.”

  “Wow!”

  “Wow what? She’s not that cute.”

 
; Special arched a brow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a little jealous. I didn’t say wow because she’s cute, even though she is. I said wow because she kinda looks like you.”

  “No, she does not.”

  “Oh, yes, she does. You both have the same facial structure. Nice cheekbones and pert noses. She also looks to be about your height and even has bangs like yours. I told you that man never got over you.”

  “Who never got over you?” My husband steps into the room.

  “This gazillionaire white guy Vernetta dated in college.”

  Jefferson folds his arms and rests them against his muscular chest. “Is that right? Let me see him.”

  Before I can stop her, Special hands Jefferson her phone.

  “Wow,” he says, staring at the picture for way too long.

  I suck my teeth. “Wow what?”

  “This chick standing next to him favors you. Same complexion and cheekbones and she has long bangs like you.”

  “That’s his fiancée,” Special announces.

  “So he likes sistas.” Jefferson gives the phone back to Special. “Vernetta, you need to ask your daddy whether he forgot to tell you about a long-lost sister.”

  “He never got over Vernetta dumping him,” Special blabs. “So he went out and found himself a look-a-like.”

  “Is that right?” Jefferson, who ran his own electrical contracting company, starts unlacing his steel-toed work boots. “I never knew you dated a white boy, not to mention a wealthy one. So exactly how much money does this dude have?”

  Special continues blabbing like she’s a tell-all book. “According to Forbes magazine, he’s worth four-hundred-and-fifty-million dollars. He runs Karma Entertainment.”

  Jefferson whistles. “So homeboy is Oprah-rich, huh?”

  “Oprah’s net worth is in the billions, not millions,” I correct him. “Why don’t we talk about something else?”

  Both of them ignore me.

  “I’m going to be working as an investigator on his case,” Special brags. “Digging up dirt on his ex-girlfriend. Vernetta’s representing him in a paternity case.”

  “You have a really big mouth. Maybe I need to rethink my decision about hiring you. This case is confidential.”

  Jefferson kicks off one of his boots and rubs his shaved head. “So dude’s trying to get out of paying child support?”

  “He says the kid isn’t his,” Special continues.

  “Sounds like a poo-butt move to me. Especially since he has all that dough.”

  It’s time to cut this conversation short. “Special, can I please talk to you in the kitchen?”

  She sulks after me.

  “Why’d you just blab all of that stuff to Jefferson?”

  “Girl, stop trippin’. Your husband can handle it.”

  Special’s cell phone rings. She glances at the screen and squeals. “This is Darius. I have to take it.”

  She rushes out of the kitchen and down the hallway. “Hey, gorgeous,” she coos into the phone.

  Jefferson enters the kitchen. “If the dude has that much money, he’s probably paying you some big cash, huh?”

  “Just my regular hourly rate.”

  “No discount for being your ex?”

  I smile. “Sounds like you might be jealous.”

  “I have no reason to be jealous.”

  I both like and dislike his confidence on this point. “Fletcher invited us to a party at his place. You wanna go?”

  Jefferson walks past me and opens the cabinet next to the refrigerator. “Sure.”

  “I’m surprised that you want to meet him.”

  He places a bag of popcorn into the microwave oven. “I couldn’t care less about meeting that dude,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But I’d love to get a look at your twin sister in the flesh.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The black Lincoln Town Car slowed as it reached the DNA testing center on Wilshire Boulevard.

  Fletcher peered out of the back window. The receptionist had warned him that paparazzi often staked out the place hoping to luck up on a shot of a celebrity entering the building. He didn’t want to get caught up in any of that.

  “Hey, Lester,” he called to his driver, “we’re early. I don’t want to go in right away. See if you can find a place to park on the main street.”

  Lester circled the block and parked in front of a donut shop.

  Perspiration crept down Fletcher’s left armpit. No one would believe that the great Fletcher McClain was nervous. There was no way that kid was his. So why am I stressing?

  He pulled out his iPad and responded to several emails, listened to a couple of voicemail messages, then gave Lester the signal to take him to the back of the facility. He’d made arrangements to enter the facility through a rear door.

  When he made it to the reception area, a pretty black girl showed him into a private waiting room the size of a jail cell.

  “I’ll need a copy of your driver’s license and you’ll need to fill out these papers.” The woman handed him a clipboard with several pages attached.

  “How long will it take to get the results?”

  “About two weeks.”

  “Is it possible to get them any sooner? I don’t mind paying extra to have them expedited.”

  The woman shook her head. “This is not the kind of test you want to rush. We check and double-check our results. It takes time to do that.”

  “Understood.”

  He began filling out the paperwork, realizing that he hadn’t had to do something like this in years. Whenever he had doctors’ appointments, the forms were sent to his office ahead of time and his assistant Gabriella filled them out.

  He’d been given the option of using a fake name for the information that would be sent to the lab. This protected against some Joe spotting a famous name and selling the results to TMZ. He chose the name Jake Griffin, his best buddy from high school.

  As he waded through the paperwork, he paused when he got to a question asking where the results should be mailed. His home was out. Fletcher did not want to run the chance of Mia seeing the results before he did. Nor did he want Gabriella opening them. He pulled out his phone and looked up Vernetta’s office address. He’d send them to her.

  The woman returned to retrieve the paperwork and also took his photograph and thumbprint.

  “How long is this going to take?”

  “You should be out of here in about twenty minutes.”

  She led him into another room where a man dressed in blue scrubs took over.

  “I’m Dave. I’ll be drawing your specimen.”

  “Blood test, right?” Fletcher asked.

  “Blood and saliva. I’ll also swab the inside of your cheek. Won’t hurt a bit.”

  Dave picked up a tourniquet and tied it around Fletcher’s forearm, then examined the crook of his arm.

  “You’ve got lots of nice, thick veins. Great.”

  “So, how accurate is this test?”

  Fletcher couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking questions he already knew the answer to.

  “Ninety-nine-point-nine percent.”

  “Are there ever any errors?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Rarely?” That wasn’t the response Fletcher wanted to hear. “So what could cause an error?”

  Dave hunched his shoulders. “The lab equipment could be contaminated or not calibrated properly. Or a specimen might be mislabeled or the results could be put into the wrong account.”

  “How often does that happen?”

  “It’s never happened here. I’m just telling you the stuff they tell us in training. Don’t worry, our tests are always accurate.”

  “Sorry to sound so paranoid, but the woman I’m dealing with is so nuts that I wouldn’t
be surprised if she managed to pull some strings to fix the results and tag me with a kid that’s not mine.”

  “Other than paying off the lab tech, that’s highly unlikely,” Dave said.

  Highly unlikely? “Has that ever happened?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Relax. You’re in good hands.”

  Dave drew five vials of blood, then swiped the inside of Fletcher’s cheek with two extra-long Q-tips and placed them inside separate plastic bags. He then placed the vials and Q-tips into separate white envelopes.

  He held the envelopes out for Fletcher to review. “If all of your information is correct, I need you to sign your name right here.”

  Fletcher checked and double checked, then scrawled his fake name on the two envelopes.

  “Is the testing done here?”

  “Nope. We send them to our lab in Arcadia.”

  “That’s a long way to travel.”

  “Don’t worry. We have strict chain of custody procedures. Everybody who touches these specimens has to sign a statement explaining what they did with them.”

  “How do they conduct the test?”

  “What we’re doing is an autosomal D-N-A test,” Dave explained. “There are several markers that—”

  “Never mind.” Fletcher cut him off. “Sounds complicated. I should’ve paid more attention in biology.”

  He pulled out his cell and asked Lester to bring the car around.

  As he waited, he tried to suppress the anxiety throbbing in his chest. He had no reason to worry. The kid wasn’t his. It was as simple as that.

  CHAPTER 7

  I dial Bliss’ cell phone number and wait. By the third ring, I assume she isn’t going to pick up. I leave a short message explaining that I represent Fletcher McClain and ask her to return my call. Ten minutes later, she does.

  A call from a lawyer would make most people nervous, even if they hadn’t done anything wrong. I sense only curiosity, not concern, from Bliss Fenton.

  “So Fletcher hired an attorney. Very interesting.”

  I’m not sure what that means, so I let it go.

  “Thanks for calling me back. Based on your petition, it looks like you’re representing yourself. Is that correct?”