“The test is wrong, Wallace!” Christopher screamed into his cell phone, his voice echoing off the high plaster ceiling.

“It can’t be a direct biological match!”

He swung his arm violently to the side and hit a heavy crystal vase on the mahogany hall table.

The glass shattered against the wall with a sharp crack, spilling two quarts of cold water and a dozen dark red roses across the wool runner.

Christopher didn’t look down at the wet mess on his polished leather shoes.

He turned on his heel, his shoes crunching over the broken glass, and marched down the hall toward the kitchen.