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After years of dealing with bureaucrats, I’ve
learned how to baffle them. My records will be altered, and at a fair price.
And because they can’t work out precisely why I’m doing it, they’re at a loss
to take further advantage of the situation—beyond the bribes they’ve
extracted. They obviously think I’m just another rich eccentric. Perhaps
they’re right. Well, at least all this
will spare the authorities the expense of having to dig me up after I’m gone.
Blood tissue analysis successful. Inherited ABO antigens showing up as expected. Next step: some saliva samples that stand up to the most rigorous scrutiny. Read a fascinating piece in Nature today about the use of DNA profiling in UK courts. Seems it’s all the rage in paternity and criminal cases. Ah, but if they only knew what I’m certain I shall soon prove, courts worldwide will have to throw that evidentiary procedure out with yesterday’s newspaper.
Blast heredity! Having ruled out adoption, it falls to me to divine the solution. Current published research is only mildly promising; I’ll not be getting most of what I need from outside sources. Oh, there is that famous Italian case with the alleged half-sister of one of my peers, but I plan to go much farther than merely having it all proved in court. Our records will even bear up under the most intense scrutiny of the genealogical societies.
Of all the individuals I’ve considered, this one seems the most promising. Bright, affable, curious, self-confident, and with sufficient amounts of self-control and humility. Apparently not afraid of change, either. Besides, something beyond those obvious traits—intuition, perhaps?—tells me I’ve found who I’m looking for. Yes, I do believe I’ve decided. Now to the indelicate task of obtaining my heir’s medical records and samples, followed by the delicate task of announcing myself.
