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In
spirit, I have always been your uncle. But that which makes men kin—the
connection of blood—did not exist until I was near death. And it was I who
fashioned the link, through a method of DNA manipulation I devised.
Demonstrating that this was possible has been my life’s greatest work, and now
you stand as living proof.
A
frightful thing, eh? But then nothing was ever done to you, although I was
forced to have someone “appropriate” your medical records so I could alter mine
accordingly. The result is that we are now related by blood, genes and
everything considered necessary by the courts and even the genealogical
societies.
Well,
no doubt you are wondering why I did this. The answer lies in the distant past.
I learnt I had a genetic disease, one I had no desire to pass on to another
generation. I will not go into details here; suffice it to say that my
affliction kept me from siring an heir of my own.
I
had been blessed with the relative freedom wealth brings, the joys of science,
and good friends. I was determined to squeeze everything I could out of life.
But even while still relatively young, I foresaw that with my passing the
Hanover estate would almost certainly be parceled out to the highest bidder.
That I could not abide. There is something noble about the continuity of a
great house; like a living being, massive yet delicate, it draws vitality from
its master or mistress.
At
some point, then, I began actively searching for a cure for my illness. I never
found it. Instead, I discovered an alternative path, the one I currently
follow. My diary and lab notes, which you should possess by now, detail my
efforts to match my identity with yours. Other than a few select colleagues
scattered round the world, no one knew of this line of research. Put simply, I
set out to demonstrate that any individual’s unique molecular identity could be
altered to match anyone else’s. For this, a random subject was required.
To
avoid the spectre of connivance, I rejected as candidates anyone I knew. And
so, during my travels, I began searching for the perfect stranger who could be
my heir. I discovered you, among several others. Thereafter, as unobtrusively
as possible, I shadowed your life.
When I extrapolated my own demise
from the genetic makeover, I thought “So be it.” I was near the end of my span
anyway. And although I would dearly love to be recognized as more than a
talented dabbler in the field of biotechnology, I am wary of the potential of
my discovery. It could cause a paradigm shift of massive proportions. Yes, the
gene switching is fatal, but given enough time I believe I could have solved
that as well—as could others less scrupulous. The world must decide what to do
with this knowledge, which could do great good if used intelligently.
My
last and boldest experiment will take place shortly after I finish this
missive, when I take the capsule that triggers the transformation. I have
already arranged for an autopsy and exhaustive post-mortem tests to be performed,
and for the results to be forwarded to the relevant courts, various scientific
and medical associations, and genealogical societies. If you’ve received
enquiries from representatives of these esteemed bodies, I am certain they’ve
accepted my new genetic makeup.
Soon
enough, of course, the scientific community will know about my experiments, and
our counterfeit kinship will be postulated. But the terms of my final will and
testament are irrevocable; with no caveats, everything I own is yours. If I may
make one final request, though, it is that you keep and cherish my servants as
I did.
Ah,
the spirit lingers, and in such odd ways. Fare thee well, my beloved child.
Affectionately,
