PART 3
Priya drove because my hands were shaking too badly to trust myself behind the wheel.
I sat in the passenger seat staring at the last message on my phone.
NATALIE KNOWS WHERE YOUR TWIN SISTER IS.
Every few seconds, I called Natalie again.
No answer.
Then Emma.
Emma had a small phone we kept in her backpack for emergencies.
It went directly to voicemail.
“Again,” Priya said.
“I’ve called six times.”
“Call seven.”
I did.
Voicemail.
Outside the window, Denver blurred past in streaks of late-afternoon traffic.
I barely saw any of it.
All I could see was my daughter’s face.
Emma had Raymond’s stubborn chin.
At least, that was what I had always told her.
“Grandpa gave you that chin,” I used to say.
She would wrinkle her nose.
“No, Daddy. Grandpa has an old-person chin.”
Raymond would pretend to be offended.
Now my father was lying in intensive care after warning me not to let “them” take her.
And my wife had apparently pulled Emma out of school and was planning some mysterious trip.
“Call the school,” Priya said.
I did.
The receptionist answered after two rings.
“This is Grant Mercer. Emma Mercer’s father. I need to know who picked her up today.”
There was a pause.
“One moment, Mr. Mercer.”
I heard typing.
Then the woman returned.
“Emma was signed out at 12:47.”
“By Natalie?”
Another pause.
“Your wife signed the electronic authorization.”
“That isn’t what I asked. Who physically picked her up?”
“I’m not sure I’m permitted to—”
“I’m her father.”
My voice rose.
“My seven-year-old daughter may be in danger. Tell me who walked into that school and left with her.”
Priya reached toward me.
“Put it on speaker.”
I did.
The receptionist lowered her voice.
“It was an older woman.”
My stomach dropped.
“Name?”
“She presented identification as an authorized emergency contact.”
“What name?”
“Victoria Lawson.”
I looked at Priya.
Natalie’s mother.
My biological aunt.
The woman who apparently knew who I was before I ever met Natalie.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Was Natalie with her?”
“No.”
“Did Emma seem frightened?”
“I didn’t see the pickup personally.”
“Who did?”
“Our attendance coordinator.”
“Put her on.”
A minute later another woman answered.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dana. I released Emma to Mrs. Lawson.”
“Did Emma want to go with her?”
Silence.
“Dana?”
“She seemed surprised.”
“What does that mean?”
“She asked why her grandmother was there.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What did Victoria say?”
“She said there was a family emergency.”
“Did Emma resist?”
“No. But…”
“But what?”
The woman hesitated.
“She asked if you knew.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did Victoria say?”
“She said, ‘Your daddy is already waiting for us.’”
I felt something inside me go cold.
“Thank you.”
I ended the call.
For several seconds, neither Priya nor I spoke.
Then I said, “Natalie lied.”
“Yes.”
“She told me Emma was home.”
“Yes.”
“She let me speak to her.”
“Which means Emma was with Natalie at some point after Victoria picked her up.”
I looked at the clock.
“School is fifteen minutes from my house.”
Priya accelerated.
I called 911.
I explained everything as clearly as I could.
My daughter had been removed from school by an authorized relative under false pretenses.
My wife had lied about where she was.
My father had issued a warning before emergency surgery.
There were potentially fraudulent adoption and financial records connected to my wife’s family.
The dispatcher asked whether I believed Emma was in immediate danger.
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation in my answer.
“Absolutely.”
She took the address and told me officers would respond.
We were nine minutes from my house when the unknown number called again.
Claire.
I answered immediately.
“Where is my daughter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then tell me where Natalie is.”
“I don’t know that either.”
“You said Natalie knows you.”
“She does.”
“How?”
“Grant, there isn’t enough time to explain everything.”
“Make time.”
Priya glanced toward me.
The woman on the phone went silent.
Then Claire said, “Did Raymond tell you about Rebecca?”
“He left me a letter.”
“Did he tell you she had twins?”
“No.”
“That’s because he didn’t know.”
I stared through the windshield.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your adoption was arranged before you were born. Raymond and Helen Mercer were told there was one baby.”
Helen.
Hearing my mother’s name from a stranger unsettled me.
“How do you know my parents’ names?”
“Because I’ve spent twenty years looking for you.”
My throat tightened.
“Then why didn’t you contact me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The first time was eleven years ago.”
My skin prickled.
Eleven years.
The year I met Natalie.
“I found you through a genealogy researcher. I wrote a letter.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“I never got it.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because Victoria answered.”
Priya looked at me sharply.
I switched the call to speaker.
“What did she say?”
“That you knew about me and wanted nothing to do with me.”
I felt sick.
“I didn’t know you existed.”
“I know that now.”
“What happened after that?”
“She offered to meet me.”
“Victoria?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said Rebecca had left instructions about us.”
“What instructions?”
Claire gave a short, bitter laugh.
“There weren’t any.”
“Then why meet you?”
“To find out what I knew.”
The road seemed suddenly too narrow.
“What did you know?”
“That Rebecca had created two trusts.”
I sat completely still.
“Two?”
“One for each child.”
The stolen trust described in my father’s letter had been mine.
“What happened to yours?”
“That’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
“Mine disappeared before I turned eighteen.”
“How does a trust disappear?”
“It doesn’t.”
Her voice hardened.
“Someone empties it.”
Priya whispered, “Ask her who.”
I didn’t need to.
“Victoria?”
“That’s what I’ve spent years trying to prove.”
A horn blared as Priya changed lanes.
I barely noticed.
“Why would she do this?”
“Money was part of it.”
“Part?”
“There was something else.”
“What?”
Claire became quiet.
Then she asked a question I wasn’t expecting.
“Did Raymond ever tell you why Rebecca gave you up?”
“No.”
“She didn’t.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She never intended to give either of us away.”
I felt the world shift again.
“She was seventeen,” Claire continued. “Unmarried. Her father controlled everything. Rebecca wanted to keep us.”
“Then how did Raymond adopt me?”
“Because someone told Rebecca you died.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What did you say?”
“She delivered twins prematurely.”
Claire’s voice shook now.
“A boy and a girl.”
“Us.”
“Yes.”
“You’re saying our mother was told I was dead?”
“Yes.”
“And my parents were told there was only one baby available for adoption?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
I pressed the phone harder against my ear.
“Who arranged it?”
“I don’t know everyone involved.”
“Victoria?”
“She was nineteen.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“No.”
Claire exhaled.
“I believe Rebecca’s father arranged the separation.”
“Why?”
“To erase the scandal.”
I thought of the photograph.
ONLY ONE OF THE TWO BABIES WAS SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.
“Then what happened to you?”
“I stayed.”
“With Rebecca?”
“For six years.”
That matched my father’s letter.
Rebecca died when I was six.
“What happened after she died?”
“Victoria became my guardian.”
I turned toward Priya.
My biological aunt had raised my twin sister.
“Claire…”
“I know how it sounds.”
“Then Natalie?”
There was a long silence.
“Claire, who is Natalie?”
“I don’t know.”
I almost laughed from frustration.
“You told me she’s known about you for eleven years.”
“She has.”
“You were raised by Victoria.”
“Yes.”
“Natalie says Victoria is her mother.”
“Yes.”
“But the DNA test says she isn’t.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I’ve known since Natalie was nineteen.”
“Then tell me who she is.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because Victoria never told me.”
The answer felt impossible.
“You lived in the same family.”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“After Rebecca died, Victoria sent me to boarding school. Then a residential academy. Then college on the other side of the country. I was family when paperwork required it and inconvenient the rest of the time.”
“And Natalie?”
“She appeared when I was fifteen.”
“Appeared?”
“One summer, I came home and there was a four-year-old girl living in the house.”
I did the math.
The ages were close enough.
“What did Victoria say?”
“That Natalie was her daughter.”
“From whom?”
“She refused to discuss it.”
“And you never questioned it?”
“Of course I did.”
“What happened?”
“Victoria slapped me.”
Silence filled the car.
“She told me that if I ever questioned Natalie’s place in the family again, I would lose everything Rebecca had left me.”
“And then you did.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back against the seat.
The pieces weren’t fitting.
Or maybe they were fitting into a picture I didn’t want to see.
“Why does any of this involve Emma?”
Claire didn’t answer.
“Claire.”
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“I know.”
“My father told me to protect her.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He wrote ‘protect Emma.’ Then before surgery, he said, ‘Don’t let them take Emma.’”
Claire went completely silent.
“Hello?”
“Grant…”
Her voice had changed.
“What?”
“Where is Emma right now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find her.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“Raymond called me yesterday.”
My heart stopped.
“My father spoke to you?”
“For almost an hour.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to verify something.”
“What?”
“Emma’s birth date.”
I felt a chill.
“Why would he need to verify his granddaughter’s birthday?”
“He asked about her birth certificate too.”
Priya looked at me.
“What about it?” I asked.
“He wanted to know whether you had personally seen the original hospital records.”
I frowned.
“Of course I did.”
Had I?
Emma was born after thirty-one hours of labor.
I remembered holding Natalie’s hand.
I remembered the doctor saying there were complications.
I remembered being asked to leave the room.
I remembered waiting in a hallway for almost forty minutes.
Then a nurse brought me back.
Natalie was exhausted.
Emma was wrapped in a pink blanket.
I remembered signing forms.
Insurance documents.
Hospital paperwork.
But an original birth record?
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
Claire said nothing.
“What was my father trying to prove?”
“I think you need to ask Priya.”
I turned slowly toward her.
Priya’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“You know something.”
“I know what Raymond suspected.”
“What?”
“Not while I’m driving.”
“Pull over.”
“We’re three minutes from your house.”
“Priya.”
“Grant, your daughter comes first.”
She was right.
But I hated it.
I returned to Claire.
“Stay on the phone.”
“I will.”
Then she whispered, “Wait.”
“What?”
“I just got a message.”
“From who?”
“Victoria.”
My entire body tightened.
“What does it say?”
Claire didn’t answer immediately.
“Claire?”
“She says Raymond should have kept his mouth shut.”
Priya swore under her breath.
“What else?”
“She sent an address.”
“Where?”
Claire read it.
Priya’s head snapped toward me.
“That’s not your house.”
“No.”
I knew the address.
I had been there dozens of times.
Victoria’s property outside Boulder.
“What does she want?”
“There’s another message.”
Claire’s breathing became uneven.
“What does it say?”
“Come alone if you want the child to stay with her father.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
“What child?”
“I don’t know.”
“Emma?”
“I don’t know.”
“Send me a screenshot.”
“I’m doing it now.”
The call disconnected.
A second later, the screenshot arrived.
I read Victoria’s message myself.
COME ALONE.
BRING THE ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS RAYMOND FOUND.
IF YOU INVOLVE THE POLICE, THE CHILD LEAVES TONIGHT.
YOU HAVE UNTIL 6:30.
I checked the dashboard.
5:48.
“We have forty-two minutes.”
“Grant, she said Claire should come alone.”
“I don’t care what she said.”
Our neighborhood appeared ahead.
A police cruiser was already turning onto my street.
Priya pulled into my driveway.
I was out of the car before it stopped moving.
The front door was open.
“Emma!”
I ran inside.
“Emma!”
Nothing.
The living room was empty.
A lamp had been knocked over.
One of Emma’s sneakers lay beside the staircase.
“Emma!”
I took the stairs two at a time.
Her bedroom door was open.
The pink backpack she used for school lay on the floor.
Her emergency phone was beside it.
That was why my calls went to voicemail.
Natalie’s closet was half empty.
Two suitcases were gone.
I opened drawers.
Several were empty.
Passports.
Where were the passports?
I ran into my office.
The small document safe was open.
Not forced.
Opened.
Our passports were gone.
Mine too.
So were Emma’s birth certificate and Social Security card.
“Grant.”
Priya stood in the doorway.
Two police officers were behind her.
“What?”
She pointed toward my desk.
An envelope rested on the keyboard.
My name was written across it.
Not in Raymond’s handwriting.
Natalie’s.
I tore it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Grant,
I know what your father told you.
Please understand that I wanted to tell you myself.
Victoria gave me no choice.
Do not trust Claire.
Do not trust the DNA report until you know where the sample came from.
And whatever you do, do not let Raymond sign anything if he wakes up.
Emma is safe with me.
I am trying to protect her.
I stared at the words.
At the bottom, Natalie had added one final sentence.
Ask Priya why your father changed his will yesterday.
I slowly raised my eyes.
Priya had gone pale.
“You knew about his will.”
“Yes.”
“What did he change?”
“This isn’t the time.”
“It became the time when my wife wrote your name in a letter.”
The officers exchanged a glance.
Priya lowered her voice.
“Raymond signed a new will yesterday afternoon.”
“Who gets what?”
“He left almost everything to Emma.”
I stared at her.
“My father doesn’t have almost anything.”
Priya didn’t respond.
That silence told me I was wrong.
“How much?”
“Grant—”
“How much?”
“Raymond has assets you didn’t know about.”
My mouth went dry.
“What assets?”
“Land.”
“What land?”
“Mineral rights mostly. Some inherited acreage.”
“How much is it worth?”
“Potentially several million dollars.”
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because my brain had stopped knowing how to react.
“My father came to me asking for one thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“While he was secretly worth millions?”
“The assets weren’t liquid.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“He didn’t want Victoria to know he was moving anything.”
I looked down at Natalie’s letter.
“Why Emma?”
“Because Raymond believed someone had already tried to manipulate your inheritance.”
“What inheritance?”
“Rebecca’s.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Start making sense.”
“Raymond’s new will included something unusual.”
“What?”
“A conditional guardianship request.”
The room went silent.
“For Emma?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t assign guardianship while her parents are alive.”
“No. But you can state preferences and create trust conditions.”
“What conditions?”
Priya hesitated.
“If anything happened to you, Raymond specifically requested that Natalie never control Emma’s inheritance.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“Because yesterday morning, Raymond received the preliminary result of another test.”
Another test.
“What test?”
Priya looked toward the officers.
“I think we should discuss this privately.”
“No.”
“Grant.”
“No more private conversations. My daughter is missing. Tell me.”
Priya reached into her leather folder.
She removed a folded laboratory report.
“This was not part of the packet I gave you at the hospital because Raymond asked me to hold it until he could speak with you.”
“Whose DNA?”
“Yours.”
“And?”
“Emma’s.”
I stared at her.
Every sound in the room disappeared.
“No.”
“Grant—”
“No.”
One officer shifted uncomfortably.
I could hear my own heartbeat.
“Why did my father test Emma?”
“He found something in the trust documents.”
“What?”
“A hereditary-beneficiary clause.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Rebecca’s trust included provisions for biological descendants.”
I shook my head.
“That still doesn’t explain why he tested my daughter.”
“He needed to confirm Emma qualified.”
“Of course she qualifies.”
Priya didn’t answer.
That was when I understood.
My mouth went dry.
“What did the test say?”
She handed me the report.
I couldn’t read it.
The words swam.
“Tell me.”
Priya looked directly at me.
“The preliminary analysis excluded you as Emma’s biological father.”
The paper slipped from my hand.
Nobody moved.
For seven years, Emma had slept on my chest when thunderstorms frightened her.
I taught her to ride a bicycle.
I carried her through the emergency room when she split her chin on the playground.
She called me when she lost her first tooth because she was convinced the Tooth Fairy needed my permission to enter the house.
Biology couldn’t erase any of that.
But someone had lied.
Someone had lied for seven years.
“Natalie.”
My voice barely existed.
Priya picked up the report.
“There’s more.”
I looked at her.
“How can there possibly be more?”
“The laboratory compared Emma’s sample against the other profiles Raymond submitted.”
“And?”
“She shares a close biological relationship with one of them.”
“Who?”
Priya swallowed.
“Victoria Lawson.”
I stared at her.
“That’s impossible.”
“The preliminary result indicates a first-degree relationship.”
“What does that mean?”
“Parent-child or full sibling.”
I shook my head.
“Victoria is almost seventy.”
“Then sibling is more likely.”
I stopped breathing.
Emma was seven.
Victoria was almost seventy.
They couldn’t be siblings.
Unless the sample labeled Victoria Lawson didn’t actually belong to Victoria.
Natalie’s warning flashed through my mind.
Do not trust the DNA report until you know where the sample came from.
“Where did Raymond get Victoria’s sample?”
Priya looked startled.
“I don’t know.”
“You told me he obtained samples.”
“He delivered sealed collection kits.”
“Did you watch Victoria provide one?”
“No.”
“Did Raymond?”
“I don’t know.”
I grabbed my phone.
Claire had sent another message.
I opened it.
VICTORIA CHANGED THE LOCATION.
Then another.
SHE KNOWS YOU CALLED POLICE.
A third message arrived.
It was a photograph.
Emma sat in the back seat of a dark SUV.
Her face was visible through the window.
She looked frightened.
Beside her sat Natalie.
And behind the wheel—
Victoria.
My knees nearly gave out.
The timestamp was four minutes earlier.
“Where was this taken?”
Claire replied immediately.
I DON’T KNOW.
Then she sent another photograph.
This one was closer.
I zoomed in.
There was a highway sign reflected faintly in the SUV window.
Priya leaned over my shoulder.
“Can you read that?”
I enlarged it.
AIRPORT.
My heart stopped.
“They’re taking her to the airport.”
One officer immediately grabbed his radio.
“What airport?”
“We don’t know.”
Denver International was the obvious choice.
But Victoria owned property north of Boulder.
There were smaller airports.
Private terminals.
Priya looked at me.
“Does Victoria own a plane?”
“No.”
Then I remembered.
“No… but her company does.”
“What company?”
“Lawson Development.”
The second officer began making calls.
My phone rang.
Natalie.
Everyone froze.
I answered on speaker.
“Where is Emma?”
“Grant, listen to me.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Victoria is watching me.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
I looked at the officers.
One motioned for me to keep her talking.
“Are you in the SUV?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Grant, I am trying to keep our daughter alive.”
Our daughter.
My chest tightened.
“The DNA test says she isn’t mine.”
Silence.
Then Natalie began crying.
Not loudly.
One broken breath.
Then another.
“Who told you?”
“Priya.”
“Grant…”
“Is it true?”
She didn’t answer.
“Natalie.”
“Yes.”
The word nearly destroyed me.
I closed my eyes.
The officer beside me touched my shoulder.
“Who is her father?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can.”
“No, Grant. I literally can’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“Because I don’t know.”
My eyes opened.
“What?”
“I never cheated on you.”
“Then how is Emma not mine?”
“Because I didn’t give birth to her.”
Nobody in the room moved.
I thought I had misheard.
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t give birth to Emma.”
My mind flashed back seven years.
The hospital.
Natalie’s swollen belly.
The contractions.
Her screaming.
The thirty-one-hour labor.
The nurse telling me to leave.
“You were pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“I watched you carry her.”
“I was pregnant, Grant.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Natalie’s breathing became ragged.
“Our baby died.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“No.”
“She died during delivery.”
“No.”
“You were outside when it happened.”
“Stop.”
“I wanted them to tell you.”
“Stop talking.”
“But Victoria wouldn’t let them.”
I gripped the desk.
“She said you would leave me.”
“Natalie—”
“She said she could fix it.”
A terrible pressure built behind my eyes.
“What did she do?”
“I woke up after surgery and there was a baby beside me.”
Emma.
“No.”
“I knew she wasn’t ours.”
“You knew?”
“I was drugged. I was grieving. Victoria told me the baby’s mother had abandoned her.”
“You let me believe she was mine.”
“I was terrified.”
“For seven years?”
“I loved her.”
“So did I!”
My voice cracked so violently that Emma’s framed school picture rattled when my hand struck the desk.
“So did I.”
Natalie began sobbing.
“I know.”
“Where did Emma come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is her biological mother?”
“Victoria never told me.”
“Why is Victoria taking her now?”
“I think Raymond found out.”
“Found out what?”
“Where Emma came from.”
The line crackled.
Then I heard Victoria’s voice in the background.
“Who are you talking to?”
Natalie whispered, “I have to go.”
“Don’t hang up.”
“Grant, listen.”
“What?”
“Find Claire.”
“I’m talking to her already.”
“No.”
Natalie’s voice became urgent.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Claire is not your twin sister.”
My blood turned cold.
“What are you talking about?”
“Rebecca had twins. That part is true.”
“Then who is Claire?”
“I don’t know.”
“Natalie—”
“But Raymond found your real sister.”
I stopped breathing.
“Where?”
Natalie whispered something so softly I almost missed it.
“She’s been in front of you for years.”
“What does that mean?”
Then Victoria shouted.
“Natalie!”
The phone went dead.
I stared at the screen.
Priya was pale.
The officers were already relaying information.
Then my phone buzzed.
Claire.
For the first time, I hesitated before opening her message.
A photograph appeared.
Not Emma.
Not Victoria.
Not Rebecca.
My father.
Raymond.
He was lying unconscious in his ICU bed.
The photograph had been taken from inside his hospital room.
Seconds ago.
Underneath it, Claire had written:
YOU SHOULD HAVE COME ALONE.
My entire body went numb.
Claire wasn’t heading toward Victoria.
Claire was at the hospital.
With my father.
I called the ICU immediately.
A nurse answered.
“This is Grant Mercer. My father Raymond Mercer is in room—”
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Security is actually trying to reach you.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“A woman entered your father’s room approximately five minutes ago.”
“Who?”
“She identified herself as family.”
“What name?”
The nurse checked.
“Claire Hale.”
I looked at Priya.
“What did she do?”
“We don’t know. A nurse entered and found your father alone.”
“Where is Claire?”
“She’s gone.”
“Is my father okay?”
A pause.
Too long.
“His monitor showed a sudden change shortly after the visitor entered.”
I gripped the desk.
“What kind of change?”
“His blood pressure dropped.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. The medical team is with him now.”
I nearly collapsed.
Then the nurse said, “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The visitor left an envelope on his bed.”
My skin prickled.
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“I haven’t opened it.”
“What’s written on the outside?”
The nurse hesitated.
Then she read it.
“Grant deserves to know which child Raymond actually brought home.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
Which child.
Not which baby.
Which child.
I looked at Priya.
“What if Raymond didn’t adopt me?”
She frowned.
“What?”
“What if the adoption records were switched?”
“Grant—”
“What if Claire isn’t lying about Rebecca being her mother?”
“That doesn’t necessarily make her your sister.”
“No.”
I stared at the old photograph on my phone.
Rebecca holding a newborn.
Victoria beside her.
ONLY ONE OF THE TWO BABIES WAS SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.
Something had bothered me from the beginning.
Something obvious.
“Priya.”
“What?”
“The DNA test.”
“Yes?”
“You said it confirmed Rebecca was my biological mother.”
“Yes.”
“Using a preserved sample from my adoption file.”
She went still.
I watched understanding spread across her face.
“Oh.”
“What?”
One officer stepped closer.
Priya whispered, “We assumed the preserved sample belonged to you.”
“But nobody tested it against me.”
Her silence answered.
The report hadn’t proven Rebecca was my mother.
It had proven Rebecca was the mother of whoever had left that biological sample decades ago.
“What if that sample belonged to the other baby?”
Priya immediately opened her folder.
She flipped through pages.
Faster.
Faster.
Then stopped.
Her face lost its color.
“What?”
“Raymond requested a direct comparison.”
“Between what?”
“Your current DNA and the preserved adoption sample.”
“And?”
“I don’t have the result.”
“Why?”
“It was ordered separately.”
“When was it supposed to arrive?”
She looked at the date.
“Today.”
My phone buzzed.
An email.
Priya received one at almost exactly the same moment.
She looked at her screen.
Then at me.
“The laboratory.”
My heart began pounding.
“Open it.”
She did.
There was a password-protected attachment.
Her fingers shook as she entered the code.
The report opened.
She read silently.
“Priya.”
Nothing.
“Tell me.”
She raised her eyes.
“The samples are not from the same person.”
Nobody spoke.
The preserved sample in my adoption file did not belong to me.
Which meant the DNA evidence connecting me to Rebecca Hale had just collapsed.
Or something much stranger had happened.
“Then who am I?”
Priya couldn’t answer.
My phone rang again.
This time the caller ID showed:
VALLEY REGIONAL HOSPITAL.
I answered.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Shah.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is my father alive?”
“Yes. We stabilized him.”
I closed my eyes.
“Thank God.”
“But he woke up.”
My eyes opened.
“He’s conscious?”
“Briefly.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“He’s heavily medicated.”
“Please.”
There was movement.
Muffled voices.
Then a weak sound.
“Grant?”
My father.
I almost broke.
“Dad.”
“Son…”
“I’m here.”
“You read it?”
“Yes.”
“Dad, who am I?”
Silence.
“Raymond?”
His breathing rasped through the speaker.
“I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“Rebecca.”
My heart hammered.
“What about Rebecca?”
“She wasn’t your mother.”
Priya covered her mouth.
“Then whose baby did you adopt?”
My father struggled to breathe.
“I didn’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your mother… Helen… knew.”
I felt dizzy.
“Knew what?”
“That the records were false.”
“Dad, who are my biological parents?”
“I found your mother.”
“Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Who?”
A machine beeped beside him.
The doctor said something.
Raymond rushed his words.
“Grant… listen… Emma…”
“What about Emma?”
“She’s yours.”
I froze.
“The DNA test says she isn’t.”
“Not that way.”
“What does that mean?”
“Emma came from your family.”
My pulse thundered.
“What family?”
“Your real family.”
“Dad, please.”
His voice weakened.
“The woman you married…”
“What about Natalie?”
“Her name…”
He coughed.
The monitor began beeping faster.
“What about her name?”
“Natalie Lawson…”
“Yes?”
“…was never her name.”
The doctor interrupted.
“We need to stop.”
“Dad!”
Raymond forced out four more words.
Four words that left everyone in my office staring at me.
“Find her original birth certificate.”
Then the call ended.
I stood motionless.
Original birth certificate.
Natalie had taken Emma’s.
But what about Natalie’s?
I suddenly remembered something.
Years earlier, when we applied for our marriage license, Natalie had needed a certified birth record.
Victoria delivered it personally.
I had joked about it.
“Your mother doesn’t trust the mail?”
Natalie hadn’t laughed.
She had taken the envelope upstairs and locked it in the fireproof box we kept in the bedroom closet.
That box was still upstairs.
I ran.
Priya followed.
I dropped to my knees in front of the closet.
The box was there.
Locked.
“Do you know the combination?”
“Yes.”
Our wedding date.
I entered it.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
“She changed it.”
One of the officers entered.
“Do you have permission to break it?”
“It’s my safe in my house.”
He helped me pry the latch.
The lid opened.
Inside were tax records.
Jewelry.
Insurance policies.
A stack of old photographs.
And one yellowed envelope.
NATALIE — ORIGINAL RECORDS.
My hands shook.
I opened it.
The first document was a birth certificate.
I read the date.
Correct.
Natalie’s birthday.
Place of birth:
St. Anne’s Medical Center.
Mother:
Blank.
Father:
Blank.
Name of child:
Not Natalie Lawson.
I stared at the typed name.
Priya leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
I couldn’t make my mouth form the words.
Because I knew the surname.
I had seen it less than an hour earlier.
On Claire’s messages.
On Rebecca’s documents.
On the laboratory report.
The name printed on my wife’s original birth certificate was:
CLAIRE REBECCA HALE.
Priya stepped backward.
“No.”
My wife was Claire Hale.
Or someone had wanted the world to believe she was.
Then who was the woman calling herself Claire?
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A video message.
I opened it.
The screen showed the inside of a private aircraft hangar.
Victoria stood beside the SUV.
Emma was holding Natalie’s hand.
My wife looked terrified.
Then the camera turned.
For the first time, I saw the woman who had been calling herself Claire.
She was standing only a few feet from them.
And she looked directly into the camera.
My breath stopped.
Because she looked like Natalie.
Not vaguely.
Not coincidentally.
They had the same eyes.
The same jaw.
The same small scar above the left eyebrow.
They looked like sisters.
Maybe more than sisters.
The woman smiled.
Then she spoke directly to me.
“Now you understand why Victoria kept us apart.”
She turned the camera toward Natalie.
“Natalie isn’t your wife’s real name.”
Then toward herself.
“And Claire isn’t mine.”
She stepped closer to Emma.
I shouted at the screen even though it was only a recording.
“Don’t touch her!”
The woman smiled again.
“You want to know who Emma’s biological father is?”
My heart stopped.
She leaned toward the camera.
“Ask Raymond why his DNA is the closest match.”
The video ended.
I stared at the black screen.
My father.
Emma.
DNA.
No.
There had to be another explanation.
There had to be.
Then Priya’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
And slowly sat down on the edge of the bed.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“That was the laboratory.”
“And?”
“They completed the expanded kinship analysis Raymond requested.”
My mouth went dry.
“Tell me.”
“The initial assumption about Emma was wrong.”
“About Raymond?”
“Yes.”
“Then what is he to her?”
Priya looked at the birth certificate in my hand.
“Raymond isn’t Emma’s father.”
I exhaled.
“But the relationship is close enough that the software initially flagged the paternal line.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Emma’s biological father is a close male relative of Raymond.”
I stared at her.
“My father doesn’t have a son except me.”
Priya swallowed.
“That may be the problem.”
“What?”
She turned the laboratory report toward me.
There was a name attached to a newly identified family match.
A man I had never heard of.
A man sharing my father’s surname.
Daniel Mercer.
Predicted relationship to Raymond:
SON.
Predicted relationship to Emma:
FATHER.
I stared at the page.
“My father has another son?”
Priya whispered, “Apparently.”
The room became silent.
Then I remembered Raymond’s words from the hospital.
I’m trying to give you something I should have given you years ago.
Maybe he hadn’t meant money.
Maybe he hadn’t meant the truth about my adoption.
Maybe he had meant a brother.
And according to the DNA report in front of me, that brother was Emma’s biological father.
My wife had claimed she had never cheated.
She claimed she had never even given birth to Emma.
So how had the biological child of Raymond Mercer’s secret son ended up in Natalie’s hospital room seven years ago?
Before I could ask, one of the officers came upstairs.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“What?”
“We located the aircraft.”
Every person in the room turned.
“Where?”
“Centennial Airport.”
“Are they still there?”
The officer’s expression hardened.
“The plane hasn’t departed.”
Relief hit me.
Then he continued.
“But there’s a problem.”
“What problem?”
“The flight plan wasn’t filed under Lawson Development.”
“Whose name?”
He looked down at his phone.
“Daniel Mercer.”
My blood went cold.
The brother I had never known existed wasn’t just connected to Emma.
He was apparently waiting at the airport.
And suddenly my father’s warning made horrifying sense.
Don’t let them take Emma.
Not because Victoria wanted to steal my daughter.
Not because Natalie wanted to disappear.
But because Emma’s biological father had finally come to take her back.
And as I ran toward the stairs with the police behind me, another message appeared on my phone.
This one came from Natalie.
Only three sentences.
GRANT, DANIEL IS HERE.
HE SAYS RAYMOND STOLE YOU FROM HIM THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO.
AND HE SAYS EMMA ISN’T THE CHILD HE CAME BACK FOR.
END OF PART 3
