PART 4
The words would not leave me.
They had been waiting for someone to collect me.
Not rescue me.
Not negotiate with me.
Collect me.
I looked at Deputy Ruiz.
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You just told me a company connected to my father, my husband, Daniel, and possibly my birth was coming for me.”
“I told you what Elizabeth claims.”
“And you believe her?”
Ruiz glanced at the photograph of the woman on the stretcher.
“I believe she knows something.”
“Then bring her here.”
“She’s being evaluated.”
“Bring her here.”
Ruiz lowered her voice.
“You were nearly killed.”
“I was nearly buried alive while everybody around me told me I was overreacting.”
I gripped the blanket.
“I am done waiting for other people to decide when I’m ready for the truth.”
Ruiz studied me for several seconds.
Then she nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Mara stood near the window.
She had gone completely quiet.
I turned toward her.
“You knew Elizabeth existed before my wedding.”
“No.”
“You saw her.”
“Yes.”
“And said nothing.”
“I didn’t know who she was.”
“You knew your mother took you to see a woman who looked like me.”
“She didn’t look exactly like you then.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
“Did you tell my husband?”
Mara looked away.
That was enough.
“You did.”
“He already knew.”
My stomach twisted.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I didn’t ask questions.”
“That seems to be your family’s favorite survival strategy.”
Mara flinched.
Good.
I wanted her to.
Then Rachel returned to the room.
She had been crying.
She looked exhausted, but there was something different in her face.
Hope.
“Daniel is awake.”
I sat straighter despite the pain.
“He can talk?”
“A little.”
“What did he say?”
Rachel swallowed.
“He asked whether you were safe.”
I stared at her.
“He asked about me?”
“Yes.”
“Before asking about you?”
Rachel nodded.
That hurt her.
I could see it.
“Why?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Can I speak to him?”
“Not yet. The doctors said he needs rest.”
I almost laughed at the cruelty of that sentence.
Everybody needed rest.
Everybody needed time.
Everybody needed protection.
Except the truth.
The truth had been running ahead of us for years.
A knock came at the door.
Deputy Ruiz entered with another woman.
Mid-fifties.
Gray suit.
No visible badge.
No hospital ID.
“This is Special Agent Claire Donovan.”
I stared at her.
“Special agent with what?”
“Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
The room became still.
Donovan stepped closer.
“We’re taking over several portions of this investigation.”
“Why?”
“Because Hawthorne Biomedical Holdings has been under federal scrutiny.”
“For what?”
She hesitated.
“Illegal medical data acquisition, identity fraud, financial crimes, and suspected human experimentation.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
Mara whispered, “Oh God.”
I stared at Donovan.
“Human experimentation?”
“We have allegations.”
“On who?”
“We’re still identifying victims.”
“Am I one?”
Her silence answered first.
“We believe you may be connected.”
“My child?”
“We don’t know.”
I hated those words.
I didn’t know.
We don’t know.
We’re still determining.
Every unknown seemed to be wrapped around my pregnancy.
“Tell me what you do know.”
Donovan nodded.
“Hawthorne began as a legitimate research company more than thirty years ago.”
“My father worked for them.”
“Yes.”
“You knew that?”
“We learned it tonight.”
“What did he find?”
“Payments.”
“I saw those.”
“Not all of them.”
She placed a folder on my bedside table.
“Your father discovered Hawthorne had created an off-book genetics program.”
“Meaning?”
“They were collecting bloodwork and genetic markers through clinics, insurance partners, employer wellness programs, and affiliated laboratories.”
“Without consent?”
“In many cases, yes.”
Rachel whispered, “Daniel found the same thing.”
Donovan nodded.
“Your husband appears to have been one of the people accessing insurance-linked records.”
“What did they want from me?”
“Your family line.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Donovan opened the folder.
Inside was an old black-and-white photograph.
A woman stood beside a hospital bed.
She looked nothing like me.
But the name printed beneath the photograph made my pulse stop.
Eleanor Vale.
“Who is she?”
Donovan looked at me.
“We believe she was your biological grandmother.”
My throat tightened.
“My grandmother’s name was Margaret.”
“The woman who raised your mother, yes.”
“You’re saying my mother was adopted?”
“Possibly.”
I shook my head.
“My mother would have known.”
“Maybe.”
“She’s dead.”
“I know.”
The grief came fast and strange.
My mother had died three years after my father.
A sudden aneurysm.
No warning.
No time for questions.
“Why is this woman important?”
Donovan turned another page.
“Eleanor Vale participated in one of Hawthorne’s earliest research programs.”
“Voluntarily?”
“At first.”
I stared at the photograph.
“And after that?”
“Records become unclear.”
“Was she experimented on?”
Donovan paused.
“We think so.”
My hand moved to my stomach.
“Why?”
“She carried a rare genetic trait.”
“What trait?”
“A combination involving immune response and cellular repair.”
“That sounds like something from a movie.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
I felt anger rising.
“My husband buried me in the yard.
A missing man has been found beside a woman who might be my sister.
Someone gave me a fake passport.
A dead company has my blood records.
And now you’re telling me my grandmother had magical genes?”
Donovan remained calm.
“Not magical.”
“Then explain it like I’m not a laboratory report.”
She nodded.
“Some people inherit variants that affect how their bodies respond to certain diseases, medications, or tissue damage.”
“That happens all the time.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“Your grandmother’s profile was unusually rare.”
“And mine?”
“We believe you inherited part of it.”
“What about Elizabeth?”
“Possibly more.”
The room went quiet.
“More?”
Donovan looked at the photograph of the woman on the stretcher.
“If Elizabeth is your sister, her profile may not match yours exactly.”
“We’re sisters.”
“If you’re twins, genetic similarities would depend on whether you’re identical or fraternal.”
“Twins?”
Donovan frowned.
“You haven’t considered that?”
My father’s letter flashed through my mind.
Two girls.
Born the same night.
One hidden.
I had assumed sister.
Not twin.
I looked at Mara.
She had gone pale again.
“What?”
I asked.
She whispered, “The woman looked almost exactly like you.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“How old did she look?”
“Your age.”
I closed my eyes.
Twin.
The word felt impossible.
Then Donovan said, “There is something else.”
Of course there was.
“There always is.”
She opened another page.
My father’s handwriting appeared.
A list of dates.
Hospital names.
Initials.
One line had been circled.
TWO LIVE BIRTHS.
I stopped breathing.
“Where did you get this?”
“Daniel’s files.”
My voice cracked.
“My father knew?”
“He suspected.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He may have been trying to prove it first.”
I stared at the paper.
“Did my mother know?”
Donovan didn’t answer.
“Did she?”
“We found a recorded interview Daniel conducted with a retired nurse.”
“When?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“What did she say?”
Donovan looked toward Deputy Ruiz.
Ruiz nodded.
Donovan continued.
“The nurse claimed two infants were delivered under unusual circumstances on the night you were born.”
My skin went cold.
“She said one infant remained with your parents.”
“And the other?”
“Was removed.”
“By who?”
“Hawthorne personnel.”
Rachel whispered, “They stole a baby.”
Donovan’s eyes hardened.
“That is the allegation.”
I could barely speak.
“Why?”
“Because one of the babies had a stronger expression of the genetic markers they were studying.”
My stomach turned.
“They tested us at birth?”
“It appears so.”
“How?”
“Cord blood.”
I pressed my hands against my face.
Everything I knew about my own beginning was dissolving.
“Which baby did my parents take home?”
Donovan hesitated.
“You.”
“And Elizabeth?”
“According to the nurse, she was transferred under a false medical record.”
“Where?”
“We’re trying to trace it.”
“Did my father know?”
“Not immediately.”
“When did he find out?”
“Years later.”
“How many years?”
“Approximately fifteen.”
I thought of myself at fifteen.
School.
Homework.
Bad haircuts.
Prom dresses in store windows.
My father quietly discovering that another daughter might exist somewhere.
“What did he do?”
“He started investigating Hawthorne.”
“And then he died.”
Nobody spoke.
That silence terrified me more than any answer.
“Was his accident really an accident?”
Donovan’s voice was careful.
“We are reopening that question.”
My eyes burned.
“What about my mother?”
“Her death is also being reviewed.”
I felt the room tilt.
My parents.
Both gone.
Maybe neither by chance.
Rachel pulled a chair beside me.
I barely noticed.
I kept staring at Donovan.
“My husband knew all of this?”
“We don’t know how much.”
“Stop saying that.”
“It is the truth.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Donovan nodded.
“Your husband appears in Hawthorne communications beginning five years ago.”
Five years.
We met four years ago.
I felt sick.
“He knew about me before we met.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He was paid.”
There it was.
The simplest cruelty of all.
“How much?”
“Initially, fifty thousand dollars.”
My throat closed.
“To date me?”
“To establish contact.”
The words landed harder than a punch.
Everything came back.
The fundraiser.
The spilled drink.
His awkward smile.
The joke about fate.
Our first dinner.
The way he remembered my favorite coffee.
The flowers after six months.
The proposal.
None of it had been an accident.
I whispered, “How much did they pay him to marry me?”
Donovan didn’t answer.
“Tell me.”
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
I looked away.
Rachel began crying again.
Mara whispered, “I didn’t know.”
I turned toward her.
“You didn’t know your brother was paid to marry me?”
“No.”
“Did your mother?”
Mara’s face said yes.
I laughed once.
A terrible sound.
“Of course she did.”
Donovan slid another page toward me.
“There was a larger payment scheduled after the birth.”
I froze.
“How much?”
“One point five million dollars.”
The baby moved.
I felt it beneath my palm.
“What did he have to do?”
Donovan’s jaw tightened.
“Transfer custody.”
The room vanished.
I heard the words.
But I couldn’t accept them.
“Transfer custody to who?”
“A trust controlled through Hawthorne subsidiaries.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
The monitor began beeping faster.
A nurse entered.
I didn’t hear what she said.
I was staring at the number.
One point five million.
My husband had not wanted a baby.
He had wanted a payout.
The bedtime conversations.
The nursery paint.
The way he rested his hand over my stomach.
He had been touching inventory.
I threw up.
The nurse helped turn me.
My entire body shook.
When I could breathe again, I said, “He was going to sell our child.”
Donovan answered quietly.
“Yes.”
Mara started sobbing.
I looked at her.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Did your mother?”
Mara couldn’t answer.
I already knew.
My husband’s mother had asked about my will.
She had tracked my appointments.
She had watched me buried in the dirt.
She had poured water over my face.
All while waiting for buyers.
I whispered, “Why bury me?”
Donovan looked at Deputy Ruiz.
Ruiz answered.
“We found more recordings from the house.”
“What recordings?”
“Your husband and his mother arguing.”
“About what?”
“You had recently told your husband you were considering leaving.”
I remembered.
I had not used those exact words.
I had told him I needed space.
That I might stay with my cousin after the baby came.
His face had become completely calm.
Too calm.
Ruiz continued.
“They believed you might disappear before the delivery.”
“So they buried me.”
“They wanted to frighten you into submission.”
“Then why wait for Hawthorne?”
“Because when you didn’t break quickly enough, they changed plans.”
My chest tightened.
“What plans?”
“They contacted someone.”
“Who?”
“A man named Dr. Adrian Vale.”
Vale.
Elizabeth Vale.
Eleanor Vale.
My fake passport.
That name was everywhere.
“Who is he?”
Donovan answered.
“Former director of Hawthorne’s genetics division.”
“Related to me?”
“We don’t know.”
“Related to Elizabeth?”
“Possibly.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
I almost screamed.
Donovan continued before I could.
“But we know he was traveling toward your city yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“The day police found you.”
My skin went cold.
“He was the one coming to collect me.”
“We believe so.”
“Where is he now?”
“He never arrived.”
“Why?”
“His vehicle was found abandoned ninety miles away.”
“Was he taken?”
“We don’t know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Then Deputy Ruiz’s phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her expression changed.
“What now?”
“Elizabeth is awake.”
I sat up.
“And?”
“She refuses to answer questions.”
“Why?”
“She says she’ll only speak to you.”
“Then take me to her.”
The nurse immediately objected.
“You are not leaving this floor.”
“I don’t need to leave.”
I looked at Ruiz.
“Bring her here.”
Ruiz hesitated.
Donovan said, “Do it.”
Twenty-five minutes later, the door opened.
Two officers entered first.
Then a wheelchair.
The woman sitting in it looked like a ghost from a mirror I had never owned.
Her hair was longer.
Her cheeks were hollow.
A thin scar crossed one eyebrow.
But when her eyes met mine, something inside me stopped.
I knew those eyes.
Not because I had seen hers.
Because I had seen them every morning of my life.
Mine.
Elizabeth stared at me.
Then she started crying.
So did I.
Neither of us spoke.
Rachel covered her mouth.
Mara turned away.
Even Deputy Ruiz seemed uncertain where to look.
Elizabeth whispered, “You have Mom’s mouth.”
My whole body froze.
“What did you say?”
“Mom’s mouth.”
“Our mother?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“No.”
“You just said Mom.”
“I mean the woman who raised me.”
I couldn’t process it.
“Who raised you?”
Her eyes filled.
“Your mother.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“She raised me too.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“No.”
“My mother died three years ago.”
“I know.”
“She lived with my father and me.”
“I know.”
“She never mentioned another daughter.”
Elizabeth’s voice broke.
“Because I wasn’t with her all the time.”
“What does that mean?”
“She came to see me.”
My hands shook.
“Where?”
“At Hawthorne.”
The room went silent.
“She knew you were alive?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“My whole life.”
That hurt in a way I was not prepared for.
My mother had known.
My mother who packed my lunches.
My mother who braided my hair.
My mother who cried at my wedding.
She had known another daughter existed somewhere.
“Why didn’t she bring you home?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes.
“Because they wouldn’t let her.”
“Who?”
“Hawthorne.”
“Why?”
“She tried.”
“When?”
“Many times.”
“Then why did my father think you were dead?”
Elizabeth’s face changed.
“He didn’t.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He pretended.”
The floor seemed to vanish beneath me.
“No.”
“He knew.”
“My father’s letter said he discovered later.”
“He did.”
“And then?”
“He found me.”
My throat tightened.
“When?”
“When we were sixteen.”
Sixteen.
I remembered my father changing that year.
More business trips.
More locked drawers.
More calls taken outside.
I thought he was stressed about work.
“He met you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you about me?”
Elizabeth smiled through tears.
“Constantly.”
My heart broke.
“What did he say?”
“That you hated peas.
That you sang badly when you thought nobody was listening.
That you slept with one foot outside the blanket.
That you cried for three days when your goldfish died.”
I covered my mouth.
Only my father knew those things.
“He loved you.”
Elizabeth’s voice broke.
“He loved both of us.”
“Then why didn’t he bring you home?”
“Because Hawthorne threatened you.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“They told him if he exposed them, they would take you too.”
My entire body went cold.
“So he left you there?”
“He tried to get me out quietly.”
“What happened?”
“He almost succeeded.”
“Then?”
“He died.”
I closed my eyes.
The accident.
Six years ago.
Elizabeth whispered, “It wasn’t an accident.”
Donovan stepped forward.
“How do you know?”
“Because I heard them order it.”
Nobody moved.
“Who?”
“Dr. Adrian Vale.”
My eyes opened.
“You heard him?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Hawthorne’s underground facility.”
Rachel frowned.
“Underground?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Most of the public buildings were for paperwork and testing.”
“What happened below?”
Elizabeth looked at me.
“The real program.”
My hand moved protectively over my stomach.
“What did they do to you?”
Her eyes emptied.
“Everything.”
The single word chilled the room.
“Drug trials.
Hormone manipulation.
Embryo research.
Immune-response testing.
Memory conditioning.”
Mara whispered, “Memory?”
Elizabeth looked toward her.
“You’re Mara.”
Mara froze.
“You remember me?”
“Yes.”
“From before the wedding?”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth’s voice hardened.
“You brought our mother.”
Mara stared at her.
“My mother?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“No.”
Then she pointed at me.
“Her mother.”
I felt dizzy.
“My mother was there the night before my wedding?”
“Yes.”
“But she was dead by then.”
“No.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Elizabeth’s face crumpled.
“No.”
I stared at her.
“My mother died three years before my wedding.”
Elizabeth looked terrified now.
“She was alive.”
The room became completely silent.
“No.”
“I saw her.”
“No.”
“She came with Mara.”
Mara backed against the wall.
“No, she didn’t.”
Elizabeth looked at her.
“You were wearing a green jacket.”
Mara’s face drained.
“You stayed outside the room.”
“No.”
“You cried in the hallway.”
“Stop.”
“Your mother told you not to speak to the patient.”
Mara shook her head violently.
“That woman wasn’t her mother.”
I turned toward Mara.
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said she wasn’t my mother.”
“Because your mother was dead.”
Elizabeth whispered, “That wasn’t what Hawthorne told me.”
My pulse roared.
“What did they tell you?”
“That she survived.”
“Survived what?”
“The staged aneurysm.”
The room tilted.
My mother’s sudden death.
No autopsy.
Closed casket because of organ donation arrangements.
My father had handled everything.
No.
That was wrong.
My father was already dead then.
My uncle handled it.
I couldn’t remember seeing her body.
I had been allowed only a brief viewing from several feet away.
My knees weakened even though I was lying down.
Donovan spoke sharply.
“Elizabeth, are you saying their mother is alive?”
“I don’t know now.”
“When did you last see her?”
“The night before the wedding.”
Four years ago.
One year after my mother supposedly died.
I couldn’t breathe.
“What did she say?”
Elizabeth looked at me.
“She was trying to stop your marriage.”
My mouth went dry.
“She knew who he was?”
“Yes.”
“She knew Hawthorne sent him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t she come to me?”
“She tried.”
I remembered something.
The night before my wedding.
A strange voicemail.
A woman crying.
Bad connection.
I thought it was spam.
The message said only:
Don’t marry him.
I had played it twice.
Then deleted it.
My entire body shook.
“That was her.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“I think so.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“What happened after that night?”
“They took her away.”
“Who?”
“Adrian.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never saw her again?”
“No.”
My mother’s face filled my mind.
Her laugh.
Her perfume.
The way she held my chin when I cried.
She might have been alive while I mourned her.
Alive while I married the man sent to control me.
Alive while I became pregnant with the child Hawthorne wanted.
I whispered, “Why would they fake her death?”
Elizabeth answered.
“Because she knew where the program records were stored.”
“Where?”
“She never told them.”
“Did she tell you?”
Elizabeth stared at me.
“No.”
Then her gaze dropped toward my stomach.
“But she said one day you would know.”
I almost laughed from exhaustion.
“How?”
“She gave me a phrase.”
“What phrase?”
Elizabeth looked directly into my eyes.
“When the second heart begins, follow the first lullaby.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
I did.
Maybe.
My mother sang one lullaby when I was little.
Always the same one.
Not a famous song.
A strange little melody she claimed her own mother had sung to her.
I hadn’t thought about it in years.
The words came back slowly.
Seven little windows.
One locked door.
Count past midnight.
Find the floor.
I whispered them.
Elizabeth stared at me.
“How do you know that?”
“Our mother sang it to me.”
“She sang it to me too.”
Donovan immediately began writing.
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Then something clicked.
Seven little windows.
One locked door.
Count past midnight.
Find the floor.
My father’s old house.
After he died, my mother sold it.
But before that, there had been a locked room in the basement.
My father called it storage.
Seven small basement windows ran along the back foundation.
I looked at Donovan.
“My childhood house.”
“What about it?”
“Seven basement windows.”
The room became still.
“One locked door.”
Donovan understood.
“Address?”
I gave it.
Ruiz immediately stepped into the hallway.
Elizabeth grabbed my wrist.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Daniel found something beneath the floor in Unit 317.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“What?”
“A map.”
“Of what?”
“Hawthorne sites.”
“Where is it?”
“He hid it.”
“Where?”
Elizabeth looked at me.
“Inside the chair.”
The restraints.
The hidden room.
Daniel had been leaving evidence while someone kept him captive.
Ruiz returned.
“Officers are being sent to your childhood home.”
Donovan turned.
“And Unit 317?”
“I’ll have the chair reexamined.”
Elizabeth leaned back.
For the first time, she looked exhausted.
I studied her face.
“My sister.”
The words felt unreal.
She looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“I thought you knew.”
“Hawthorne told me we were sisters.”
“You believed them?”
“I believed whatever kept me alive.”
The answer hurt.
Donovan said, “We’ll confirm with DNA.”
Elizabeth nodded.
Then she looked at my stomach.
“When are you due?”
I hesitated.
“Seven weeks.”
Fear crossed her face.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Elizabeth.”
She looked toward Donovan.
“You need to move her.”
“Why?”
“They’ll come again.”
“Hawthorne is compromised.”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Hawthorne isn’t one company.”
Donovan frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“They changed names whenever regulators got close.”
“Which names?”
“I don’t know all of them.”
“Give me one.”
Elizabeth whispered, “Novus Maternal Research.”
The nurse beside me dropped a clipboard.
Everyone turned.
She looked horrified.
“What?”
I asked.
The nurse stared at my wristband.
“That’s the company that funds the prenatal monitoring program on this floor.”
Nobody moved.
I looked at the monitor connected to my unborn child.
The stickers on my skin.
The equipment beside the bed.
The hospital suddenly felt colder than the backyard.
Donovan crossed the room and examined the machine.
There, printed in tiny letters beneath the manufacturer label, was a research partnership sticker.
NOVUS MATERNAL RESEARCH INITIATIVE.
My stomach turned.
“They’re here.”
Elizabeth whispered, “They’ve been here the whole time.”
The nurse backed away.
“I didn’t know.”
Donovan pulled out her phone.
“Shut down access to this wing.”
Deputy Ruiz reached for the door.
Then the lights went out.
Everything vanished into darkness.
The baby’s monitor kept beeping on battery power.
Someone screamed in the hallway.
Emergency lights flickered red.
A voice came over the hospital speaker.
“Temporary power interruption. Please remain calm.”
Donovan drew her weapon.
Ruiz pushed the door shut.
“Everybody stay away from the entrance.”
Rachel grabbed Elizabeth’s wheelchair.
Mara moved beside me.
For the first time since I had known her, she stood between me and danger instead of watching from the side.
Footsteps thundered outside.
Then stopped.
Three knocks.
Slow.
Measured.
Nobody spoke.
Another three.
Deputy Ruiz called, “Identify yourself.”
A man’s voice answered.
“Hospital security.”
Ruiz didn’t open the door.
“Name and badge number.”
Silence.
Then the handle moved.
Locked.
A second later, something struck the door hard.
Rachel gasped.
Elizabeth grabbed my hand.
“They found us.”
Another impact.
The lock shook.
Donovan aimed at the doorway.
“Get behind the bed.”
Mara helped push my bed away from the door.
The baby’s monitor alarm began sounding.
My pulse was too high.
Another blow hit the door.
Then another.
Suddenly, gunshots cracked from the hallway.
I screamed.
The footsteps outside scattered.
Deputy Ruiz shouted into her radio.
No response.
Donovan moved toward the window.
“Internal communications are down.”
Then my phone rang.
Everyone froze.
My muddy phone had been returned earlier and sat inside an evidence pouch on the table.
The screen lit.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Donovan looked at me.
“Don’t answer.”
It rang again.
Elizabeth whispered, “Answer it.”
“Why?”
“Because they already know where you are.”
I looked at Donovan.
She nodded once.
The call was placed on speaker.
I said nothing.
A man’s voice came through.
Calm.
Older.
Almost gentle.
“Hello, Elizabeth.”
I looked at my sister.
She shook her head.
“He means you.”
I stared at the phone.
“Who is this?”
“You already know my name.”
Adrian Vale.
My skin went cold.
“Where is my mother?”
A soft laugh.
“Straight to the important question.”
“Where is she?”
“Alive.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
“Prove it.”
“Soon.”
“No. Now.”
He sighed.
“You inherited your father’s impatience.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“You killed him.”
“I corrected a problem.”
Rachel gasped.
Donovan motioned for everyone to stay quiet while another agent attempted to trace the call.
My voice shook.
“You murdered my father.”
“He made choices.”
“And my mother?”
“She made more interesting ones.”
“Where is she?”
“Close.”
The word terrified me.
“Close where?”
“In the building.”
I stared at Donovan.
She immediately radioed again.
Nothing.
Adrian continued.
“You were never supposed to be buried.”
I looked at Elizabeth.
“Then why did my husband do it?”
“He panicked.”
“Because I wanted to leave?”
“Because he learned you had begun recording him.”
My stomach tightened.
“He knew?”
“Eventually.”
“Then why keep me alive?”
“Because you were still useful.”
The cruelty of it barely touched me anymore.
I had heard worse.
“What do you want with my baby?”
A pause.
For the first time, Adrian sounded almost emotional.
“Not your baby.”
“My child.”
“Your child carries something we have spent thirty years trying to preserve.”
“My child is not yours.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“Which is why your husband became a liability.”
I stopped.
“What did you do to him?”
Adrian laughed quietly.
“You think he’s still in custody?”
Deputy Ruiz’s face changed.
She grabbed her radio.
Nothing.
“What does that mean?”
“He left the county detention center twenty minutes ago.”
“No.”
“He had help.”
Mara whispered, “Mom.”
Adrian heard her.
“Hello, Mara.”
She went pale.
“You know I’m here?”
“I know everyone who’s there.”
I looked at the ceiling.
Camera.
The hospital room had one in the corner.
Donovan followed my gaze.
She pointed her weapon toward it.
Adrian laughed.
“You always were observant.”
“Where is my mother?”
“Ask the woman beside you.”
I turned.
Elizabeth frowned.
“What?”
Adrian continued.
“She knows.”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“You just don’t remember.”
Her face emptied.
Memory conditioning.
My skin went cold.
“What did they do to her?”
“What we had to.”
Elizabeth covered her ears.
“Stop.”
Adrian’s voice softened.
“Think about the lullaby.”
She froze.
Seven little windows.
One locked door.
Count past midnight.
Find the floor.
Elizabeth began trembling.
“No.”
“Remember.”
“Stop.”
Suddenly she screamed.
Rachel caught her before she slid from the wheelchair.
Images seemed to be hitting her all at once.
“I remember stairs.”
“What stairs?”
I asked.
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut.
“White stairs.”
“Where?”
“A door with a red number.”
“What number?”
She shook.
“Seven.”
Adrian whispered through the speaker.
“Very good.”
Donovan shouted, “Where is Facility Seven?”
Adrian ignored her.
Elizabeth’s breath came faster.
“There’s a room below the maternity ward.”
The nurse stared at her.
“There is no room below maternity.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes.
“There is.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there.”
The nurse shook her head.
“This hospital has one basement.”
“No.”
Elizabeth looked toward me.
“It has two.”
The power suddenly returned.
Lights flooded the room.
The camera in the corner blinked.
The phone call disconnected.
Deputy Ruiz’s radio exploded with voices.
Security.
Federal agents.
Hospital staff.
Chaos.
Then one clear message came through.
“Officer down on level B2.”
The nurse whispered, “There is no B2.”
Donovan looked at Elizabeth.
“There is now.”
Agents rushed from the room.
I grabbed Ruiz’s sleeve.
“My mother.”
“We’re looking.”
“Don’t leave me here.”
“You’re safer here.”
“No.”
Elizabeth spoke.
“She isn’t.”
Everyone looked at her.
“They’ll use the elevator shaft.”
“What?”
“The old service elevator.”
The nurse’s face changed.
“There is a sealed elevator behind radiology.”
Donovan turned.
“Where does it go?”
The nurse whispered, “I thought nowhere.”
Elizabeth answered.
“B2.”
Ruiz ordered officers toward radiology.
Then a message came through.
“Suspect located.”
“Who?”
Ruiz demanded.
The answer crackled.
“Male, mid-thirties. Matches husband description.”
My blood froze.
My husband.
He was inside the hospital.
“Location?”
“Approaching maternity.”
Mara stepped closer to my bed.
“No.”
Footsteps thundered outside.
Then my husband’s voice echoed down the hallway.
He was shouting my name.
Not lovingly.
Not desperately.
Furiously.
The voice from the backyard.
The real voice.
“He’s coming.”
Mara grabbed the metal IV pole.
Rachel pushed Elizabeth behind the bed.
Deputy Ruiz raised her weapon.
My husband appeared through the glass panel.
Blood streaked one side of his face.
His hands were empty.
He stared directly at me.
Then smiled.
Police surrounded him.
He lifted both hands.
“I just want to talk to my wife.”
Ruiz shouted, “On the floor!”
He ignored her.
His eyes stayed on me.
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
I almost laughed.
“I understand enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
He dropped to his knees as officers approached.
Then he said something that silenced the hallway.
“Ask Elizabeth who the father is.”
My hand moved to my stomach.
Ruiz forced him down.
Mara shouted, “Shut up!”
He laughed against the floor.
“Daniel isn’t the donor.”
Rachel froze.
I stared at him.
“What?”
He turned his face enough to look at me.
“The files were altered.”
“By who?”
“Our mother.”
Mara went still.
“What are you talking about?”
He laughed again.
“Mom changed the donor name.”
My stomach clenched.
“Then whose name was there?”
He smiled.
“The reason Adrian is willing to burn everything down.”
Deputy Ruiz cuffed him.
“Take him.”
I shouted, “Whose name?”
My husband looked at me one last time.
Then he said it.
“Your father’s.”
The world stopped.
I couldn’t understand.
“My father?”
“Not the man who raised you.”
He was dragged backward.
“The biological one.”
The doors closed between us.
I stared at Elizabeth.
She stared back.
Neither of us knew what he meant.
Then the technician’s laptop chimed.
A new file had finished decrypting.
The title appeared across the screen.
PATERNAL LINEAGE — VALE PROJECT.
Donovan returned just as the file opened.
One photograph appeared.
A younger Adrian Vale.
My stomach turned.
Then a second photograph loaded beside his.
Eleanor Vale.
My supposed grandmother.
Underneath was a family diagram.
Lines.
Dates.
Names.
Then mine.
Then Elizabeth’s.
At the top of our branch was one name.
DR. ADRIAN VALE.
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
Elizabeth whispered, “No.”
Donovan stared at the screen.
According to the file, Adrian Vale was not merely the scientist who had hunted my family for decades.
He was listed as our biological father.
And before anyone could speak, another file opened automatically.
A video.
My mother appeared on screen.
Alive.
Older.
Terrified.
She looked directly into the camera.
“If my daughters ever see this, you need to know Adrian is lying about one thing.”
I began crying.
“Mom.”
She continued.
“He is not your father.”
Everyone froze.
My mother leaned closer to the camera.
“He wants you to believe that because the truth is worse.”
The video glitched.
Then returned.
Behind her was a door marked B2-07.
The same red number Elizabeth remembered.
My mother whispered,
“You were not born from the Vale Project.”
A crash sounded somewhere behind her.
She turned.
Then looked back into the camera.
“You were created to end it.”
The video cut to black.
At that exact moment, a federal agent burst through the door.
“We found B2.”
Donovan turned.
“And?”
The agent looked at me.
“There are twelve rooms.”
My heart pounded.
“What is inside them?”
He swallowed.
“Eleven are empty.”
“And the twelfth?”
He looked pale.
“There’s a woman inside.”
My hands began shaking.
“Who?”
“We don’t have a confirmed identity.”
I already knew.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
I started crying before he finished.
“And she keeps asking for her daughters.”
