PART 4 — THE FILE WITH MY NAME ON IT
Wendy Vance had known exactly who I was long before I ever met her son.
For several seconds, I couldn’t move.
I stood there with Martin pressed against my chest while my second baby remained inside the transport carrier beside the paramedic.
Around us, deputies were moving between the maternity residence and their vehicles, carrying boxes of files, computers, medication logs, and sealed evidence bags.
But all I could see was the folder in the detective’s hands.
My maiden name was printed across the top.
HAILEY BENNETT.
Beneath it was my date of birth.
Twenty-nine years ago.
“Give me that.”
The detective hesitated.
“Mrs. Vance, this is evidence.”
“That’s my name.”
“I understand.”
“Then tell me why my name is inside a building where stolen babies were being hidden.”
Nobody answered.
I turned toward Wendy.
She was standing beside a patrol vehicle with an officer between us.
“Why do you have a file about me?”
Wendy stared straight ahead.
“WENDY!”
Her eyes finally met mine.
There was no panic anymore.
No fake concern.
No grandmotherly warmth.
Just exhaustion.
“You should take your children and go home.”
I almost laughed.
“Home?”
My voice cracked.
“You stole my newborn son, forged my signature, lied that he was dead, and apparently kept a file about me since the day I was born.”
I stepped closer.
“And you think I’m going home?”
Wendy said nothing.
Mark was still holding the photograph that suggested Wendy had stolen him as an infant.
His hands were shaking.
“Answer her.”
Wendy looked at him.
“Mark—”
“ANSWER HER.”
Everyone nearby turned.
I had never heard Mark shout at his mother before.
Not once.
Wendy’s face hardened.
“Lower your voice.”
Mark gave a broken laugh.
“You’ve been telling me what to do my entire life.”
“Because I’ve protected you your entire life.”
“Protected me?”
He held up the photograph.
“Did you steal me?”
Wendy glanced toward the officers.
“This isn’t the place.”
“YES OR NO?”
She remained silent.
Mark’s eyes filled with tears.
That silence was an answer.
He staggered backward.
Rebecca stepped closer to me.
“Hailey, don’t engage with them anymore. Let law enforcement handle this.”
But the detective was already opening my folder.
He couldn’t hand it to me, but he began reading.
“Patient: female infant.”
My breath stopped.
“Birth mother…”
He paused.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The mother’s name is listed as Evelyn Bennett.”
I almost collapsed with relief.
“That’s my mother.”
At least that part made sense.
My mother had died when I was nineteen.
She had raised me alone after my father left when I was young.
She had never mentioned Wendy.
Not once.
The detective continued.
“There’s a notation regarding a private neonatal transfer.”
My relief disappeared.
“What transfer?”
He read silently.
Then his expression changed.
“Mrs. Vance, were you born at St. Matthew’s Medical Center?”
“Yes.”
“Premature?”
“Seven weeks.”
“Did your mother ever tell you that you spent time in another facility after birth?”
“No.”
The detective turned another page.
“This record says you were transferred at eleven days old.”
“To where?”
He looked toward the mansion.
My stomach turned.
“No.”
“According to this, you were transferred to a predecessor organization connected to the Vance foundation.”
I looked at Wendy.
“You knew me when I was a baby?”
Wendy finally spoke.
“I knew of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were returned to your mother.”
“Returned?”
The word hit me.
“Why would I need to be returned?”
Wendy closed her eyes.
“Because your mother changed her mind.”
The entire world seemed to tilt.
“Changed her mind about what?”
Wendy didn’t answer.
Claire whispered beside me.
“Adoption.”
I looked at her.
Then back at Wendy.
“My mother tried to give me up?”
“Not exactly,” Wendy said.
“Then explain it.”
She looked toward the detectives.
One of them stepped closer.
“Mrs. Vance, you don’t have to answer questions without counsel.”
Wendy gave him a thin smile.
“Believe me, Detective, I’m aware.”
Then she looked at me.
“Your mother was nineteen.”
“No. She was twenty.”
“She turned twenty six days after you were born.”
My stomach dropped.
Wendy knew details.
Personal details.
“She was alone,” Wendy continued. “Your father disappeared halfway through the pregnancy. She had no money. No family willing to help.”
“Stop.”
“She came to our organization.”
“Stop talking about my mother.”
“She wanted assistance.”
“Then why was I transferred?”
“Because assistance always came with conditions.”
Claire made a disgusted sound.
Wendy looked at her.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Claire stepped forward.
“You told me the same things.”
Wendy ignored her.
I couldn’t.
“What conditions?”
Wendy looked back at me.
“The foundation covered medical expenses. Housing. Food. Prenatal treatment.”
“In exchange for babies?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“In exchange for consideration.”
Rebecca spoke sharply.
“That’s deliberately vague.”
Wendy smiled faintly.
“You’re an attorney. You understand why.”
The detective interrupted.
“We’ll establish the details from the records.”
He flipped through more pages.
Then stopped.
“Here’s something.”
“What?”
“An attempted placement agreement.”
My knees weakened.
“Attempted?”
“Your mother apparently signed preliminary paperwork.”
I felt tears coming.
“She never told me.”
“She may have been ashamed.”
Wendy spoke before I could answer.
“She wasn’t ashamed.”
I looked at her.
“Then why didn’t she tell me?”
“Because she spent the rest of her life terrified we’d come back.”
My heart stopped.
“We?”
Wendy immediately realized she’d said too much.
The detective noticed too.
“Who’s ‘we,’ Mrs. Vance?”
Wendy’s mouth closed.
Mark stared at her.
“You weren’t doing this alone.”
She looked away.
“Who else was involved?”
Nothing.
“Mom.”
She flinched at the word.
Mark noticed.
Then something strange happened.
He laughed.
It wasn’t amusement.
It sounded like something inside him had finally snapped.
“You’re not my mother, are you?”
Wendy looked at him.
“I raised you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I loved you.”
“You stole me.”
“I saved you.”
“FROM WHO?”
“From a woman who didn’t want you!”
The words exploded out of her.
Mark froze.
Everyone did.
Wendy seemed to realize there was no taking them back.
Mark’s face crumpled.
“You told me my biological mother died.”
Wendy said nothing.
“You told me she died giving birth.”
“Mark…”
“Was that another lie?”
Wendy looked away.
“Is she alive?”
No answer.
“IS SHE ALIVE?”
The detective holding Mark’s file quietly spoke.
“According to this, she was alive when the file was last updated.”
Mark turned.
“When?”
The detective checked.
“Nine years ago.”
Mark stared at Wendy.
Nine years.
His biological mother might have been alive during our marriage.
While Wendy attended our wedding.
While she gave speeches about family.
While Mark believed the woman who gave birth to him had been dead his entire life.
“What’s her name?” he asked.
The detective hesitated.
Then read it.
“Laura Whitmore.”
Mark whispered the name.
“Laura.”
Like he was trying to remember someone he’d never met.
Then Wendy suddenly said:
“She doesn’t want you.”
Mark looked at her.
“How would you know?”
Wendy’s expression betrayed her.
Mark understood.
“You’ve spoken to her.”
Silence.
“YOU’VE BEEN IN CONTACT WITH HER?”
Wendy looked toward her attorney, who had just arrived with another man.
“I won’t answer anything else.”
Mark took a step toward her.
A deputy stopped him.
“You kept her away from me.”
“Sir, step back.”
Mark didn’t fight the deputy.
He simply stared at Wendy.
“You didn’t save me.”
His voice became quiet.
“You built my entire life out of lies.”
For the first time, Wendy looked hurt.
Part of me wanted to feel sympathy.
I couldn’t.
Because my babies were beside me.
And one of them had nearly become another name buried inside her files.
The detective returned to my folder.
“There are handwritten notes here.”
“What kind?”
“Updates.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“From when?”
He flipped through them.
“Age five.”
My stomach tightened.
“Age nine.”
I stopped breathing.
“Age thirteen.”
“What?”
“Age eighteen.”
My skin went cold.
Then:
“Age twenty-three.”
That was the year I met Mark.
I stared at Wendy.
“You were watching me.”
She didn’t respond.
The detective continued.
“Age twenty-five. Marriage.”
Rebecca stepped between us.
“This wasn’t coincidence.”
I looked at her.
“What wasn’t?”
“You meeting Mark.”
I didn’t want to understand.
But I did.
I turned toward Wendy.
“Did you arrange for us to meet?”
Wendy’s silence was unbearable.
Mark shook his head.
“No.”
I remembered that night.
A charity fundraiser.
My friend canceled at the last minute.
I almost didn’t go.
Mark had approached me near the silent auction table.
He spilled champagne.
We laughed.
He asked for my number.
It had always felt accidental.
Romantic.
The kind of story couples tell for decades.
Except Wendy’s foundation had hosted the fundraiser.
My blood turned cold.
“You invited me.”
Wendy said nothing.
“That invitation came to my office.”
Nothing.
“You sent it.”
Finally:
“Yes.”
Mark looked like he’d been punched.
“But I approached her.”
“You were supposed to.”
“What?”
Wendy sighed.
“I suggested you introduce yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought she’d be good for you.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
Wendy’s eyes moved toward my babies.
I saw it.
Rebecca saw it too.
“Why Hailey?” Rebecca asked.
Wendy didn’t answer.
The detective looked through the folder again.
Then he pulled out a medical report.
“There’s genetic screening.”
My stomach dropped.
“What genetic screening?”
“From your neonatal records.”
Rebecca frowned.
“Why would a maternity charity retain genetic screening for twenty-nine years?”
The detective turned the page.
Then another.
“There’s more recent testing.”
“How recent?”
He checked.
“Four years ago.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“Blood panel and genetic profile.”
“I never agreed to genetic testing.”
Mark suddenly looked at Wendy.
“Four years ago?”
Something in his expression changed.
“What?” I asked.
Mark rubbed both hands over his face.
“Mom convinced us to use her private clinic for our annual physicals.”
I remembered.
Wendy said the clinic had better doctors.
More thorough testing.
She paid for everything.
“She tested us.”
Rebecca looked horrified.
“Without informed consent.”
“Why?”
The detective continued reading.
Then he became very still.
“What?”
He looked at Mark.
Then me.
“There’s a compatibility analysis.”
“For what?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Detective?”
“Reproductive compatibility.”
I felt sick.
Mark stared at Wendy.
“You wanted us to have children.”
Wendy said nothing.
“You arranged for us to meet because you wanted us to have children.”
“Why?” I whispered.
Wendy finally looked at me.
“Because you were unusual.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your neonatal screening showed a rare hereditary marker.”
My mind spun.
“What marker?”
“Something valuable to the research division funding the foundation.”
Rebecca’s expression sharpened.
“Research division?”
The detective immediately looked toward the evidence boxes.
“Nobody mentioned a research division.”
Wendy realized she’d made another mistake.
“Who funded it?” Rebecca demanded.
Wendy refused to answer.
Daniel came running from the building before anyone could say more.
“We found a basement.”
The detective frowned.
“We already searched downstairs.”
“Not that basement.”
“What?”
“There’s a concealed elevator behind the records room.”
Wendy’s face drained of color.
That reaction told us everything.
Daniel continued.
“It requires biometric access.”
The detective turned toward Wendy.
“Open it.”
“No.”
“You want us to get a warrant?”
“Get one.”
“We already have authority to secure evidence related to the suspected unlawful confinement and transfer of infants.”
Her attorney stepped forward.
“I strongly advise—”
A cry suddenly came from inside the maternity residence.
Not a baby’s cry.
An adult woman’s scream.
Every officer turned.
Then another scream.
“HELP!”
Deputies ran toward the building.
Daniel followed.
Rebecca told me to stay outside.
For once, I listened.
I sat in the back of her car with both my babies.
A paramedic had finally cleared my second son as stable enough to remain beside me while they arranged proper hospital evaluation.
I held one twin in each arm.
Martin.
And the baby we’d finally decided to name Matthew.
Martin and Matthew.
Together.
Exactly as they should have been from the beginning.
I kissed Matthew’s forehead.
“I’m sorry.”
Tears landed on his blanket.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
He opened his tiny eyes.
And something inside me finally broke.
“I thought you were dead.”
Rebecca squeezed my shoulder.
“You found him.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“But you did.”
I looked toward the building.
“No.”
“Judy found him.”
I wiped my face.
“And somebody needs to make sure she gets her job back.”
Rebecca almost smiled.
“I think Judy is going to have bigger concerns than employment once this investigation becomes public.”
Then deputies emerged from the residence.
They were escorting three women outside.
All three were young.
One was pregnant.
Another looked as though she’d recently given birth.
The third was crying.
Claire ran toward them.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I know her.”
She pointed toward the woman who had recently given birth.
“That’s Mia.”
“Who’s Mia?”
“She contacted me online three months ago. She said Wendy’s foundation was helping her.”
Claire covered her mouth.
“I told her to stay away.”
The woman saw Claire.
“Claire?”
They embraced.
The story was unraveling in real time.
More officers entered.
More evidence came out.
Then Daniel appeared again.
“Hailey.”
I didn’t like his expression.
“What happened?”
“We opened the elevator.”
“How?”
“One of the employees cooperated.”
“And?”
“There’s a medical facility underground.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“What kind of medical facility?”
“Small laboratory. Procedure rooms. Cryogenic storage.”
My stomach twisted.
“What were they doing?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then Daniel looked at my twins.
“But we found records.”
“More adoption records?”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“Embryo records.”
I stopped breathing.
Rebecca whispered, “Oh God.”
Daniel continued.
“Dozens of them.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“One cabinet is labeled with family names.”
My mouth went dry.
“Is mine there?”
“Yes.”
“Bennett?”
“No.”
He looked directly at Mark.
“Vance.”
Mark, who was standing several yards away with an officer, heard him.
He slowly walked closer.
“What did you say?”
Daniel repeated it.
“There’s a Vance cabinet.”
Mark looked toward Wendy.
Her attorney was speaking urgently into a phone.
“What’s inside?”
Daniel hesitated.
“That’s why I came outside.”
He handed Rebecca a photograph he’d taken before the evidence was sealed.
It showed rows of labeled storage containers.
Codes.
Dates.
Initials.
Then I saw one label.
HV-MV.
Hailey Vance.
Mark Vance.
My blood went cold.
Beside it:
EMBRYO SERIES A.
I stared at Mark.
“What is that?”
He looked genuinely terrified.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
Daniel swiped to another photograph.
A medical chart.
At the top:
VANCE COMPATIBILITY PROJECT.
SUBJECT H.B.
SUBJECT M.V.
TARGET: MALE DIZYGOTIC TWIN GESTATION.
My hands started shaking.
“Male twins.”
Rebecca read it again.
“They were targeting male twins.”
Mark looked toward our babies.
“No.”
I couldn’t breathe.
My pregnancy hadn’t simply been observed.
Someone had expected twins.
Specifically boys.
I remembered our fertility struggles.
Two years of trying.
Then Wendy recommending a specialist.
Dr. Leonard Shaw.
A private clinic.
Medication.
Monitoring.
Finally, pregnancy.
Twins.
I looked at Mark.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Did you know?”
“I swear to you, Hailey, I didn’t know this.”
“But you knew they were taking Matthew.”
His face collapsed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He started crying.
“I thought it was temporary.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Mom told me you were dying.”
“You SIGNED ADOPTION PAPERS.”
“She told me they weren’t adoption papers!”
“The video showed her telling you to say our baby was stillborn.”
“I know.”
“YOU KNEW!”
“I panicked!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You let me believe my child was dead because you panicked?”
“I thought she’d bring him back.”
“Why would you believe that?”
Mark looked at Wendy.
“Because she told me if I didn’t cooperate, both babies could die.”
Silence.
Even Wendy’s attorney stopped talking.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
Mark wiped his face.
“The night before your emergency, Mom called me.”
My skin went cold.
“What did she say?”
“She said something had gone wrong with the pregnancy protocol.”
“Protocol?”
“Those were her words. I didn’t understand.”
“You never asked?”
“I did.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said one baby needed to be removed from the hospital immediately after delivery.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“And you agreed?”
“No. I told her she was insane.”
Mark looked at me.
“Then she sent me something.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
His voice dropped.
“Your medication.”
I stopped breathing.
“What medication?”
“The injection your doctor prescribed during the final month.”
My mind raced.
I’d been given injections because my doctor said they would help reduce complications.
Mark continued.
“Mom told me the formulation had been changed.”
My entire body went numb.
“Changed how?”
“She said if I didn’t cooperate, she’d make sure the hospital never found out what you’d actually been given.”
I stared at him.
“You knew someone tampered with my medication and you didn’t tell me?”
“I was terrified.”
“You could have saved me!”
“I KNOW!”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
The detective immediately stepped forward.
“Mr. Vance, you’re saying medication administered to your wife may have been deliberately altered?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
Mark looked at Wendy.
“My mother arranged it.”
Wendy finally lost control.
“Shut your mouth, Mark.”
Everyone turned.
She realized her mistake.
The detective stared at her.
“Mrs. Vance, don’t say another word.”
But Mark was finished protecting her.
“What was in the injection?”
Wendy said nothing.
“What did you give my wife?”
“Mark.”
“WHAT DID YOU GIVE HER?”
“I was protecting the project!”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Her attorney closed his eyes.
Wendy looked around.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that there was no way back.
The detective spoke carefully.
“What project?”
She said nothing.
Mark stepped closer.
“Our children?”
Nothing.
“Was this about our children?”
Wendy’s face changed.
And that was enough.
I held Martin and Matthew tighter.
“You used me.”
Wendy looked at me.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“You think this began with you?”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“It began before Mark was born.”
The detective stepped forward.
“Keep talking.”
Her attorney grabbed her arm.
“Do not.”
But Wendy pulled away.
“Decades of research. Decades of failures.”
“Research into what?” Rebecca asked.
Wendy looked at the twins.
“Hereditary compatibility.”
“For what?”
“That’s enough,” her attorney snapped.
Wendy ignored him.
“Some genetic combinations are extraordinarily rare.”
I felt sick.
“And ours?”
“Almost perfect.”
Mark whispered, “You bred us.”
Wendy flinched.
“Don’t use that word.”
“What word would you prefer?”
“I gave you opportunities.”
“You manipulated our entire lives!”
“I gave you a family!”
“You STOLE me!”
Wendy’s face twisted.
“And look what I gave you!”
She pointed toward the twins.
“Two healthy sons!”
I pulled them against me.
“You don’t get to talk about my children.”
“They exist because of me.”
“No.”
I stood despite the pain.
“They exist despite you.”
Wendy stared at me.
And for the first time, I saw hatred.
Pure hatred.
Then an officer rushed from the house carrying a laptop.
“Detective.”
“What?”
“We found something in the lab.”
He turned the screen around.
A database.
Hundreds of entries.
Patient numbers.
Birth dates.
Transfer codes.
Genetic profiles.
The detective scrolled.
Then stopped.
“What the hell?”
“What?” Rebecca asked.
He looked at me.
“There are two entries under your pregnancy.”
I almost laughed from panic.
“Of course. Twins.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Three.”
Everything stopped.
“What?”
“Three fetal identification numbers.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“I had twins.”
The officer enlarged the record.
FETUS A.
FETUS B.
FETUS C.
My legs weakened.
“No.”
Mark looked confused.
“The ultrasounds always showed two.”
Daniel examined the screen.
“Unless the third record doesn’t refer to this pregnancy.”
Rebecca frowned.
“Then what does it refer to?”
The officer opened the attached file.
A date appeared.
Five years earlier.
Before we’d started trying for children.
Before our fertility treatments.
Before I had ever been pregnant.
Then a procedure note.
OOCYTE RETRIEVAL.
I shook my head.
“I’ve never had my eggs retrieved.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
The officer scrolled.
There was my signature.
Forged.
Again.
A fertility clinic authorization.
A sedation record.
A collection report.
And one doctor’s name.
DR. LEONARD SHAW.
The same fertility specialist Wendy had later recommended.
My stomach turned.
“When?”
I whispered.
The officer gave the date.
I remembered that day.
I had gone to Wendy’s private clinic for what I’d been told was a minor diagnostic procedure because I’d been having abdominal pain.
They sedated me.
I woke hours later.
Wendy drove me home.
I had never questioned it.
Until now.
“They stole my eggs.”
Rebecca’s face went pale.
“It appears possible.”
“Why?”
Nobody answered.
The officer clicked another file.
EMBRYO CREATED: HB-03.
STATUS: VIABLE.
TRANSFER STATUS…
He stopped.
“What?”
He looked toward the detective.
Then toward me.
“Transferred.”
My heart slammed.
“Into me?”
“No.”
I couldn’t understand.
“Then where?”
He opened the recipient record.
The name was redacted.
But there was a birth outcome.
LIVE BIRTH.
MALE.
Four years ago.
I couldn’t breathe.
Mark stared at the screen.
“Are you saying…”
The officer didn’t answer.
I did.
“There’s another child.”
My voice sounded like someone else’s.
A child created from my stolen genetic material.
Born four years before my twins.
“Where is he?”
The detective searched the database.
The recipient field remained encrypted.
“We don’t know yet.”
“Find him.”
“We will.”
“FIND HIM!”
The twins began crying.
I immediately lowered my voice.
“I’m sorry.”
I kissed them.
“I’m sorry.”
Then Wendy laughed.
Quietly.
Every person turned toward her.
I had never heard a colder sound.
“You won’t find him in those files.”
The detective stepped closer.
“Why?”
Wendy smiled.
“Because I removed his identity years ago.”
My stomach turned.
“Who is he?”
She looked directly at me.
“I told them it was too dangerous to keep him nearby.”
“WHO IS HE?”
Her attorney told her to stop.
She ignored him.
“But someone became sentimental.”
“Who?”
Wendy’s eyes moved past me.
Toward the maternity residence.
And suddenly, the front doors opened.
An elderly man was being escorted outside by two officers.
White hair.
Expensive suit.
Walking cane.
I recognized him immediately.
My knees nearly gave out.
Dr. Leonard Shaw.
The fertility doctor.
The man who had treated me.
The man who had told me I was pregnant with twins.
The man who had hugged Mark when we heard both heartbeats.
He looked at me.
Then at my babies.
Then at Wendy.
“Leonard,” Wendy said bitterly.
“You should have destroyed the records.”
He stopped walking.
“So should you.”
The detective stepped between them.
“Nobody speaks.”
But Dr. Shaw looked at me again.
And there was something in his expression I couldn’t understand.
Guilt.
Deep, unbearable guilt.
“Hailey,” he whispered.
“Don’t say my name.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where is the child?”
He closed his eyes.
“Where is he?”
“He’s safe.”
“WHERE?”
The detective told him not to answer without counsel.
Dr. Shaw ignored him.
“He’s been safe for four years.”
“With who?”
Dr. Shaw looked at Wendy.
She shook her head once.
A warning.
He turned back to me.
Then he said:
“With your sister.”
I stopped breathing.
“My what?”
“Your sister.”
“I don’t have a sister.”
Dr. Shaw’s eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, Hailey.”
He looked toward the file containing my birth records.
“You do.”
The world seemed to disappear beneath my feet.
“My mother only had me.”
“No.”
Dr. Shaw shook his head.
“That’s what she was told.”
I stared at him.
“What are you saying?”
“Your mother didn’t deliver one baby twenty-nine years ago.”
Wendy closed her eyes.
Dr. Shaw continued.
“She delivered twins.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Two girls.”
My entire body went cold.
“One was returned to Evelyn Bennett.”
He looked at me.
“You.”
“And the other?”
Dr. Shaw looked toward Wendy.
“Was transferred.”
I heard Claire whisper, “Oh my God.”
“Where is she?”
Dr. Shaw swallowed.
“She’s alive.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
“She’s the woman raising the four-year-old boy created from your embryo.”
My legs nearly gave out.
My stolen twin sister was alive.
She had been raising a child genetically connected to me.
And I had never known either of them existed.
“What’s her name?”
Dr. Shaw looked at me.
“Rachel.”
Rachel.
I whispered it.
My sister had a name.
“Where does Rachel live?”
Nobody answered.
“WHERE IS SHE?”
Dr. Shaw looked toward Wendy.
Then back at me.
“That’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
“Rachel discovered the truth three days ago.”
My blood froze.
“How?”
“She found one of the old files.”
“And?”
“She called Wendy.”
I looked at Wendy.
“What did you do?”
Wendy said nothing.
Dr. Shaw lowered his voice.
“Rachel took the boy and disappeared.”
My heart pounded.
“Then let her disappear.”
Dr. Shaw shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“The boy has a medical condition.”
“What condition?”
“Something related to the genetic work they were doing.”
My anger vanished beneath sudden fear.
“Is he sick?”
“He needs treatment.”
“Then why would she run?”
“Because she discovered what Wendy intended to do next.”
I slowly turned toward Wendy.
“What were you planning?”
Nothing.
Dr. Shaw answered for her.
“Another procedure.”
“On a four-year-old?”
“Yes.”
“What procedure?”
His face twisted with shame.
“I won’t describe it here.”
“Was it necessary to save his life?”
“No.”
My stomach turned.
“Then why?”
“Research.”
That single word made every person around us go silent.
I looked at Wendy.
“You were going to use a child for research.”
She finally spoke.
“You don’t understand what was at stake.”
“He’s FOUR.”
“He could have changed thousands of lives.”
“He’s not your experiment!”
“And neither are my sons.”
Wendy looked at Martin and Matthew.
Something changed in her eyes.
I saw it.
Rebecca saw it too.
She stepped between Wendy and me.
“What?”
I demanded.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Wendy remained silent.
Dr. Shaw looked down.
“Doctor.”
Nothing.
“Look at me.”
He slowly raised his eyes.
“Are Martin and Matthew part of this project?”
His silence answered.
My heart broke all over again.
“What were you planning to do to my babies?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Wendy was.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Dr. Shaw swallowed.
“Follow them.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I withdrew from the project.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
“When Rachel discovered everything.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Wendy.
That was why Matthew had been moved.
Not sold.
Not adopted.
Transferred.
They were trying to keep one twin under their control.
I finally understood.
“You weren’t getting rid of Matthew.”
Wendy said nothing.
“You were keeping him.”
Her eyes met mine.
“Why only one?”
Silence.
Then Mark spoke.
“Control group.”
Everyone turned toward him.
His face was white.
“What?” I whispered.
He looked at the research notes on the laptop.
“Two genetically similar children.”
He swallowed.
“One raised normally.”
“One kept under observation.”
Dr. Shaw closed his eyes.
Mark was right.
I held my sons so tightly that Rebecca gently touched my arm.
“Hailey.”
I loosened my grip.
“I’m sorry.”
I kissed both babies.
“No one is taking either of you again.”
The detective began giving orders.
The property was locked down.
Wendy, Mark, Dr. Shaw, and several employees were separated for questioning.
Emergency child-protection teams were called for the other infants.
Federal investigators were contacted because records crossed state lines.
And then, as the sun began sinking behind the trees, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
Rebecca looked over.
“Answer on speaker.”
I did.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then:
“Hailey?”
A woman’s voice.
My heart stopped.
“Who is this?”
The woman started crying.
“My name is Rachel.”
Everything around me disappeared.
I couldn’t speak.
“Hailey?”
“I’m here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For calling like this.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you my sister?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
My eyes filled with tears.
I looked down at my sons.
Twenty-nine years.
Twenty-nine years of believing I was an only child.
“What happened?”
“Wendy called me three days ago.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me I needed to bring Noah back.”
“Noah.”
The boy.
“That’s his name?”
“Yes.”
“Is he okay?”
Rachel began crying harder.
“For now.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Rachel, police are here. Wendy can’t—”
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Wendy isn’t the person I’m hiding from.”
Every hair on my body rose.
“Then who?”
Rachel went silent.
“Rachel?”
“There’s someone above Wendy.”
Rebecca immediately started recording.
“What do you mean above her?”
“The foundation isn’t hers.”
I looked toward Wendy.
“Then whose is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rachel, please.”
“I found payments. Instructions. Medical orders. Wendy reports to someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his real name.”
“His?”
“Yes.”
“What does Wendy call him?”
Rachel took a shaky breath.
“The Chairman.”
Daniel, standing nearby, immediately looked at the detective.
Rachel continued.
“He knows Wendy was arrested.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“And he knows about you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because ten minutes ago, someone found us.”
My heart stopped.
“Rachel…”
“I got Noah out through the back door.”
“Where are you now?”
“We’re running.”
A sound came through the phone.
A car engine.
Then Rachel gasped.
“No.”
“What?”
“They found us again.”
“CALL 911!”
“I can’t.”
“Tell me where you are!”
“I don’t know the road.”
“Look for a sign!”
I heard Noah crying in the background.
Then Rachel’s breathing became frantic.
“Hailey, listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“If something happens to me, you need to find Noah.”
“Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“Promise me.”
“Rachel—”
“PROMISE!”
“I promise.”
A vehicle horn blared.
Rachel screamed.
The call crackled.
Then I heard a man’s voice somewhere near her.
“Rachel!”
She whispered one final sentence into the phone.
A sentence that turned everyone around me silent.
“The Chairman is already at the maternity house.”
The call disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Then slowly looked toward the building.
Police surrounded it.
Investigators were inside.
Staff members were being questioned.
Dozens of people had moved through the property.
Which meant the person behind everything could have been standing among us the entire time.
Watching.
Waiting.
Pretending to help.
Daniel immediately reached for his phone.
The detective shouted for officers to secure every exit.
And then the maternity residence suddenly went dark.
Every light.
Every monitor.
Every security camera.
Gone.
Someone had cut the power.
“GET HAILEY AND THE BABIES OUT OF HERE!” the detective shouted.
Rebecca grabbed my arm.
Daniel ran toward us.
Then an explosion of glass came from the second floor.
People screamed.
Officers drew their weapons.
An alarm began wailing from somewhere beneath the building.
And through all that chaos, my phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown sender.
I opened it.
A photograph loaded.
Rachel.
She was standing beside a little boy with dark hair.
Noah.
Behind them was tonight’s date written on a piece of paper.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO US.
WE HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO YOU.
My blood turned to ice.
Then another photograph arrived.
This one had been taken less than a minute earlier.
It showed me standing outside the maternity residence.
Holding Martin and Matthew.
Someone nearby had photographed us.
Someone who was still here.
A final message appeared.
DON’T TRUST THE POLICE.
DON’T TRUST REBECCA.
AND WHATEVER YOU DO…
DON’T LET MARK LEAVE.
I immediately looked toward the patrol vehicle where Mark had been standing.
Empty.
“Where’s Mark?”
Nobody answered.
“WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?”
Daniel turned.
The officer assigned to watch Mark came running from the side of the building.
“He’s gone.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean gone?”
“We lost him during the power failure.”
Then another officer shouted from inside the residence.
“WE HAVE A VEHICLE LEAVING THROUGH THE EAST SERVICE GATE!”
Daniel ran.
The detective followed.
I stared toward the trees as headlights disappeared down a narrow road behind the property.
My phone vibrated one final time.
This message wasn’t from the unknown number.
It was from Mark.
I opened it.
HAILEY, I KNOW WHERE RACHEL AND NOAH ARE.
I swallowed.
Another message.
I KNOW WHO THE CHAIRMAN IS.
Then:
AND IF I DON’T GET TO THEM FIRST, YOUR SISTER AND THAT LITTLE BOY WILL BE DEAD BEFORE MORNING.
I stared into the darkness where Mark’s vehicle had disappeared.
For six years, I had thought I knew my husband.
For three days, I had thought I understood his betrayal.
But now Mark was running toward the people behind everything.
And I had no idea whether he was trying to save my sister…
Or finish what his mother had started.
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