Chapter 10 - WHY I WAS CHOSEN
I did not go alone.
I simply made Evan believe I did.
The meeting point was an abandoned printing plant in Newark.
Rachel hated the location.
Nathan hated the plan.
My father called it insanity.
Grant insisted on coming.
I refused.
“If Evan wants me, then your presence changes the equation.”
“She’s my—”
He stopped himself.
Ellie.
He had almost said my daughter.
Maybe he still had the right.
Biology was no longer the simplest definition in our lives.
I wore no visible microphone.
Rachel placed a transmitter inside the heel of my shoe.
Two teams positioned themselves three blocks away.
I entered at 9:14 p.m.
One light burned inside the vast warehouse.
Celeste sat at a folding table.
Alive.
Alone.
I approached slowly.
“Where is he?”
She looked exhausted.
“Watching.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did he take you?”
Her answer surprised me.
“No.”
“You went voluntarily?”
“At first.”
“What does that mean?”
“I contacted him.”
My anger sharpened.
“You knew Evan was alive.”
“Not until three weeks ago.”
“You told Grant?”
“I was trying to confirm it first.”
“By sleeping with him?”
Pain crossed her face.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
She looked down.
“I didn’t intend for that to happen.”
“People say that about rain.
Not affairs.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t insult me.”
A voice came from the darkness.
“She’s telling the truth.”
I turned.
Evan Hale stepped into the light.
Seven years since our wedding.
Five years since his supposed death.
He looked older than he should have.
Scar along his neck.
Weight lost.
But it was him.
Grant’s best friend.
The dead man.
“Hello, Mara.”
I wanted to strike him.
Instead I said, “Why is my daughter in your file?”
His eyes changed at the word daughter.
“Because Ellie is the reason I came back.”
“You’re claiming to be her father?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“You know the genetic markers.”
“Yes.”
“Then explain.”
He pulled out a chair.
I remained standing.
“Evan.”
He sat.
“Your fertility clinic didn’t use my sperm.”
I stared.
“Then why does Ellie share your paternal markers?”
“Because the sample belonged to my father.”
For one moment, I could not process the words.
Victor Hale.
A man old enough to be my father.
“No.”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Then make me stop thinking it.”
“Ellie was created using Grant’s sperm.”
I froze.
“She is Grant’s biological daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Then why Victor’s markers?”
Evan looked toward Celeste.
She nodded slightly.
Evan continued.
“Because Ellie’s embryo was genetically modified.”
Every part of me went cold.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It shouldn’t have been possible legally.”
“What did they do?”
“Introduced a repaired gene sequence.”
“From Victor?”
“Partially.”
“Why?”
“Because Grant carries a recessive mutation.”
Grant had never mentioned one.
“What mutation?”
“A cardiac disorder.
Rare.
Potentially fatal.”
I remembered his brother dying at nineteen.
Sudden cardiac arrest.
The family called it a congenital defect.
My mouth went dry.
“Grant knew?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“Not until my father found his records.”
“Why would Victor care?”
“Because Grant was my best friend.”
I stared at him.
“That’s your explanation?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“My father also believed the Kingsley succession trust could fund medical research on a scale nobody else could.”
There it was.
Money.
Power.
Purpose.
The holy trinity of people who decide rules are for everyone else.
“So you altered my child to gain access to my family?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Evan stood.
“My father discovered Samuel Vale had already been experimenting on embryos connected to wealthy families.
He wanted to expose him.”
“Samuel died eight years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Before Ellie existed.”
“But his network didn’t.”
“Dr. Shaw.”
“Yes.”
My fertility doctor.
“She continued the work?”
“With funding.”
“From whom?”
Evan looked at me.
“Your grandfather.”
I laughed.
“No.”
“Not knowingly.”
I waited.
“Northstar funded legitimate genetic disease research.
Money was diverted.
Samuel’s people used it to finance unauthorized embryo modification.”
“And Ellie?”
“Was supposed to be proof the technique worked.”
My chest tightened.
“My daughter was an experiment.”
“No.”
“That is exactly what you just said.”
“She became one without your consent.
That is why my father tried to preserve the evidence.”
“Victor.”
“Yes.”
“The man everyone told me stole records.”
“He stole copies because the originals were being destroyed.”
“Where is Victor?”
Evan’s face closed.
“Dead.”
“Really dead?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“How?”
“Murdered.”
Celeste looked away.
“By whom?”
“We don’t know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That answer again.”
Evan stepped closer.
“But we know why.”
“Why?”
“Because he found the final patient list.”
“What patient list?”
“Children born from modified embryos.”
“How many?”
“Fourteen confirmed.
Possibly more.”
My hands trembled.
“Ellie is one of fourteen?”
“Yes.”
“And the other children?”
“Some are healthy.
Some aren’t.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“Three developed complications.”
“What complications?”
Evan hesitated.
I took a step toward him.
“What complications?”
“Cardiac.
Neurological.
Immune.”
I thought of Ellie running through our kitchen.
Laughing.
Falling asleep on my chest.
Coughing for two weeks last winter.
Every normal childhood illness suddenly became terrifying.
“Is Ellie sick?”
“We don’t know.”
“You brought me here and you don’t know?”
“We need her tested.”
“No.”
“Mara—”
“No one touches her.”
“There’s a specific panel.”
“I said no.”
“It can be done with blood.”
“No.”
He lowered his voice.
“If she has the same edit pattern as Subject Nine, you need to know.”
“Who is Subject Nine?”
Evan looked at Celeste.
Celeste’s eyes filled.
“My nephew.”
I turned toward her.
“Your brother’s son?”
She nodded.
“How old?”
“Five.”
“What happened?”
Her voice broke.
“He died.”
The warehouse seemed suddenly enormous.
I could hear distant traffic.
My own heartbeat.
Nothing else.
I looked at Evan.
“You said Grant carries a cardiac mutation.”
“Yes.”
“And the editing was supposed to correct it.”
“Yes.”
“But something went wrong.”
“With some embryos.”
“How long before symptoms appear?”
“Usually between three and seven years old.”
Ellie had just turned three.
My knees nearly gave out.
Evan moved toward me.
I raised my hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“What do you need from me?”
“Access.”
“To Ellie?”
“To the original Kingsley medical archive.
The real one.”
“The archive at Falcon House?”
Evan shook his head.
“Fake.”
Rachel had been right.
“Then where is the real one?”
“Your grandfather moved it.”
“Where?”
“That’s what Victor died trying to find.”
My satellite phone vibrated.
A secure alert from Rachel.
**MOVEMENT OUTSIDE.
MULTIPLE VEHICLES.
NOT OUR TEAM.**
I looked at Evan.
“You invited someone else.”
“No.”
Celeste stood.
Evan’s face changed.
“Mara, we need to leave.”
A loud crash came from the front entrance.
The warehouse lights died.
Darkness swallowed us.
Rachel’s voice burst through the tiny receiver in my shoe.
MARA, GET DOWN.
I dropped.
A burst of shattering glass echoed overhead.
People shouted.
Footsteps.
Then a man’s voice came through the darkness.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Bring me Mara Kingsley.”
My blood froze.
Because I knew that voice.
May you like
I had heard it every Christmas morning of my childhood.
My father.
