Chapter 15 - THE PRICE OF AN HEIR
Grant nearly lost control.
“Call my mother.”
“She turned off her phone.”
“Track the car.”
“Already happening,” Rachel said.
“Then why are we standing here?”
“Because whoever took Ellie planned for us to chase.”
Grant slammed his fist into the wall.
I grabbed his arm.
“Stop.”
He looked at me.
“My daughter—”
“Our daughter.”
He froze.
I had not said it intentionally.
Or maybe I had.
There was no time to analyze it.
“Ellie needs us thinking.”
His breathing slowed.
Barely.
Rachel’s team traced the photograph metadata.
Nothing.
License plate obscured.
Vehicle stolen.
Traffic cameras lost the car in Brooklyn.
Grant called his mother repeatedly.
No answer.
Then Helen spoke.
“They’re going to Site B.”
I turned.
“You know where it is.”
“Yes.”
“You told us you didn’t.”
“I asked whether you were prepared for what exposure would do.”
“Where is it?”
She gave us an address in upstate New York.
An abandoned pharmaceutical campus near the Massachusetts line.
Three hours away.
Rachel dispatched teams immediately.
I grabbed my coat.
She blocked me.
“No.”
“My daughter is there.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m going.”
Grant said, “So am I.”
For once, we agreed without argument.
My father arrived as we were leaving.
“What happened?”
I told him.
His face aged ten years.
“Diane?”
Grant nodded.
My father swore.
“I’ll come.”
“No,” I said.
“Mara—”
“If the board is involved, somebody needs to lock Kingsley down.”
He stared.
For the first time in my life, I gave my father an order and watched him accept it.
“Do it.”
He nodded.
“What about Richard?”
“Do not let him know we suspect him.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“That may be difficult.”
“Why?”
“He called ten minutes ago asking where Ellie was.”
Everything stopped.
“How would he know she wasn’t with me?”
My father said nothing.
Grant answered.
“He wouldn’t.”
The drive north lasted two hours and forty-seven minutes.
Every minute was a form of torture.
Grant sat across from me.
Helen beside Rachel.
Nobody spoke for the first hour.
Then Grant said, “Mara.”
I looked at him.
“If we get her back—”
“When.”
“When we get her back.”
He swallowed.
“I’ll sign whatever you want.”
“What?”
“Custody.
Divorce.
Trust waiver.
Everything.”
I stared.
“You were willing to fight me for her two days ago.”
“I was wrong.”
“That is a small sentence for what you did.”
“I know.”
“You believed fabricated evidence instead of asking your wife.”
“Yes.”
“You filmed me.”
“Yes.”
“You slept with Celeste.”
“Yes.”
His voice broke slightly.
“I cannot undo any of it.”
“No.”
“But I can stop trying to justify it.”
That was the first apology that reached me.
Not because it fixed anything.
Because it did not ask to.
“I love Ellie,” he said.
“I know.”
“I love you.”
I looked out the window.
“That isn’t useful right now.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
Site B appeared behind rusted fencing after midnight.
Several buildings.
Most dark.
One illuminated.
Rachel’s advance team had found no visible guards.
“That’s worse,” she said.
“Why?”
“Means they expect us.”
Helen agreed.
We approached through a service tunnel.
Inside, the building did not look abandoned.
New security panels.
Clean floors.
Refrigeration units.
A laboratory hidden inside a corpse.
We found Diane Mercer in a waiting room.
Alone.
Crying.
Grant ran to her.
“Where is Ellie?”
Diane looked up.
“I’m sorry.”
He grabbed her shoulders.
“Where?”
“They took her.”
“Who?”
“A man named Pierce.”
Malcolm.
“Why did you bring her?”
Diane sobbed.
“He said Mara was going to take her away from you forever.
He said Ellie was in danger because of the Kingsleys.”
Grant released her.
“You believed him?”
“He showed me documents.
Custody papers.
Messages.”
“What messages?”
“From you.”
“I never sent them.”
“I know that now.”
Misinformation.
Again.
Everyone manipulated through whatever fear they already carried.
We searched the facility.
One laboratory contained pediatric equipment.
Another contained embryo storage.
Most units were empty.
Then we found a room with two beds.
One held a stuffed rabbit.
Not Mr. Buttons.
A new one.
Ellie had been there.
On the second bed was an infant blanket.
Noah.
Both children.
I felt sick.
Rachel found a camera.
A red light blinked.
We were being watched.
A monitor turned on.
Malcolm Pierce appeared.
Sixty-three.
Gray-haired.
Perfect suit.
A man who had attended my birthdays since I was ten.
“Mara.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“Safe.”
“Show me.”
A second camera feed appeared.
Ellie sat in a bright room eating crackers.
A woman sat beside her.
She appeared unharmed.
I nearly collapsed with relief.
“Where?”
“Nearby.”
“Who has Noah?”
“Also safe.”
“You stole children.”
“I protected assets.”
Grant lunged toward the screen as if he could reach Malcolm through it.
“She is not an asset.”
Malcolm smiled.
“That sentiment is precisely why none of you were qualified to manage what Eleanor created.”
Helen stepped forward.
“You destroyed everything she believed in.”
“No.
You did.
You became sentimental.”
“You poisoned Victor.”
Malcolm’s smile faded.
“He became dangerous.”
Celeste had been right.
Her brother.
Victor.
Everyone who came too close.
“You killed Michael Vale too,” I said.
“He stole proprietary data.”
“He found cameras in my house.”
“Necessary monitoring.”
Grant whispered, “I’m going to kill him.”
I grabbed his hand.
“No.
You’re going to help me bury him legally.”
Malcolm laughed.
“Still a Kingsley.”
“Where is Richard?”
His expression told me before he answered.
“Your uncle is reconsidering his role.”
“Meaning?”
“He underestimated what was required.”
A door opened behind the camera feed.
Richard Kingsley entered frame.
His shirt was torn.
Blood at his temple.
He looked directly into the camera.
“Mara, don’t give him anything.”
Malcolm struck him.
The feed shook.
My father’s brother fell.
Malcolm turned back.
“Here are my terms.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard them.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You will.”
He smiled.
“I want the Guardian Trust transferred into a biotechnology holding company.”
“Impossible.”
“Nathan can structure it.”
“And?”
“Full control of the Continuity patents.”
“You don’t own them.”
“But Ellie does.”
My heart stopped.
Malcolm smiled.
“Or she will.”
I understood.
The genetic modification itself had generated patentable technology.
Somehow the trust tied intellectual property derived from a beneficiary to that beneficiary.
My grandfather had tried to protect Ellie.
He had unknowingly made her even more valuable.
Malcolm continued.
“You have twenty minutes.”
“For what?”
“To sign the transfer authorization.”
“Or?”
His gaze shifted toward the feed showing Ellie.
He did not need to say anything.
My entire body turned cold.
Then Ellie looked past the camera.
Her expression changed.
She smiled.
“Grandpa!”
Malcolm’s face snapped toward someone off-screen.
I stared.
My father was supposed to be in Manhattan.
Then a man walked into Ellie’s room.
Not my father.
May you like
My grandfather.
A man who had been dead for four years.
