CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 2
THE FILE THAT DISAPPEARED
The room was too quiet.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was the way Dr. Harris kept looking at Luka.
Not at me.
Not at my baby.
At him.
As if the tattooed stranger standing beside my hospital bed was someone the doctor had spent years trying not to remember.
I tightened my grip around my daughter.
She was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that the world around her had suddenly become something I no longer recognized.
"Doctor," I said carefully, "what did you mean when you said her records had been altered?"
Dr. Harris closed the door behind him.
He checked the hallway through the narrow glass panel before turning back to me.
His face had lost all its color.
"I need you to listen carefully."
"Okay."
"Your daughter's birth record isn't the only thing that was changed."
My stomach tightened.
"What else?"
He pulled a chair toward the bed but didn't sit.
"The admission record."
I frowned.
"What about it?"
"According to the system, you arrived at this hospital at 4:17 a.m."
"I did."
"No."
He shook his head.
"You arrived at 3:02."
I stared at him.
"That's impossible."
"I was the doctor who admitted you."
"I remember."
"You were in labor. You arrived with your husband."
I nodded slowly.
"Yes."
"But the electronic system says you arrived more than an hour later."
He opened a folder.
"Your initial blood work is missing."
My heart began beating faster.
"Missing?"
"Completely."
"Maybe there was a computer error."
Dr. Harris looked at Luka.
"No."
The word came from him so quietly that I almost didn't hear it.
I turned toward Luka.
"What?"
He was staring at the folder.
"Ask him about the original file."
Dr. Harris's jaw tightened.
"Luka—"
"Tell her."
There was something in Luka's voice.
Not anger.
Authority.
The doctor lowered his eyes.
"The original file was removed."
"By whom?"
"I don't know."
"You do."
Dr. Harris looked toward the door again.
"I know who had access."
"Who?"
He hesitated.
"The hospital administrator."
"Name."
"Richard Cole."
Luka's expression didn't change.
"Where is he?"
"He left."
"When?"
"Two hours ago."
"Where did he go?"
"I don't know."
Luka stepped closer.
"Doctor."
Dr. Harris swallowed.
"He took his family and left through the private entrance."
A cold feeling crawled up my spine.
"Why would a hospital administrator run away because of my baby's records?"
Neither man answered.
I looked down at my daughter.
Her tiny fingers moved against the blanket.
"Tell me what M-17 means."
Dr. Harris went completely still.
Luka closed his eyes for half a second.
That reaction frightened me more than anything else.
"You know what it means," I whispered.
Dr. Harris shook his head.
"I shouldn't."
"But you do."
"I've heard the designation."
"Where?"
"In an old research archive."
"What kind of research?"
He looked at my daughter.
"Genetic."
My throat went dry.
"Was my baby part of an experiment?"
"No."
His answer came too quickly.
I noticed.
"So you know something."
"I know enough to tell you that you need to leave this hospital."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"Because whoever accessed that file knows you're here."
The room seemed to shrink around me.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Luka spoke without looking at the doctor.
"They're already here."
I turned toward him.
"What?"
He was looking at the hallway.
"Someone has been outside this room for the last three minutes."
My heart stopped.
I couldn't hear anything.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
They passed our door.
Stopped.
Silence.
I instinctively pulled my daughter closer.
Luka stepped between me and the door.
His entire posture changed.
The softness that had appeared when he looked at my baby disappeared.
He became cold.
Focused.
Dangerous.
"Stay behind me."
I whispered, "Who is it?"
He didn't answer.
The footsteps moved again.
Away from the door.
Then a nurse walked past the glass panel.
She looked directly inside.
For a fraction of a second, her eyes met mine.
Then she kept walking.
I let out the breath I'd been holding.
"Maybe it was nothing."
Luka shook his head.
"No."
"What?"
"She wasn't a nurse."
Dr. Harris looked horrified.
"How do you know?"
"Because I saw her earlier."
"When?"
"Before Elena arrived."
The doctor stared at him.
"That was six hours ago."
Luka's eyes hardened.
"Exactly."
I looked between them.
"What is happening?"
No one answered.
I was beginning to hate that.
Every person in this room seemed to know something about my life that I didn't.
I was the mother.
It was my child.
Yet somehow I was the only person being kept in the dark.
I pushed myself upright.
"I want the original records."
Dr. Harris shook his head.
"They're gone."
"Then recover them."
"I can't."
"You're the doctor."
"I'm not a system administrator."
"I don't care."
My voice cracked.
"I gave birth to her less than a day ago. My husband abandoned us. Someone changed my daughter's medical records. A stranger signed himself onto her birth certificate. And now you're telling me that people are watching this room."
I looked directly at Luka.
"I deserve answers."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.
He pulled out a thin black folder.
He placed it on the bed.
I stared at it.
"What is that?"
"Your father's."
My breath caught.
"My father's?"
Luka nodded.
"He left it with me."
"When?"
"Six years ago."
I slowly opened it.
The first page was a photograph.
My father.
Robert Hayes.
He was standing beside a younger Luka.
I had never seen the picture before.
My father looked younger.
Happier.
And strangely afraid.
I touched the photograph.
"Where was this taken?"
"Prague."
"When?"
"Six years ago."
I looked at Luka.
"Why were you with my father?"
"He asked me to help him."
"With what?"
"M-17."
My fingers went cold.
I turned the page.
There were documents.
Medical records.
Bank transfers.
Names I didn't recognize.
Photographs of laboratories.
Then—
sixteen photographs of children.
I froze.
The first child looked no older than three.
Underneath the photograph was a code.
M-01.
I turned the page.
Another child.
M-02.
Another.
M-03.
My hands began shaking.
I kept turning.
M-04.
M-05.
M-06.
Some children were smiling.
Some looked terrified.
Some appeared to be in hospital beds.
The further I went, the heavier my breathing became.
Then I reached M-12.
The photograph was black and white.
A little girl.
Maybe four years old.
Her eyes looked directly into the camera.
Underneath the photograph were two words.
DECEASED.
I looked at Luka.
"What is this?"
He didn't answer.
I turned another page.
M-13.
MISSING.
M-14.
DECEASED.
M-15.
TRANSFERRED.
M-16.
LOCATION UNKNOWN.
I reached the last page.
There was no photograph.
Only a blank space.
And beneath it:
M-17 — PENDING
My blood ran cold.
I whispered:
"That's my daughter."
Luka didn't deny it.
"Why?"
"Because someone classified her before she was born."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
His eyes met mine.
"I know who started it."
"Who?"
He hesitated.
"Your father."
I stared at him.
"No."
"He was involved."
"My father was an accountant."
"That's what he wanted you to believe."
I felt something inside me break.
Everything I knew about my childhood suddenly seemed unstable.
"My father worked in finance."
"He did."
"So why are you saying he was involved in genetic research?"
"Because he was both."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Elena—"
"No."
I closed the folder.
"I don't believe you."
"You don't have to."
He reached into his pocket again.
This time, he pulled out an old envelope.
My name was written across it.
ELENA HAYES.
My breath stopped.
I recognized the handwriting.
My father's handwriting.
I reached for it.
Luka didn't let go immediately.
"Your father told me not to give you this unless you gave birth to a daughter."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"He didn't explain."
"You knew I was pregnant?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Nine months."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"You've been watching me?"
"Protecting you."
"That's what everyone says when they want to justify spying."
His jaw tightened.
"You have every right to hate me."
"I don't hate you."
I took the envelope.
"I don't know you well enough to hate you."
His expression softened.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I broke the seal.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
I unfolded it.
Six words.
Nothing more.
My father's handwriting was shaky.
But unmistakable.
TRUST NO ONE EXCEPT LUKA MORETTI.
I read it again.
Then again.
I looked up.
Luka was watching me.
"What does this mean?"
He didn't answer.
"Why would my father tell me to trust you?"
"Because he knew what was coming."
"What was coming?"
His eyes moved toward my daughter.
"The moment she was born."
My skin prickled.
"Why?"
"Because M-17 was never supposed to reach the seventeenth child."
"What does that mean?"
"It means your daughter was the first one they didn't control."
I stared at him.
"Who are they?"
Before Luka could answer, the lights went out.
The entire hospital disappeared into darkness.
My daughter woke instantly.
She began to cry.
I pulled her against my chest.
"What's happening?"
Dr. Harris whispered:
"Backup power should come on immediately."
It didn't.
The hallway outside was silent.
Too silent.
Then came the sound of a door closing somewhere nearby.
Luka moved toward the entrance.
"Stay here."
"No."
He turned.
"I'm coming with you."
"Elena."
"You said you would protect us."
"I will."
"Then don't leave me alone."
Something flickered in his eyes.
He nodded.
"Stay behind me."
He opened the door.
The hallway was dark except for the red emergency lights.
Several doors stood open.
No nurses.
No doctors.
No patients.
Just silence.
We took three steps.
Then four.
A sound came from the end of the corridor.
A metallic click.
Luka immediately pushed me behind him.
"Get back."
"What is it?"
He didn't answer.
A figure appeared beneath the emergency light.
Black surgical mask.
Black clothing.
Gloves.
The person stood completely still.
Then another figure appeared behind him.
And another.
My heart pounded so hard I could hear it.
Luka whispered:
"They found us."
One of the masked men raised his hand.
He wasn't holding a gun.
He was holding a photograph.
He lifted it toward the emergency light.
Even from a distance, I could recognize the image.
It was my baby.
Taken only minutes after she was born.
My blood froze.
The man slowly lowered the photograph.
Then he spoke.
"Where is M-17?"
Luka stepped forward.
"You know exactly where she is."
The man tilted his head.
"No."
His eyes moved past Luka.
Straight to me.
"We know where the mother is."
A pause.
"And that's more valuable."
Luka's expression changed.
He reached beneath his jacket.
I heard the unmistakable click of a weapon being readied.
The masked men reacted instantly.
And somewhere behind us—
another door opened.
We were surrounded.
I looked down at my daughter.
She was crying against my chest.
I held her tighter.
For the first time, I understood something terrifying.
They weren't trying to find my baby because she was sick.
They weren't trying to save her.
They weren't even trying to kill her.
They wanted her alive.
And suddenly, I knew why.
Because whatever M-17 meant—
May you like
my daughter was the seventeenth child.
And someone had been waiting for her birth for twenty-five years.
