CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 5
WHAT ROBERT HID
The first thing I heard was the sound of water.
A slow drip.
Then another.
Then another.
I opened my eyes.
For a moment, I didn't remember where I was.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar.
Gray concrete.
A single fluorescent light.
A narrow bed beneath me.
Then I remembered.
The hospital.
The masked men.
The underground archive.
The sixteen children.
Luka.
Marcus.
My father's photograph.
I sat upright so quickly that the room spun.
"My baby."
"She's here."
Luka's voice came from the corner.
I turned.
He was sitting beside a small table, his sleeves rolled to his elbows.
My daughter was sleeping in a portable bassinet beside him.
Relief hit me so hard that I almost cried.
I climbed out of bed.
Luka stood immediately.
"Slowly."
"I want her."
He stepped aside.
I lifted my daughter into my arms.
She stirred, opened her tiny eyes, then settled against my chest.
I kissed her forehead.
"You're okay."
Luka watched silently.
I looked at him.
"Where are we?"
"Another safe house."
"How long was I asleep?"
"Three hours."
"What happened?"
"We escaped through the eastern tunnel."
"And Marcus?"
"He's gone."
I stared at him.
"You let him go?"
"He wasn't there."
"What?"
"The voice came through the speakers."
"So?"
"It was a recording."
I frowned.
"You said it was your father."
"I know what I said."
"You were wrong?"
"No."
His expression darkened.
"Marcus knew exactly what we would do."
I waited.
"He wanted us to hear his voice."
"Why?"
"To make us believe he was closer than he really is."
I looked down at my daughter.
"Does he know where we are?"
"Not yet."
"Yet?"
Luka walked toward the window.
"Marcus always finds people eventually."
I swallowed.
"Then we need to find him first."
Luka turned.
"No."
"No?"
"You need to disappear."
I stared at him.
"Again?"
"Yes."
"I've spent my entire life being hidden."
"That's why you're alive."
"I'm tired of being protected."
His eyes hardened.
"Protection isn't the same as weakness."
"Then stop treating me like I'm weak."
Silence.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Luka nodded.
"Fine."
He walked to a locked cabinet.
"Then you're going to see everything."
He unlocked it.
Inside were files.
Dozens of them.
Some were old.
Some were recent.
All carried the same name.
ROBERT HAYES.
My heart began beating faster.
"You said my father was involved in M-17."
"He was."
"Then why did he tell me to trust you?"
"Because he knew what happened when he tried to leave."
"What happened?"
Luka placed a thick folder on the table.
"Read."
I opened it.
The first document was dated twenty-seven years earlier.
PROJECT M-17 — INITIAL DEVELOPMENT
Under the list of researchers was one name.
ROBERT HAYES — LEAD GENETIC ANALYST
My fingers trembled.
I turned the page.
There were photographs of laboratories.
Charts.
Medical reports.
And then a photograph of a young woman.
My mother.
I touched the image.
She was smiling.
Her hair was longer than I remembered.
I had only a few memories of her.
A voice.
A perfume.
The warmth of her arms.
A lullaby.
Then nothing.
"What happened to her?"
Luka didn't answer.
I looked up.
"Tell me."
"Your mother was one of the researchers."
"That much I know."
"She was also the first successful carrier."
"Carrier of what?"
"The M-17 mutation."
I frowned.
"Mutation."
"It's a naturally occurring genetic variation."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Not by itself."
"Then why were they experimenting on children?"
"Because the mutation doesn't fully express in every carrier."
"And they wanted to trigger it."
"Yes."
"How?"
"Through an experimental treatment."
I turned another page.
There were clinical results.
Some positive.
Some catastrophic.
My stomach twisted.
"These children were used to test it."
"Yes."
"Who approved this?"
Luka didn't answer.
I looked at the signatures.
One name appeared again and again.
Marcus Moretti.
Then another.
Robert Hayes.
My chest tightened.
"My father signed these."
"Some of them."
"So he did this."
"At first."
I looked at Luka.
"What changed?"
He sat across from me.
"Your mother."
I stared at him.
"She discovered the treatment wasn't designed to cure disease."
"What was it designed for?"
"To create a controllable form of cellular regeneration."
"Why control it?"
"Because whoever controlled the genetic sequence could control access to the treatment."
"Money."
"Power."
I looked at the photographs of the children.
"And Robert helped them."
"At first."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's important."
"Why?"
"Because your father was the man who stopped it."
I shook my head.
"After helping create it."
"Yes."
"That's supposed to make me forgive him?"
"No."
Luka's voice softened.
"I'm not asking you to forgive him."
I looked back at the file.
"What did he do?"
"He stole the research."
"From Marcus?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he realized what Marcus intended to do with the children."
I turned another page.
There was a list.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
The title:
PRIVATE CLIENT ACQUISITIONS
I felt sick.
"These are buyers."
Luka nodded.
"Who bought them?"
"Politicians. CEOs. Billionaires. Foreign officials."
"For what?"
"Access to the treatment."
I stared at the list.
"These people paid to experiment on children."
"They paid for results."
"Same thing."
"Yes."
My eyes moved down the page.
Then stopped.
A familiar name.
HAYES FOUNDATION.
I froze.
"My family."
Luka nodded.
"Your father's foundation."
I felt as if the floor had disappeared.
"He used his own company."
"To move money."
"Why?"
"To hide the research."
"Then he was one of them."
"He was."
My voice cracked.
"How could he look at me after doing this?"
"He couldn't."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"That's why he stayed away."
I shook my head.
"My father was always working."
"That was the story."
"What was the truth?"
"He couldn't live with what he'd done."
I stared at the file.
For years, I'd thought my father was distant because he was busy.
Maybe he had been trying to escape himself.
I turned another page.
A handwritten note appeared.
My father's handwriting.
I thought I could control the monster.
Below it:
I was wrong.
Then another sentence.
Maria knows.
My breath caught.
"Maria knew?"
"Yes."
"What did she know?"
"Everything."
I looked at Luka.
"And you?"
"I knew some."
"How much?"
"Enough to know she was in danger."
"Did you love her?"
His eyes went distant.
"Yes."
I waited.
He didn't elaborate.
I turned back to the file.
There was a photograph of my mother standing beside Robert.
Both looked terrified.
Behind them was a laboratory.
A woman was strapped to a medical chair.
Her face was hidden.
I looked closer.
A small label appeared beneath the photograph.
SUBJECT ZERO.
"What is Subject Zero?"
Luka's face changed.
"That's what I was hoping you wouldn't find."
"Why?"
"Because Subject Zero was never supposed to be identified."
"Who was she?"
He didn't answer.
"Luka."
He looked at me.
"Your mother."
I stared at the photograph.
"Maria was Subject Zero?"
"Yes."
"Then why did they call her the original source?"
"Because she was the first person whose mutation could be fully activated."
I swallowed.
"What did they do to her?"
"Everything."
The word was almost a whisper.
"Blood extraction. Gene editing. Cellular stimulation. Drug trials."
My stomach turned.
"And she survived."
"For a while."
"How long?"
"Twenty-three years."
I stared.
"My mother lived until I was three."
"Yes."
"Then why did you say she died twenty-five years ago?"
Luka looked down.
"I was wrong."
I stepped closer.
"You said she died that night."
"I believed she did."
"Why?"
"Because Marcus told me."
I stared at him.
"You trusted Marcus?"
"I was nineteen."
"That's not an excuse."
"No."
He looked at me.
"It isn't."
Silence settled between us.
I opened another folder.
Inside was a hospital record.
The date was twenty-two years ago.
Three years after my birth.
PATIENT: MARIA MORETTI
I stared.
"She was alive."
"Yes."
"Then my father lied to me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
I flipped through the pages.
There were photographs.
My mother in a hospital bed.
Thinner.
Paler.
But alive.
Then I saw another photograph.
My mother holding a little girl.
Me.
I was three years old.
I was smiling.
My mother was crying.
I touched the image.
"Where was this?"
"St. Agnes Medical Center."
"Why have I never seen it?"
"Because Robert removed every copy."
"Why?"
Luka looked away.
"Because that was the last time you saw her."
I looked at him.
"What happened?"
"She tried to escape."
"With me?"
"Yes."
"Did she succeed?"
"For a few days."
"Then?"
"They found her."
My voice became a whisper.
"Who?"
"Marcus."
I stared at him.
"Did he kill her?"
"I don't know."
"But you said—"
"I said she died."
"That's not the same."
"No."
He looked at the floor.
"We never found her body."
My heart stopped.
"You mean my mother might still be alive?"
"I don't know."
Hope rose in me so suddenly it hurt.
Then Luka added:
"But if she survived, Marcus would have found her."
I closed my eyes.
"Unless someone hid her."
He didn't answer.
I opened them.
"Did my father?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Robert disappeared three months after Maria vanished."
My chest tightened.
"What?"
"He left the country."
"Why?"
"Because he had the original M-17 data."
"And he took it with him."
"Yes."
"Where?"
"We don't know."
I stared at the file.
Suddenly, something fell from between the pages.
A small metal key.
It landed on the table.
I picked it up.
There was a number engraved on it.
317.
"What is this?"
Luka took it.
His expression changed.
"Where did you find it?"
"In my father's file."
He turned the key over.
There was another engraving.
S.A.
"What does that mean?"
"St. Agnes."
My heart began racing.
"Room 317."
Luka looked at me.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because St. Agnes was demolished fifteen years ago."
I stared at the key.
"Then why did my father keep this?"
He didn't answer.
I stood.
"We're going there."
"No."
"Yes."
"It's gone."
"The hospital is gone."
"The building is."
I looked at him.
"But?"
"The records aren't."
I felt a surge of hope.
"Where are they?"
"Transferred to a government archive."
"Can we access it?"
"Maybe."
"Then let's go."
Luka hesitated.
"Elena."
"What?"
"If Robert kept that key, there was a reason."
"Exactly."
"You don't know what you'll find."
"I've spent my entire life not knowing."
I held up the key.
"I'm done."
He stared at me.
Then nodded.
"All right."
We left before sunrise.
The drive was silent.
My daughter slept in the back seat.
I watched the city pass through the window.
Every street looked different now.
Every memory seemed suspicious.
At eight in the morning, we arrived at the old St. Agnes district.
The hospital was gone.
Only an empty lot remained.
A small memorial plaque stood near the entrance.
I walked toward it.
The plaque listed the hospital's history.
Then I saw the date it closed.
Twenty-two years ago.
The same year my mother disappeared.
I looked at Luka.
"Coincidence?"
"No."
We found the government archive building six blocks away.
It was old.
Gray.
Heavily guarded.
Luka showed an identification card.
The guard stepped aside immediately.
I looked at him.
"You have access?"
"Sometimes."
"Who are you really?"
"Later."
Inside, we requested the St. Agnes records.
The archivist searched the database.
"Patient name?"
"Maria Moretti."
The woman typed.
Her expression changed.
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"There are no records under that name."
I felt my heart sink.
"Search again."
She did.
Nothing.
Luka stepped forward.
"Search by date."
"What date?"
"March 14, 2001."
The archivist typed.
Then stopped.
"There's one restricted file."
My heart jumped.
"Open it."
"I can't."
"Why?"
She turned the screen toward us.
The file had a red warning.
ACCESS LEVEL: M-17
Luka stared.
I whispered:
"Can you override it?"
The archivist looked at him.
"Only a director can."
I frowned.
"What director?"
She pointed to the screen.
A name appeared.
DIRECTOR — ROBERT HAYES
My blood ran cold.
"My father."
The archivist nodded.
"He was the last authorized person to access the file."
"When?"
She looked at the timestamp.
Her face went pale.
"Three days ago."
I stared.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"My father has been dead for six years."
The archivist looked at me.
Then at Luka.
Neither of us spoke.
She slowly turned the monitor around.
At the bottom of the file was a digital signature.
ROBERT HAYES
And beside it—
the access date.
THREE DAYS AGO.
My heart pounded.
My father had been dead for six years.
Yet someone had accessed his file three days ago.
Someone using his identity.
Someone who knew about M-17.
Someone who knew about me.
And someone who knew exactly where my daughter was.
Luka leaned toward the screen.
"Show me the access location."
The archivist hesitated.
Then opened the information.
A location appeared.
My hands went cold.
It was a private clinic.
Less than two miles from the hospital where I had given birth.
I looked at Luka.
"Who is there?"
He read the name.
His expression became grim.
"Vanessa Reed."
My blood froze.
The woman who had walked out of the hospital with my husband.
The woman who had been connected to M-17.
The woman who apparently knew far more than she should.
I whispered:
"She's still here."
Luka nodded.
"Yes."
"Then we go."
He shook his head.
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because if Vanessa is accessing Robert's file, she's not working alone."
"Then who is she working for?"
He looked at the screen.
Then at me.
"Your father."
I stared at him.
"My father is dead."
"I know."
"Then who?"
Luka's eyes darkened.
"The man using his identity."
I waited.
"Who?"
He looked directly at me.
"Someone who has been dead for twenty-five years."
My blood ran cold.
"Who?"
Luka whispered one name.
"Maria."
I couldn't breathe.
"My mother?"
He nodded.
"Someone wants us to believe she is alive."
"And if she is?"
Luka's expression became unreadable.
"Then everything we know about the night she disappeared is a lie."
Before I could answer, the archive lights went out.
Again.
The same darkness.
The same silence.
Then the emergency doors locked.
A computer screen in the corner suddenly illuminated.
One message appeared.
ELENA HAYES.
Then another.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PAST BURIED.
My daughter began crying in the car outside.
I ran toward the exit.
The doors wouldn't open.
Luka grabbed my arm.
"Wait."
Another message appeared.
YOUR FATHER HID THE TRUTH.
A pause.
Then:
YOUR MOTHER DIDN'T.
My heart stopped.
The final message appeared.
ASK LUKA WHAT HAPPENED THE NIGHT YOU WERE BORN.
I turned slowly.
Luka was staring at the screen.
For the first time since I met him, he looked completely helpless.
I whispered:
"What happened that night?"
He didn't answer.
"Tell me."
His eyes met mine.
And after twenty-five years of silence—
May you like
Luka finally began to speak.
"I killed your father."
