Chapter 8 — My Father’s Last Secret
Chapter 8 — My Father’s Last Secret
The state laboratory was forty minutes away.
We made it in seventeen.
I barely remember the drive.
I remember the sirens.
The city lights streaking across the windows.
Amelia sleeping against my chest.
Daniel sitting opposite me, silent.
Luka beside the door, one hand inside his coat.
And Agent Mercer staring at the DNA report as if it were a loaded weapon.
My first daughter was alive.
Emma.
Seven years old.
Taken from me before I could even remember giving birth to her.
And somewhere ahead of us was another DNA sample that might finally explain why.
I looked at Mercer.
“You said my father's secret was connected to the sample.”
“Yes.”
“What secret?”
“We don't know.”
“You said this investigation has existed for three years.”
“Yes.”
“Then what do you know?”
Mercer hesitated.
“We know your father wasn't killed when you were told he was.”
I froze.
“What?”
Daniel looked up.
My mother closed her eyes.
Luka went completely still.
I stared at Mercer.
“Say that again.”
“Your father died officially seven years ago.”
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“We have evidence that he survived for another eleven months.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“Under an alias.”
“What alias?”
Mercer looked at the report.
“James Moretti.”
The car became silent.
I looked at Luka.
He was staring at the floor.
“You knew.”
He didn't answer.
“Luka.”
“Yes.”
My voice broke.
“You knew my father was alive.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Seven years.”
I couldn't breathe.
“You let me believe he was dead.”
“I was protecting you.”
I laughed.
“Everyone uses that excuse.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked me to.”
I stared.
“My father asked you to let me believe he was dead?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Luka finally looked at me.
“Because he knew someone would try to kill you if they discovered he was alive.”
I shook my head.
“Who?”
“The people who funded M-17.”
“Victor Hale?”
“Some.”
“Marco?”
“Some.”
“My mother?”
“No.”
I looked at her.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Luka's expression hardened.
“Your father never told me.”
I stared out the window.
My entire childhood had become a collection of lies.
My father's death.
My mother's disappearance.
My marriage.
My daughter's death.
Everything I thought I knew had been manufactured.
And now someone was telling me my father had been alive after all.
I didn't know whether to feel relief or rage.
Perhaps both.
The state laboratory was hidden behind an ordinary government building.
No sign.
No public entrance.
Only a security checkpoint and a steel door.
Mercer scanned his badge.
The door opened.
Inside, everything smelled like antiseptic and cold metal.
Scientists moved quickly between laboratories.
No one spoke loudly.
Everyone looked frightened.
Mercer led us through two security doors.
Then stopped in front of a glass chamber.
A small evidence refrigerator stood inside.
On its door was a label.
M-17 ORIGINAL MATERIAL.
My heart began pounding.
“That's it?”
Mercer nodded.
“Your father's biological archive.”
“Why is it here?”
“We received it anonymously.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Who sent it?”
“We don't know.”
“Then how do you know it's his?”
Mercer looked at me.
“Because of you.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“We compared the sample to your original DNA.”
“The DNA from when I was sixteen?”
“Yes.”
“It matched.”
“How closely?”
“Perfectly.”
I stared through the glass.
“So my father was alive.”
Mercer shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
“Why?”
“Because the sample was collected after his supposed death.”
I felt cold.
“Then someone had access to him.”
“Yes.”
“Or…”
I looked at Luka.
“He wasn't dead.”
Mercer didn't answer.
Daniel stepped closer.
“What's inside?”
Mercer unlocked the refrigerator.
A small black container sat on the middle shelf.
He removed it.
Inside was a vial.
Clear.
Almost empty.
“This is all we have.”
I stared at it.
“That's my father?”
“His DNA.”
I felt strangely detached.
A whole man.
A whole life.
Reduced to a few drops of blood.
Mercer placed the vial on the table.
“There is another item.”
He opened a second evidence container.
Inside was a key.
Old.
Silver.
I recognized it immediately.
My breath stopped.
“I've seen that.”
“Where?”
“In my father's study.”
“When?”
“Before he died.”
Mercer looked at Luka.
“What did it open?”
Luka's face changed.
“The red room.”
I turned toward him.
“What red room?”
He looked at me.
“The room from your memory.”
My heart began pounding.
“Room 17?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Room seventeen was the laboratory.”
“Then what was the red door?”
Luka stared at the key.
“The place your father kept his real records.”
Mercer took us into a private conference room.
The key sat on the table.
No one touched it.
My mother finally spoke.
“Your father never trusted computers.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“He kept everything on paper.”
“Where?”
“In a house.”
“What house?”
She hesitated.
“The first house.”
I frowned.
“We only had one.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You had two.”
“Where?”
“Pennsylvania.”
I stared.
“I don't remember it.”
“You weren't supposed to.”
“Why?”
“Because you lived there before M-17.”
I felt dizzy.
“How old was I?”
“Sixteen.”
“That was the year everything happened.”
“Yes.”
“What happened at the house?”
My mother looked at Luka.
He answered.
“Your father discovered the first child.”
My heart stopped.
“Emma?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He looked at me.
“You.”
I frowned.
“I was already born.”
“Yes.”
“You're saying my father discovered me?”
“Your genetic profile.”
I didn't understand.
He continued.
“Your father discovered that you carried the Moretti marker naturally.”
“And?”
“He realized the program could be built around you.”
I felt sick.
“So I was the beginning.”
“Yes.”
“And Emma?”
“The first child created using your genetic material.”
“And Amelia?”
“The second.”
I looked down.
Three generations.
One bloodline.
One secret.
And an organization willing to kill to control it.
Mercer slid a photograph across the table.
It showed a large farmhouse surrounded by trees.
“That's where your father kept the archive.”
I stared.
“Why haven't you searched it?”
“We did.”
“And?”
“Empty.”
I frowned.
“Then why are we going?”
“Because your father wanted us to find it.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
He turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
My father's.
When Hannah remembers, take her home.
I touched the words.
My fingers trembled.
“Why would he write this?”
Mercer looked at me.
“Because he knew one day you would remember.”
We arrived at the farmhouse just before dawn.
Snow covered the fields.
The house looked abandoned.
Broken windows.
Faded paint.
An old porch.
I stepped out of the car.
Something inside me reacted.
I knew this place.
Not consciously.
But somewhere deep inside.
I knew.
I walked toward the front door.
Luka followed.
“You remember?”
“Not yet.”
The door was unlocked.
Inside, dust covered everything.
Furniture remained exactly where it had been.
A child's drawing was still taped to the wall.
I walked toward it.
A family.
A father.
A mother.
A little girl.
And another little girl.
I froze.
“There were two of us.”
My mother nodded.
“Yes.”
“Who was the other girl?”
She looked at me.
“Emma.”
I stared.
“But Emma wasn't born yet.”
“She was.”
My heart stopped.
“She was already here?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
My mother whispered:
“She was your sister.”
I turned.
“What?”
Luka looked shocked.
“Your first daughter wasn't the first child.”
I stared at my mother.
“Then who was?”
She looked at the drawing.
“The child your father lost before you.”
I couldn't breathe.
“There were three children.”
“Yes.”
“Where is the first?”
“Dead.”
“How?”
“An accident.”
I looked at the drawing.
My father had drawn three girls.
But I only remembered two.
“Why did he hide her?”
“He didn't.”
“Then who did?”
My mother looked at the floor.
“M-17.”
We found the hidden room beneath the kitchen.
The silver key opened it.
The door was painted red.
My heart stopped.
The memory returned.
I was sixteen.
Standing in this room.
My mother was crying.
My father was shouting.
And in my arms was a baby.
Not Emma.
Not Amelia.
A third child.
A little girl with dark hair.
I remembered the baby crying.
I remembered my father saying:
“Don't let them take her.”
I remembered my mother saying:
“They already have.”
Then everything went black.
I collapsed.
Luka caught me.
“Hannah.”
I opened my eyes.
My mother was crying.
“You remember.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“What happened to the baby?”
She didn't answer.
I turned toward my father’s old desk.
Something caught my eye.
A drawer.
I pulled it open.
Inside was a cassette tape.
A handwritten label:
FOR HANNAH — WHEN SHE REMEMBERS.
My hands shook.
There was an old player beside the desk.
Luka inserted the tape.
Static filled the room.
Then my father's voice.
My heart stopped.
“Hannah.”
I closed my eyes.
“If you're hearing this, then I'm dead.”
I looked at my mother.
She cried silently.
My father's voice continued.
“I lied to you.”
I whispered:
“I know.”
“I told you your mother disappeared because she was taken.”
A pause.
“That wasn't entirely true.”
My heart tightened.
“She left because I asked her to.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“You were in danger.”
The tape continued.
“M-17 discovered that you carried the original marker.”
Static.
“They wanted you.”
A pause.
“So I gave them something else.”
I froze.
“The first child.”
My blood ran cold.
My father continued.
“I used your genetic material to create a child they would believe was you.”
I stared at the floor.
“That child was called Subject M-17-A.”
My breath stopped.
“Her real name was Amelia.”
I looked at my mother.
“No.”
The tape continued.
“Not your Amelia.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Your first daughter was never the original.”
I felt dizzy.
“She was the decoy.”
My mother began sobbing.
“What does that mean?”
My father's voice answered.
“I knew they would come for your child.”
“So I gave them one.”
Silence.
Then:
“But I made sure she would survive.”
I covered my mouth.
“Where is she?”
The tape continued.
“Her name is Emma.”
My heart shattered.
“Emma was never created to be a weapon.”
A pause.
“She was created to hide you.”
I stared.
“She carries your genetic marker.”
“But she is also my daughter.”
“Yes.”
My father’s voice softened.
“I know.”
The tape crackled.
“The second child…”
I looked at Amelia.
“…was created to destroy the program.”
Silence.
My father's voice became almost a whisper.
“Amelia is the key.”
I froze.
“To what?”
“To the archive.”
The tape stopped.
I stared at the player.
Then it started again.
“There is one final secret.”
My blood went cold.
“Your mother doesn't know this.”
My mother looked terrified.
“The Moretti family doesn't know this.”
Luka stepped closer.
“Neither does Daniel.”
Daniel stared at the machine.
My father's voice continued.
“Only one person knows.”
A pause.
“Me.”
The tape crackled.
“If Amelia is born, M-17 will activate.”
I looked at my daughter.
“If Emma is still alive, they will come for both.”
My father took a breath.
“And if Hannah remembers…”
The tape stopped.
I waited.
Nothing.
“That's it?”
Luka checked the machine.
“The tape is damaged.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“There has to be more.”
My mother whispered:
“Your father always left copies.”
I turned.
“Where?”
She looked at the desk.
“Inside the Bible.”
I grabbed the old book.
Nothing.
Luka searched the pages.
Then found a thin envelope hidden inside the cover.
My name was written on it.
Hannah.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
I stared.
My father stood beside a woman.
A young woman.
She looked exactly like me.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
Same scar beneath her chin.
I couldn't breathe.
“Who is that?”
My mother whispered:
“Your biological mother.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You were adopted.”
Silence.
I laughed.
“No.”
“You were.”
“My mother is standing right there.”
“She raised you.”
“But she isn't…”
She shook her head.
“No.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Who is she?”
My mother whispered:
“Evelyn Moretti.”
Luka froze.
“That was my grandmother.”
I stared.
“My father had a child with your grandmother?”
“No.”
My mother shook her head.
“Your father didn't have an affair.”
“Then what?”
“You were born from an embryo.”
I felt sick.
“M-17.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Luka.
“So I'm not a Moretti by blood?”
“You are.”
“How?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Because your biological father was Marco's brother.”
Luka stepped backward.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He stared at me.
“You're my cousin.”
My heart stopped.
Everything I'd believed about Luka shattered again.
He wasn't my brother.
He was my cousin.
My father's genetic line had been hidden.
And M-17 had been built around it.
I looked at my daughter.
Then at the photograph.
Then at the DNA report.
Something finally clicked.
The hospital hadn't erased Amelia because she was dangerous.
They had erased her because she proved that M-17's entire history was a lie.
My father had not created the program to control children.
He had infiltrated it.
He had created children to destroy it from inside.
And Emma—
my first daughter—
had been the decoy that kept me alive.
A sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Luka immediately raised his weapon.
Mercer reached for his badge.
Daniel stood beside me.
My mother whispered:
“They found us.”
The footsteps stopped.
Then someone called from above.
“Hannah.”
I knew that voice.
Marco.
He walked down the stairs slowly.
He wasn't carrying a weapon.
He was carrying a little girl's backpack.
Pink.
With a rabbit stitched onto the front.
My heart stopped.
“Where is Emma?”
Marco smiled.
“She wants to see you.”
“Take me to her.”
“You can't.”
“Why?”
“Because she doesn't want to see you.”
My heart broke.
“That's a lie.”
“No.”
He placed the backpack on the floor.
“Ask her yourself.”
He opened the front pocket.
Inside was a small recording device.
He pressed a button.
A little girl's voice filled the room.
“Mommy?”
I stopped breathing.
The voice continued.
“I don't know if you remember me.”
I covered my mouth.
“Emma?”
“I remember you.”
My knees weakened.
“You used to sing when I couldn't sleep.”
Tears streamed down my face.
“You used to tell me that the moon followed us.”
I looked at my mother.
She was crying.
Emma's voice continued.
“I'm not angry.”
A pause.
“I just want you to come get me.”
I couldn't speak.
Then the recording ended.
Marco picked up the backpack.
“You have one hour.”
“For what?”
“To come alone.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Then you'll never see her again.”
I stepped toward him.
“You won't hurt my daughter.”
“No.”
He looked at Amelia.
“Not yet.”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Marco smiled.
“It means your father left one secret even he didn't understand.”
“What secret?”
Marco looked at the DNA report.
“The two girls aren't the key.”
I stared.
“Then what is?”
He looked directly at me.
“You.”
The farmhouse fell silent.
“You're the original M-17 subject.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“You're not the subject.”
He pointed at the photograph of my younger self.
“You are the creator.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
Marco stepped closer.
“Your father didn't use your DNA to build M-17.”
He paused.
“He used your memories.”
I stared.
Marco smiled.
“Because you were the one who designed the program.”
I shook my head.
“I was sixteen.”
“Yes.”
“You're lying.”
“Ask your mother.”
I turned.
My mother was crying.
And she didn't deny it.
I felt the world disappear beneath my feet.
My father hadn't hidden the truth because I was a victim.
He had hidden it because I was something else.
Something far more terrifying.
I had been inside Room 17 before.
I had written the rules.
May you like
And somehow—
I had forgotten that I was the person who created them.
