CHAPTER 10 — THE SON THEY WANTED
CHAPTER 10 — THE SON THEY WANTED
The man standing in the doorway smiled as if he had never died.
As if thirty years of lies were nothing more than a game.
My mother stood frozen.
Michael stared at him.
Robert took one step backward.
Even Ethan looked afraid.
I looked from one face to another.
"Who is he?"
No one answered.
The stranger's smile widened.
"Still asking questions, Claire."
My blood ran cold.
I knew that voice.
Not because I had heard it recently.
Because I had heard it in my childhood.
In nightmares.
In fragments.
A man's voice behind a locked door.
A hand on my forehead.
A cold room.
A bright surgical light.
Then nothing.
My mother whispered:
"Don't look at him."
I couldn't.
I was already looking.
"Who is he?"
She closed her eyes.
"His name is Marcus."
The man smiled.
"That's the name I use now."
I stared.
"What was your real name?"
He answered without hesitation.
"Thomas Whitmore."
Robert's face went white.
"No."
Thomas laughed.
"Hello, Robert."
"You died."
"Apparently not."
Robert raised his gun.
Thomas didn't move.
"Put it down."
Robert's hand trembled.
"You killed him."
Thomas smiled.
"You always were dramatic."
My mother stepped between them.
"Thomas, this ends tonight."
He looked at her.
"You said that thirty years ago."
"And I meant it."
"No."
His gaze shifted to me.
"You meant to run."
My mother looked at me.
"I'm sorry."
I felt tears burning my eyes.
"You knew him."
"Yes."
"All these years?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was afraid."
I laughed bitterly.
"Everyone is afraid."
Thomas stepped forward.
"And now you know why."
He looked at me.
"Your daughter is alive."
My heart stopped.
"Where is Amelia?"
"Safe."
"Where?"
"With someone who understands what she is."
"What is she?"
Thomas smiled.
"Proof."
"Proof of what?"
"That the program succeeded."
I stepped forward.
"My daughter is not an experiment."
"She is more than that."
"She's a child."
"She's the future."
"No."
My voice shook.
"She's my daughter."
Thomas stared at me.
For the first time, his smile disappeared.
"That's exactly why she is dangerous."
Michael moved toward me.
"Claire, don't listen to him."
Thomas laughed.
"Still protecting her?"
Michael didn't answer.
Thomas looked at him.
"You were always weak."
Michael's jaw tightened.
"You don't know what I did."
"I know exactly what you did."
Thomas turned toward Ethan.
"And you."
Ethan froze.
"What?"
"You were supposed to be the perfect son."
Ethan said nothing.
Thomas continued.
"Strong."
"Obedient."
"Intelligent."
"Controlled."
"But you failed."
Ethan's face hardened.
"I didn't fail."
Thomas smiled.
"You fell in love."
The room became silent.
Thomas looked at me.
"That was the one thing they never planned for."
I looked at Ethan.
He lowered his eyes.
"Is that true?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
Thomas laughed.
"Your husband was designed to obey."
My stomach turned.
"What does that mean?"
Ethan finally spoke.
"When I was seven, they started conditioning me."
"Memory."
"Behavior."
"Emotional responses."
I stared.
"They tried to make you..."
"Perfect."
"And you?"
"I resisted."
Thomas interrupted.
"He resisted because of her."
He pointed at my mother.
"Elena."
My mother looked away.
"She taught him to question."
Thomas's eyes became cold.
"She ruined him."
I looked at my mother.
"You knew Ethan as a child?"
"Yes."
"Before I met him?"
"Yes."
"Then how did we meet?"
My mother hesitated.
Thomas answered.
"I arranged it."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"You were supposed to marry Ethan."
"Why?"
"Because we needed your bloodline."
My hands began shaking.
"My bloodline?"
"Your mother carried the genetic trait."
"And I inherited it."
"Yes."
"Amelia inherited it."
"Yes."
"The other children?"
"Some."
Thomas smiled.
"The program was never about creating one perfect child."
"Then what was it about?"
"Creating a family that could survive anything."
I stared.
"Why?"
"Because the world belongs to people who can control it."
I shook my head.
"You're insane."
"No."
He stepped closer.
"I'm prepared."
My mother suddenly grabbed my hand.
"Claire, we have to leave."
Thomas laughed.
"You can't run forever."
"Neither can you."
She pulled me toward the stairs.
"Mom."
"Not here."
"Where?"
"Somewhere safe."
"Where is Amelia?"
"I know where she is."
I stopped.
"You know?"
"Yes."
"Then take me to her."
My mother looked at Thomas.
Then at me.
"We can't."
"Why?"
"Because he has your daughter."
Thomas smiled.
"No."
My mother froze.
Thomas continued:
"I don't."
I stared.
"Then who does?"
Thomas looked at Ethan.
My blood froze.
Ethan shook his head.
"No."
Thomas smiled.
"Ask him."
I turned toward my husband.
"Ethan?"
He didn't answer.
"Ethan."
He looked at me.
"I don't know where she is."
Thomas laughed.
"Of course you do."
Ethan's face changed.
"I don't."
"You were there."
"When?"
"The night she was transferred."
Ethan looked at me.
"I followed them."
"Where?"
"To the old hospital."
"Then?"
"I saw someone take her."
"Who?"
"I never saw his face."
Thomas smiled.
"Because you weren't supposed to."
I stepped toward Ethan.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried."
"When?"
"The night she disappeared."
I remembered.
The hospital corridor.
Ethan coming into my room.
His face pale.
Telling me Amelia had died.
I remembered something else.
His hands.
They had been shaking.
"You knew she was alive."
"I suspected."
"And you still let me believe she was dead."
"I was trying to find her."
"For three years."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because every time I got close, someone moved her."
I looked at Thomas.
"Who?"
Thomas answered:
"Your mother."
My mother closed her eyes.
"Yes."
I turned toward her.
"You took my daughter?"
"I saved her."
"From what?"
"From them."
She pointed at Thomas.
"From him."
Thomas laughed.
"You took her to a facility."
"Because she was sick."
"She wasn't sick."
"She was unstable."
"She was three days old."
My mother looked at me.
"She had a seizure."
I froze.
"What?"
"Your daughter stopped breathing."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because Thomas had already begun searching for her."
"Why?"
"Because she was the first natural-born child to carry the complete marker."
I stared.
"What marker?"
"The same genetic trait that started the program."
My mother looked at Thomas.
"He wanted to use her."
Thomas nodded.
"Yes."
"For what?"
"To create the son."
I frowned.
"The son?"
Thomas looked at me.
"The child we had been trying to create for decades."
My blood went cold.
"You wanted a boy?"
"Not just a boy."
He stepped closer.
"The perfect heir."
I felt sick.
"And Amelia?"
"She was the key."
"To what?"
"To producing him."
I couldn't breathe.
"You wanted to use my daughter to create another child."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because her genetic profile contained what we were missing."
I shook my head.
"You experimented on children."
"We studied them."
"You stole them."
"We acquired them."
"You killed them."
Thomas's smile faded.
"Some didn't survive."
I felt rage burning through me.
"And you call yourself a father?"
He looked at me.
"Fatherhood is irrelevant."
"No."
I stepped closer.
"That's where you're wrong."
I pointed toward Ethan.
"He's your son."
Thomas looked at him.
"He's a failure."
I looked at Ethan.
Then at Thomas.
"No."
My voice became stronger.
"He's a human being."
Thomas laughed.
"You think love makes him human?"
"It does."
"Then watch."
Thomas pulled out a remote.
A screen behind him turned on.
I saw a room.
A small bed.
A child.
Amelia.
She was sitting alone.
My heart stopped.
"Amelia!"
She looked toward the camera.
"Mommy?"
I nearly collapsed.
"I'm here!"
Thomas smiled.
"She can hear you."
"Let her go."
"No."
"Please."
"Begging won't help."
I looked at him.
"What do you want?"
"Your son."
I froze.
"My son?"
"Yes."
He pointed toward the screen.
"Amelia is the key."
"But the boy is the result."
"What?"
"The boy carries the complete combination."
I stared.
"My son?"
Thomas nodded.
"Your son is the one we wanted."
My heart stopped.
"He isn't your son."
Thomas smiled.
"Biologically?"
He shrugged.
"Perhaps."
I looked at Ethan.
"What does that mean?"
Ethan's face went white.
Thomas continued.
"Your son isn't Ethan's."
I couldn't breathe.
"What?"
Ethan stepped toward me.
"Claire..."
"You said he was yours."
"I believed he was."
"You knew the paternity?"
"I was told."
"By whom?"
Thomas smiled.
"By me."
I stared at him.
"You lied."
"Of course."
"Then whose son is he?"
Thomas looked at Michael.
Michael's face went pale.
Then Thomas said:
"Ask your mother."
Everyone turned toward Elena.
My mother looked at me.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Claire..."
"Whose son is my baby?"
She couldn't speak.
"Mom."
Silence.
"Tell me."
She finally whispered:
"He's not Ethan's."
My heart broke.
"Then whose?"
She looked toward Michael.
Michael closed his eyes.
I stared at him.
"No."
My mother nodded.
"I'm sorry."
Michael stepped toward me.
"Claire..."
I backed away.
"Don't."
"He was conceived before you met Ethan."
I shook my head.
"How?"
My mother said:
"Your pregnancy was manipulated."
"What?"
"One embryo was created from your egg."
"Whose sperm?"
She looked at Michael.
My blood ran cold.
"Michael."
He nodded.
"My father."
"The baby is..."
"My grandson."
Silence.
I looked toward the screen.
My son.
The child Thomas wanted.
The child everyone had been lying about.
The child I had carried inside me.
And suddenly I understood.
Thomas didn't want Amelia.
Not really.
He wanted my son.
Amelia was only the key.
My son was the prize.
I turned toward Thomas.
"You'll never get him."
His smile disappeared.
"Then I'll take him."
A loud crash came from upstairs.
Gunfire erupted.
The police shouted.
Someone screamed.
Then the lights went out.
Thomas disappeared.
My mother grabbed my arm.
"Claire!"
"What?"
"We have to move."
"Where?"
"To the old hospital."
"Why?"
"Because that's where Amelia is."
I looked at Ethan.
He had already drawn his gun.
"Let's go."
Michael shook his head.
"Not the hospital."
"Why?"
"Because that's exactly where he wants you to go."
I froze.
Thomas's voice suddenly echoed through the darkness.
"You still don't understand."
A screen flickered on.
His face appeared.
"The boy isn't the only child they wanted."
The screen changed.
A photograph appeared.
A newborn.
Then another.
Then another.
Twenty photographs.
Twenty babies.
All with the same genetic marker.
My blood ran cold.
Thomas said:
"Your children were never the experiment."
The screen showed a final photograph.
A little boy.
Older than the others.
Maybe five years old.
The same green eyes as Daniel.
The same birthmark as Amelia.
And underneath the photograph:
SUBJECT ZERO — ORIGINAL MALE LINE
Thomas whispered:
"Your son is his replacement."
I stared.
"What does that mean?"
The screen went black.
Then one final message appeared:
COME TO THE HOSPITAL ALONE.
BRING THE BOY.
OR AMELIA DIES.
I looked at my sleeping son.
Then at Ethan.
Then my mother.
And finally—
at the empty doorway where Thomas had disappeared.
I knew one thing.
Whatever happened next wasn't about money.
It wasn't about the Whitmore name.
It wasn't even about revenge.
It was about my children.
May you like
And for the first time in my life—
I was ready to fight like a mother who had nothing left to lose.
