Chapter 12 — Grant's Last Attempt
Chapter 12 — Grant's Last Attempt
The guardianship order trembled in my hands.
For several seconds, I couldn't read anything beyond one name.
Eleanor Whitmore.
My aunt.
The woman who had disappeared twenty-nine years ago.
The woman who had supposedly died before I was old enough to know she existed.
The woman who had taken Elise.
And now she was claiming legal custody of Noah.
I looked at Grant.
He had gone completely pale.
"Did you know about this?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not."
"You knew Eleanor was alive."
"Yes."
"You knew she wanted the twins."
"I knew she wanted Elise."
"Then why is Noah named here?"
Grant stared at the document.
"I don't know."
My grandfather took the papers from my hands.
He read every page.
His expression became darker with every line.
"This isn't a normal guardianship petition."
"What is it?"
"It's a temporary emergency custody order."
"Who granted it?"
"The court."
"How?"
"Someone submitted evidence claiming you're medically incapable of caring for Noah."
I stared at him.
"I'm incapable?"
"That's what the petition says."
I laughed.
A bitter, exhausted sound.
"I nearly died giving birth to him, and now they're using that against me."
Grant looked down.
"They're claiming you suffered a neurological injury."
"I didn't."
"I know."
"They're claiming I have postpartum psychosis."
My grandfather's jaw tightened.
"They're building a case."
"For what?"
"To have you declared unfit."
I looked at the document again.
"And who is listed as the child's alternate guardian?"
My grandfather didn't answer.
I already knew.
"Eleanor."
Grant suddenly reached for the papers.
"Let me see."
I pulled them away.
"No."
"Emma."
"You've lied to me enough."
"I need to check something."
"What?"
"There should be a second filing."
"Why?"
"Because if Eleanor submitted this herself, the court would require evidence establishing her relationship to Noah."
He took a step closer.
"Unless someone else filed it."
I looked at him.
"Who?"
Grant's eyes moved toward the hospital corridor.
"Someone with access to your medical records."
My heart sank.
"The missing files."
He nodded.
"Exactly."
My grandfather looked at the attorney.
"Find the filing attorney."
The man opened his tablet.
"I already did."
"And?"
He hesitated.
"The attorney's name is Daniel Mercer."
Grant went completely still.
I noticed.
"You know him."
Grant's face tightened.
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"He's Cross's attorney."
Silence.
My grandfather slammed his hand against the table.
"So Cross is behind this."
Grant shook his head.
"Not necessarily."
"What do you mean?"
"Eleanor's petition was filed through Mercer's firm."
My grandfather looked at him.
"Cross owns the firm."
Grant shook his head.
"No."
He looked at me.
"That's the problem."
"What?"
"Cross doesn't own it anymore."
"Then who does?"
Grant whispered:
"Eleanor."
I couldn't speak.
My grandfather looked as stunned as I felt.
"How long?"
Grant shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Then how did she acquire it?"
"Through shell companies."
"Whose money?"
Grant hesitated.
"Eleanor's."
My grandfather's expression changed.
"She has money?"
"More than you think."
"How?"
Grant looked at me.
"Because she inherited half of the original Project One assets."
I stared.
"Half?"
"Your grandmother left them to her."
My grandfather closed his eyes.
"I thought those assets were destroyed."
"Some were."
"And the rest?"
Grant looked toward the legal papers.
"Moved overseas."
I understood.
"Eleanor didn't disappear."
"No."
"She built an empire."
"Yes."
"While we believed she was dead."
Grant nodded.
"And now she's back."
A nurse suddenly rushed into the NICU.
"Emma!"
I turned.
"What happened?"
"Your son."
My heart stopped.
"What's wrong?"
"Someone tried to access his incubator."
I ran.
The nurse followed.
"Security stopped him."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
We reached Noah's room.
Two guards stood outside.
One was holding a man against the wall.
My breath caught.
It was Dr. Moore.
"Let him go."
The guard shook his head.
"He entered the restricted area without authorization."
Dr. Moore looked terrified.
"I was checking the infant's medication."
"You had no authorization."
"I received an order."
"From whom?"
She hesitated.
I stepped closer.
"From whom?"
Dr. Moore whispered:
"Grant."
I turned.
Grant had followed us.
His face changed.
"What?"
"You ordered her to access Noah's incubator."
"No."
Dr. Moore looked at him.
"You called me."
"I never called you."
"Someone used your phone."
Everyone went silent.
The guard pulled out a security tablet.
"There's video."
He played it.
Grant appeared on screen.
Walking toward the NICU.
Using his own phone.
Talking to someone.
The timestamp was forty minutes earlier.
But Grant had been standing beside me during that time.
I looked at him.
"How?"
He stared at the screen.
"I wasn't there."
"That's you."
"I know."
"You were recorded."
"I know."
"So explain it."
He couldn't.
The guard zoomed in.
The man on the screen turned toward the camera.
It looked exactly like Grant.
Except for one detail.
A small scar under his left eye.
Grant touched his face.
"I don't have that scar."
My grandfather looked at the screen.
"Then who is he?"
The answer came from Dr. Moore.
"Thomas."
Everyone turned.
"Thomas who?"
She looked at Grant.
"Thomas Reed."
Grant went pale.
"He's alive?"
Dr. Moore nodded.
"Apparently."
My grandfather frowned.
"Who is Thomas Reed?"
Grant swallowed.
"My former business partner."
"Former?"
"He died six years ago."
Dr. Moore shook her head.
"No."
She looked at me.
"He was one of the men who signed Noah's medical authorization."
My stomach tightened.
"Why would a dead man access my son's records?"
Grant stared at the screen.
"Because he isn't dead."
I looked at him.
"How do you know?"
Grant whispered:
"Because I killed him."
Nobody moved.
My grandfather stepped forward.
"What did you just say?"
Grant looked broken.
"I didn't mean to."
"Explain."
"Six years ago, Thomas discovered what Cross was doing."
"Project One?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"He threatened to expose everything."
"So you killed him?"
"No."
Grant's voice shook.
"I confronted him."
"And?"
"We fought."
"Where?"
"At a warehouse."
"Then?"
"He fell."
"From where?"
"Second floor."
"Did he die?"
"I thought he did."
My grandfather stared at him.
"You left him."
Grant nodded.
"I was terrified."
"And Cross?"
"He cleaned it up."
I looked at Grant.
"So Thomas survived."
"Apparently."
"And now he's working for Eleanor."
"I don't know."
"But someone using your identity helped him access Noah."
Grant looked at me.
"Which means someone has my credentials."
"Who?"
He stared at the security footage.
"I know exactly who."
Grant took out his phone.
He opened a secure application.
"What's that?"
"My old corporate security network."
"You still have access?"
"Technically."
He entered a password.
The screen displayed several locations.
One was highlighted.
WHITMORE FAMILY RESIDENCE.
I stared.
"Someone is there."
Grant nodded.
"Who?"
"Unknown."
My grandfather immediately called security.
"Send a team."
Grant shook his head.
"Too late."
"What?"
The location disappeared.
"Someone just disconnected the system."
"Can you track them?"
Grant stared at the screen.
"Yes."
"Where?"
He looked at me.
"Your old house."
I froze.
The house where I had grown up.
The house where my mother had lived.
The house where I had been told my aunt died.
I whispered:
"Eleanor."
We left the hospital.
This time, Grant came with us.
I hated it.
But I needed his knowledge.
And I needed answers.
The drive took twenty minutes.
The house stood exactly as I remembered it.
White stone.
Tall windows.
Old oak trees.
The place where my childhood had once felt safe.
Now it looked like a trap.
Security surrounded the property.
The front door was open.
My grandfather stopped.
"No one enters."
Grant looked at him.
"We have to."
"No."
"Your daughter is inside."
My grandfather's face tightened.
"That's exactly why we don't rush in."
I looked at the windows.
There was a light upstairs.
Then it disappeared.
I saw movement.
"Someone's there."
Security moved forward.
The door slammed shut.
Then the entire house went dark.
A second later, every light turned on.
One by one.
First the hallway.
Then the living room.
Then the staircase.
Finally...
my mother's old bedroom.
I froze.
Grant looked at me.
"Emma."
"I'm going in."
He grabbed my arm.
"No."
I pulled away.
"Don't touch me."
"Something is wrong."
"Everything is wrong."
He stepped closer.
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
I looked at him.
"You had your chance."
He lowered his head.
"Then let me use what's left."
We entered.
The house smelled exactly the same.
Old books.
Polished wood.
My mother's perfume.
A memory hit me so hard I almost stopped walking.
I was six.
My mother was sitting beside the fireplace.
She was holding a photograph.
Two babies.
I had asked:
"Who are they?"
She had cried.
Now I understood why.
We reached the bedroom.
The door was locked.
Grant tried the handle.
Nothing.
My grandfather stepped forward.
"Move."
He pulled an old brass key from his pocket.
I stared.
"You still have it?"
"Your mother gave it to me."
He opened the door.
Inside was darkness.
Then a voice.
"Hello, little sister."
I stopped breathing.
A woman stepped from behind the curtains.
Eleanor.
She looked exactly like the woman in the old photographs.
Except older.
Harder.
Alive.
Her eyes locked onto mine.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then she smiled.
"You look like Mother."
I whispered:
"You look like me."
She nodded.
"That's why she was afraid of us."
My grandfather stepped forward.
"Eleanor."
She looked at him.
"You."
Her smile vanished.
"You still have the same eyes."
"And you still blame me."
"I don't blame you."
She looked at me.
"I blame her."
"Who?"
"Our mother."
Eleanor walked toward the desk.
She picked up a photograph.
My mother.
My aunt.
Two little girls.
I had never seen the picture.
"She chose her."
She pointed at my mother.
"She chose Subject Seventeen."
I whispered:
"Why?"
"Because she was stable."
"And you?"
"I was stronger."
"Then why weren't you chosen?"
Eleanor smiled bitterly.
"Because strength frightened her."
I stared at her.
"What happened to you?"
"My grandmother sent me away."
"Where?"
"To a laboratory."
My stomach turned.
"She experimented on you."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Eleven years."
My grandfather closed his eyes.
"I didn't know."
Eleanor looked at him.
"You knew enough."
She reached beneath the desk.
"Look."
She pulled out a file.
Thick.
Old.
Stamped with the Project One symbol.
She threw it toward me.
I caught it.
Inside were photographs.
Medical scans.
Blood reports.
And then...
two pages with my name.
EMMA WHITMORE.
I stared.
"This is my file."
Eleanor nodded.
"Yes."
"But these are from before I was born."
She smiled.
"Exactly."
My hands trembled.
"You tested me?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"You were part of the experiment before you were born."
I looked at my grandfather.
He looked away.
My heart broke.
"Grandfather?"
He couldn't meet my eyes.
Eleanor whispered:
"Your mother was carrying you when they implanted the marker."
I froze.
"Me?"
"Yes."
"But why?"
"Because they needed a second generation."
My stomach twisted.
"And Noah and Elise?"
Eleanor's expression changed.
"They weren't an accident."
I stared.
"What?"
She stepped closer.
"Your twins were conceived with the marker already active."
"No."
"Yes."
"You're lying."
"I wish I were."
She opened another file.
Inside were medical documents from before my pregnancy.
Documents showing genetic predictions.
My children's names.
Their expected birth dates.
And one line circled in red:
FIRST SUCCESSFUL SECOND-GENERATION CARRIERS.
I couldn't breathe.
"They knew about my children before they were born."
Eleanor nodded.
"Cross knew."
"Grandfather knew?"
He said nothing.
I looked at him.
"Did you know?"
His silence was enough.
I stepped backward.
"You knew."
"Emma—"
"You knew."
"I was trying to protect you."
"You let me become pregnant knowing they were watching."
"I thought the project was dead."
"You thought?"
My voice broke.
"You gambled with my children."
My grandfather's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm sorry."
I turned away.
Then Grant spoke.
"There is something wrong."
Everyone looked at him.
He pointed at the file.
"The dates."
"What about them?"
"These records were created before Emma married me."
I nodded.
"So?"
"They were created before Emma met me."
I looked at him.
"What's your point?"
Grant stared at Eleanor.
"How did Cross know the twins would exist?"
Eleanor's face became unreadable.
Grant continued.
"He knew their names."
He pointed to the file.
"He knew their birth dates."
"He knew they would be twins."
"He even knew Noah and Elise would carry the marker."
My grandfather slowly stood.
"Who told him?"
Nobody answered.
Grant looked at Eleanor.
"You."
Eleanor shook her head.
"No."
"Then who?"
She whispered:
"The father."
I felt cold.
"The father of what?"
Eleanor looked directly at me.
"Your children."
My heart stopped.
"Grant?"
She shook her head.
"No."
Grant went pale.
Eleanor opened the final file.
Inside was an old genetic report.
Two names.
EMMA WHITMORE
and
DONOR 47.
I stared.
"Donor 47?"
Eleanor looked at me.
"Your twins were not conceived the way you think."
Grant's face turned white.
I couldn't move.
Then Eleanor said the words that destroyed the last certainty I had left.
"Grant isn't their biological father."
Silence.
"Your husband was never their father."
Grant staggered backward.
"What?"
Eleanor looked at him.
"Cross used you."
Grant's voice cracked.
"That's impossible."
"It isn't."
She looked at me.
"Your twins were created from a genetic sample taken years before you met Grant."
My hands went numb.
"Whose sample?"
Eleanor's eyes filled with something I couldn't identify.
Regret.
Fear.
Maybe pity.
"Your father's."
I froze.
"My father?"
"Yes."
I whispered:
"My father died before I was born."
Eleanor nodded.
"Exactly."
The room fell silent.
Grant stared at me.
My grandfather looked horrified.
And Eleanor closed the file.
"That's why they want the twins."
She looked toward the window.
"Because Noah and Elise aren't merely carrying Project One."
She paused.
"They are carrying the blood of the man who was supposed to destroy it."
I couldn't breathe.
"Who was my father?"
Eleanor looked at my grandfather.
He finally whispered the name.
"Daniel Whitmore."
My uncle.
The man everyone had told me was dead.
The man whose blood supposedly disappeared twenty-nine years ago.
The man whose name had just appeared as the biological father of my children.
And then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke.
"Emma."
I recognized it immediately.
Julian Cross.
"Your aunt told you enough."
"Where is Elise?"
"Come to the old maternity ward."
"I'll come."
"Alone."
"No."
He laughed.
"Then you'll never see your daughter again."
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Grant stepped closer.
"Emma..."
I looked at him.
"You lied to me about everything."
"I know."
"But you're coming."
He nodded.
"I am."
I looked toward my grandfather.
"And you."
He lowered his head.
"I'm coming too."
I shook my head.
"No."
Everyone stared at me.
I looked at the files.
At the names.
At the photograph of two babies.
At the truth about my father.
And finally at the message on my phone.
"I've spent my entire life being protected by lies."
I closed the file.
"I'm done."
Then I looked at Grant.
"This time, I decide what happens."
He nodded.
But before we could leave, Eleanor spoke.
"Emma."
I turned.
She was holding another envelope.
"There is one more thing you need to know."
"What?"
She handed it to me.
On the front was a single handwritten sentence.
OPEN ONLY AFTER YOU LEARN WHO THE TWINS' REAL FATHER IS.
I stared at the envelope.
Then at Eleanor.
"Who wrote this?"
She answered quietly:
"Your mother."
My heart stopped.
Because my mother had been dead for twelve years.
And yet somehow...
she had known exactly what would happen tonight.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
A newborn baby boy.
On his wrist was a yellow hospital bracelet.
And beneath the photograph were four words:
HE WAS NEVER DEAD.
I looked at my grandfather.
He understood.
Daniel Whitmore wasn't dead.
My father wasn't dead.
And somewhere in the city, the man whose blood had created Noah and Elise was still alive.
Waiting.
Watching.
May you like
And possibly...
working with Julian Cross.
