CHAPTER 5 — THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
CHAPTER 5 — THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
My grandfather's last words stayed inside my head long after the conference room lights came back on.
The man threatening your children is your father.
I wanted to laugh.
I wanted to scream.
Mostly, I wanted to believe he was wrong.
“My father is dead.”
My voice sounded strangely calm.
My grandfather didn't look at me.
“He was supposed to be.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No.”
“Then give me one.”
He finally met my eyes.
“Your mother believed he died.”
“Did he?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“I haven't seen him in thirty years.”
I stared at him.
“You're telling me you hid the truth about my father for my entire life?”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“And now he's threatening my babies.”
“Yes.”
“Then whatever you did didn't work.”
My grandfather closed his eyes.
For the first time in my life, I saw him look old.
Not powerful.
Not untouchable.
Just tired.
“There's something else,” he said.
“What?”
“The woman in the photograph with your mother.”
“Your sister.”
“Evelyn.”
“She isn't dead either.”
I froze.
“You told me she was.”
“I told everyone she was.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted to disappear.”
“From whom?”
My grandfather looked toward the dark conference-room window.
“Your father.”
Evelyn Price waited downstairs.
When I found her, she was standing alone in the company lobby.
She looked at me.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
She sighed.
“I was hoping your grandfather would tell you himself.”
“He did.”
“Then you know about the man behind everything.”
“My father.”
She nodded.
I stared at her.
“Who is he?”
She looked around.
“Not here.”
We went into a private office.
She locked the door.
Then she sat across from me.
“Your father was named Daniel Vance.”
I frowned.
“Vance?”
“Yes.”
“But my mother's maiden name was Carter.”
“Your mother married him secretly.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because Daniel wasn't who he claimed to be.”
I waited.
“He was a brilliant scientist.”
My grandfather's sister spoke slowly.
“He specialized in genetics.”
My stomach tightened.
“The same research?”
“Yes.”
“The mutation?”
“Yes.”
“Beacon Crest?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“So my father was involved in the research.”
“He created it.”
“What?”
“Not the treatment.”
Evelyn leaned forward.
“The genetic mapping system.”
I didn't understand.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your father discovered that certain genetic markers could be inherited without presenting obvious symptoms.”
“And?”
“And one of those markers existed in your mother's bloodline.”
My heart stopped.
“Mine.”
“Yes.”
“My children.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the floor.
“So he wanted me because of my DNA.”
“Not exactly.”
“Then why?”
“Because your mother stole his research.”
I looked up.
“My mother?”
“She discovered what he intended to do with it.”
“What?”
Evelyn's expression hardened.
“He wanted to patent the genetic sequence.”
“That doesn't sound like murder.”
“It wasn't the patent that terrified her.”
“What was?”
Evelyn whispered:
“He wanted to create children carrying the mutation.”
I felt cold.
“He wanted to reproduce it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the mutation could be used to create a biological response.”
“What response?”
“Resistance.”
“To disease?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“To certain drugs.”
I didn't understand.
“Why would that matter?”
“Because if you could engineer a person who couldn't be killed by specific toxins…”
My stomach turned.
“You could create a weapon.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Your father wanted to build one.”
I returned to the hospital before midnight.
My children were stable.
But I couldn't stop looking at them.
Tiny fingers.
Tiny toes.
Tiny chests rising beneath the wires.
I thought about what Evelyn had said.
Create children carrying the mutation.
I couldn't accept it.
My children weren't experiments.
They weren't assets.
They weren't property.
They were Noah and Elise.
My babies.
A nurse approached.
“Emma?”
I turned.
“Yes?”
“Someone left this for you.”
She handed me an envelope.
No name.
No address.
My heart tightened.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A woman standing outside a house.
She looked familiar.
I stared.
Then I realized why.
It was my mother.
But she wasn't alone.
A little girl stood beside her.
I looked closer.
The child was me.
The photograph had been taken before I was born.
That was impossible.
I turned it over.
A date was written on the back.
SEPTEMBER 14 — THREE MONTHS BEFORE EMMA'S BIRTH.
Underneath:
SHE WAS ALREADY THERE.
My hands began shaking.
There was another photograph.
This one showed my mother in a hospital room.
Beside her stood a teenage girl.
The same girl from the earlier photograph.
I stared.
The girl was approximately fifteen.
Then I saw the caption.
ELENA CARTER — PATIENT 17.
I looked toward the nurses' station.
“Who is Elena Carter?”
The nurse frowned.
“I don't know.”
I showed her the photograph.
Her expression changed.
“I've seen that face.”
“Where?”
“In the old records.”
“Which records?”
She whispered:
“The children's wing.”
The old children's wing had been closed for twelve years.
The hallway smelled of dust and disinfectant.
My grandfather tried to stop me.
“You shouldn't go down there.”
“I need answers.”
“You'll get them.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“No.”
I pushed open the door.
“I've waited my entire life.”
He followed me.
The hallway was dark.
At the end stood a metal door.
The sign above it read:
ARCHIVE — RESTRICTED.
My grandfather entered a code.
The door opened.
Inside were boxes.
Hundreds.
I searched for Elena Carter.
Nothing.
Then I found another name.
ELISE VANCE.
I froze.
My daughter's name.
I opened the box.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Not my daughter.
Another Elise.
Born twenty-eight years earlier.
Mother:
Isabella Carter.
Father:
Unknown.
I looked at my grandfather.
“Who is Isabella Carter?”
He didn't answer.
I opened another file.
A photograph fell out.
A young woman.
Beautiful.
Dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
I knew her.
It was my mother.
But beneath the photograph was another name.
ISABELLA VANCE — ALIAS: ISABELLA CARTER.
My mother's entire identity had been fabricated.
I looked at my grandfather.
“You lied about her name.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she was hiding.”
“From Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
He didn't answer.
My heart sank.
“She died.”
“Yes.”
“Did Daniel kill her?”
My grandfather looked away.
“I don't know.”
“You know.”
“I suspected.”
“Then why did you do nothing?”
His voice broke.
“Because I found you first.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Your mother disappeared when you were five.”
“I was told she died.”
“She didn't die then.”
I stopped breathing.
“She was alive?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“Where?”
“She was hiding under another identity.”
“Why didn't she come back?”
My grandfather's eyes filled with tears.
“Because she believed someone inside the family was helping Daniel find her.”
“Who?”
“I never discovered who.”
A noise came from behind the archive shelves.
We both froze.
My grandfather pulled me behind him.
“Who's there?”
Nothing.
Then a box fell.
I stepped forward.
“Don't.”
But I moved anyway.
Behind the shelves stood a woman.
Older.
Pale.
Her hair was silver.
Her face was thinner than the photograph.
But I recognized her immediately.
Evelyn.
She looked at my grandfather.
“You should have told her years ago.”
He stared.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come back?”
Evelyn looked at me.
“Because he knows about the children.”
My heart stopped.
“You're Evelyn.”
She nodded.
“Your mother's sister.”
I stepped closer.
“You knew my mother.”
“I helped her escape.”
“From Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Where did she go?”
Evelyn's eyes filled with pain.
“She went to a safe house.”
“Where?”
“She never arrived.”
I swallowed.
“What happened?”
“She was intercepted.”
“By whom?”
Evelyn looked at my grandfather.
“Someone in this family.”
He went completely still.
“Who?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I never found out.”
I stepped toward her.
“Then why are you here?”
She reached into her coat.
Pulled out a small envelope.
“This belonged to your mother.”
I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My mother's.
I read it.
Emma, if you ever find this, then Daniel has returned.
My breath caught.
The next line made my hands tremble.
Do not trust your grandfather.
I looked up.
My grandfather stood motionless.
Evelyn looked at him.
“I told you this day would come.”
He whispered:
“I had no choice.”
My voice shook.
“You had no choice?”
He looked at me.
“Your mother asked me to hide the truth.”
“About Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she tell me not to trust you?”
He didn't answer.
I looked at the note again.
There was another sentence.
The man you believe is your father is not the man who fathered you.
I stared.
“What?”
My grandfather closed his eyes.
Evelyn stepped forward.
“Your mother had another secret.”
“What secret?”
“She was pregnant when she met Daniel.”
My heart stopped.
“With me?”
“No.”
“With another child.”
I felt dizzy.
“The child that was supposedly lost.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Your older sister.”
I stared at her.
“She's alive.”
Silence.
“Where is she?”
Evelyn's eyes filled with tears.
“She was taken from your mother.”
“By whom?”
“Daniel.”
“Why?”
“Because she carried the mutation.”
I looked at the photograph.
The teenage girl.
Elena.
My supposed imaginary relative.
The child who had existed before me.
The child who had been erased from every record.
I whispered:
“Elena.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Her real name is Elena Vance.”
My knees weakened.
“My sister.”
“Yes.”
“She was supposed to be dead.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she now?”
Evelyn looked toward the ceiling.
“Closer than you think.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A video loaded automatically.
I pressed play.
The screen showed a dark room.
A woman sat in a chair.
Her face was bruised.
Her wrists were bound.
She looked directly into the camera.
I stopped breathing.
She had my mother's eyes.
My eyes.
She whispered:
“Emma.”
I couldn't move.
“My name is Elena.”
I covered my mouth.
“My sister…”
Elena looked terrified.
“Don't trust the people around you.”
“Where are you?”
She shook her head.
“They'll kill me if I tell you.”
“Who?”
Her eyes moved toward someone outside the camera frame.
Then she whispered:
“Grant.”
I froze.
The video continued.
“Grant isn't working for Mr. Gray.”
My blood ran cold.
“He is Mr. Gray.”
The screen went black.
I stared at my phone.
My husband.
The man who had abandoned me.
The man who had signed the divorce papers.
The man who had claimed he wanted nothing to do with my children.
He had been behind everything.
But then my phone vibrated again.
Another message.
THAT WAS THE WRONG ANSWER.
A second message appeared.
GRANT IS NOT MR. GRAY.
A third.
HE IS ONLY THE DOOR.
Then the final message:
THE WOMAN YOU ARE LOOKING FOR IS ALREADY INSIDE THE HOSPITAL.
I slowly looked toward the NICU.
A woman stood behind the glass.
Watching my children.
She turned.
And I recognized her.
Elena.
My sister.
May you like
The woman who was supposed to be dead.
And she was smiling at me.
