Chapter 11 — The Other Mothers
Chapter 11 — The Other Mothers
The gunshot changed the courtroom.
One second, everyone was frozen.
The next, people were shouting.
The judge ducked beneath the bench.
The prosecutor pulled two officers toward the side wall.
Mae grabbed my shoulder.
"Leah, get down!"
I dropped instinctively, curling my body around Lucas.
My grandfather moved faster than a man who had supposedly spent twenty-eight years hidden from the world had any right to move.
He crossed the room, seized my arm, and pulled me behind the heavy wooden witness stand.
"Stay low."
"Grandpa—"
"Not now."
Another sound echoed through the corridor.
A scream.
Then running footsteps.
The security team rushed toward the doors.
Arthur stood completely still.
He looked at my grandfather.
"You shouldn't have come."
My grandfather's eyes hardened.
"Neither should you."
I stared between them.
There was history in that exchange.
Twenty-eight years of it.
The judge raised his head.
"Is anyone injured?"
One officer looked toward the hallway.
"Unknown."
Another officer returned.
"Window broken. No confirmed victim."
My grandfather turned toward me.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Lucas?"
"He's okay."
He touched the baby's blanket with trembling fingers.
For the first time, his expression broke.
"He's beautiful."
I stared at him.
"How long have you been alive?"
He looked at me.
"Long enough."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
"Why didn't you come home?"
His eyes filled with something I had never seen in an adult.
Shame.
"Because coming home would have put you in danger."
I shook my head.
"You left me."
"I know."
"You let me believe you were dead."
"I know."
"My mother disappeared."
"I know."
"Everyone I loved lied to me."
His voice cracked.
"I was trying to make sure you had someone left to love."
I couldn't answer.
Then Mae whispered:
"Leah."
I looked at her.
She was staring at the hallway.
A woman stood there.
Blood covered her white hospital gown.
She was carrying a photograph.
She looked directly at me.
And whispered:
"Are you Leah Carver?"
I nodded.
She started crying.
"My baby was taken too."
Her name was Hannah Pierce.
She had delivered at Briar Glen three years earlier.
A daughter.
Emily.
The official record stated that Emily had died twenty-seven minutes after birth.
Respiratory failure.
No complications had been anticipated.
No autopsy.
No photographs.
No opportunity for Hannah to hold her.
The hospital had told her that the baby was too fragile to see.
Hannah had believed them.
Until two months ago.
A stranger contacted her.
He sent her a photograph.
A little girl.
Four years old.
Same birthmark.
Same eyes.
Same name.
Emily.
Alive.
Hannah had spent two months trying to prove it.
Then she came to Briar Glen.
And found Mae.
I looked at the nurse.
Mae nodded.
"I've been looking for her."
Hannah stared at me.
"You're the first mother who believed me."
I swallowed.
"I believe you."
She handed me the photograph.
A little girl stood beside a Christmas tree.
Four years old.
Brown hair.
Blue eyes.
A tiny crescent-shaped birthmark beneath her left ear.
Hannah pointed to it.
"They told me my daughter had no birthmark."
I looked closer.
It was identical to the one visible in the hospital photograph beside Hannah's medical record.
My stomach turned.
"Where is she now?"
Hannah shook her head.
"I don't know."
"Who has her?"
"I don't know."
"Then why did you come here?"
She looked at the courtroom.
"Because the woman who sent me the photograph said you would know."
I frowned.
"Who?"
Hannah looked terrified.
"She called herself Mother Seven."
The name made Mae go pale.
"Mother Seven."
I looked at her.
"What does that mean?"
Mae whispered:
"There were six before you."
My grandfather closed the courtroom doors.
"Everyone stays here."
The judge stared at him.
"Who exactly are you?"
My grandfather looked at him.
"Someone who should have been here twenty-eight years ago."
He turned toward the prosecutor.
"Find the women."
"What women?"
"The mothers."
He looked at me.
"All of them."
Three hours later, the courtroom had become a war room.
Investigators had converted two offices into temporary evidence rooms.
Hospital administrators were being questioned.
Doctors were being escorted from the building.
The media had gathered outside.
And somehow, one by one, the mothers began arriving.
The first was Hannah.
Then Miriam.
Then Sophie.
Then Carla.
Then Denise.
Then Rebecca.
Six women.
Six children.
Six supposedly tragic deaths.
Six mothers who had never believed the official stories.
They sat together in a row.
Some cried.
Some stared blankly.
One had not spoken for thirty minutes.
My grandfather stood before them.
"I owe you an apology."
Miriam laughed bitterly.
"An apology?"
He nodded.
"I failed you."
She stood.
"My daughter died in this hospital."
"Yes."
"No."
Her voice shook.
"They told me she died."
My grandfather lowered his head.
"You were right not to believe them."
She stared.
"Where is she?"
He didn't answer.
"Where is my daughter?"
He looked toward Arthur.
Arthur looked away.
Miriam screamed.
"You know!"
Security moved forward.
She pointed at Arthur.
"You know where our children are!"
Arthur said nothing.
My grandfather stepped between them.
"We are going to find them."
Miriam collapsed into her chair.
"After all these years?"
"Yes."
"Why now?"
He looked at me.
"Because Leah survived."
I didn't understand.
"What does that mean?"
He looked at the mothers.
"Every previous mother was isolated."
He pointed toward me.
"Leah wasn't."
"Why?"
"Because her mother prepared for this."
He opened a box.
Inside were six files.
Each had a woman's name.
Each contained medical records.
Each contained a photograph of a newborn.
I looked at them.
The photographs were heartbreaking.
Tiny faces.
Tiny hands.
Children who had supposedly died.
My grandfather said:
"These children were never meant to disappear."
"Then why did they?"
"Because the trust needed genetic heirs."
I looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
"The trust's succession system was designed to recognize descendants of the founding families."
"So Doreen was looking for children?"
"Yes."
"But why take them?"
"Because some children were genetically compatible."
"Compatible with what?"
"The trust."
I frowned.
"That doesn't make sense."
"It will."
He took out another document.
"Your grandfather's original trust agreement."
I read it.
There was a clause I hadn't seen before.
The trust may be transferred only to a living descendant carrying all three founding bloodlines.
Bell.
Carver.
Whitmore.
I looked at him.
"Lucas."
He nodded.
"Lucas."
I suddenly understood.
"He has all three."
"Yes."
"How?"
My grandfather looked toward Nathan.
"Nathan's father was a Bell."
He looked at me.
"Your mother was a Whitmore."
Then he pointed toward me.
"And you are a Carver."
I felt dizzy.
"Then Lucas is the first."
"Yes."
The first child in generations.
The first legitimate heir.
The first person who could take control of everything.
Twenty-seven hospitals.
Research facilities.
Pharmaceutical holdings.
Investment companies.
And something else.
"What else does the trust own?"
My grandfather looked at me.
"Research."
"What kind?"
"Genetic research."
My stomach tightened.
"What kind of genetic research?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Arthur did.
"Immortality."
Everyone turned toward him.
Arthur continued:
"Not literal immortality."
He looked at Lucas.
"Cellular regeneration."
The room became silent.
My grandfather closed his eyes.
"They've spent thirty years trying to develop treatments for degenerative disease."
"And the children?"
Arthur said:
"The children were part of the research."
My hands tightened around Lucas.
"No."
Hannah began crying.
"My daughter."
Miriam whispered:
"My baby."
Arthur looked at them.
"I am sorry."
"Sorry?" Miriam screamed.
She lunged toward him.
Security caught her.
"You took our children!"
Arthur didn't fight back.
"No."
He looked broken.
"I helped create the system."
The distinction meant nothing to the mothers.
And it shouldn't have.
That night, we discovered the list.
Twenty-eight names.
Twenty-eight mothers.
Twenty-eight children.
Twenty-seven marked:
TRANSFERRED.
One marked:
ACTIVE.
Lucas.
I stared at the page.
"Twenty-seven children."
My grandfather nodded.
"Twenty-seven."
"Where are they?"
"We don't know."
"Then find them."
"We will."
"No."
I looked at him.
"You will help me find them."
He nodded.
"I will."
"I don't care how powerful Doreen's network is."
"We'll find them."
"I don't care how long it takes."
"We'll find them."
I looked at Arthur.
"And him."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"What about me?"
"You know where the records are."
He nodded.
"Yes."
"You'll help."
"Yes."
"And if you don't?"
He looked at my son.
"You'll make sure I regret it."
I shook my head.
"No."
He waited.
"I'll make sure the court makes you answer for every mother."
Arthur looked away.
For the first time, he looked afraid.
At midnight, the first breakthrough came.
A database was recovered from a hidden server beneath the hospital.
The records were encrypted.
But Mae recognized the coding system.
"These aren't medical files."
"What are they?"
"Transport records."
My heart stopped.
"Transport?"
She nodded.
"Locations."
My grandfather leaned over the screen.
There were twenty-seven coordinates.
Scattered across the country.
Some in hospitals.
Some in private residences.
Some in facilities that didn't appear to exist.
One was overseas.
"How do we know which children are still alive?"
Mae pointed toward a column.
"Heart rate monitoring."
I stared.
The system contained live data.
Twenty-seven heartbeats.
Twenty-seven children.
Alive.
Hannah covered her mouth.
Miriam began sobbing.
One mother fainted.
I couldn't breathe.
They were alive.
All of them.
Somewhere.
Waiting.
My grandfather looked at me.
"This changes everything."
I looked at the screen.
"No."
I shook my head.
"It changes nothing."
Everyone stared at me.
"They've had our children long enough."
I handed Lucas to Mae.
Then I stood.
"We're bringing them home."
At 3:17 a.m., another message appeared.
No sender.
Just one line.
You found the children.
A second message followed.
Now find the woman who gave the orders.
I stared at the screen.
Doreen was already in custody.
So who was left?
Then a third message appeared.
Doreen was never the head of the organization.
My grandfather read it over my shoulder.
His face went white.
"No."
I turned.
"What?"
He pointed at the screen.
"I know who it is."
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
"Grandpa."
He looked at me.
"The person who ordered the children's transfers..."
His voice trembled.
"...is your mother."
I couldn't move.
"My mother?"
He nodded.
"But my mother disappeared."
"Yes."
"She's dead."
He closed his eyes.
"No."
The room went silent.
"Your mother is alive."
I stared at him.
"Where?"
He looked toward the dark hospital window.
"She's the one who has been watching you."
My phone vibrated.
One final message.
Hello, Leah.
It's Mom.
And beneath it was a photograph.
My mother.
Standing beside Lucas's hospital bassinet.
Taken less than an hour earlier.
I dropped the phone.
Because suddenly, the other mothers were no longer the only people whose children had been stolen.
My mother had been watching my son.
May you like
And whatever she wanted from him...
she had already found her way inside the hospital.
