Chapter 12 - The ConservatoryThe conservatory was glowing when we arrived.
Hundreds of guests.
Crystal chandeliers.
White roses.
A quartet playing softly.
Central Park glittering beyond the glass walls.
My mother stood beneath the staircase in a silver gown.
She smiled when she saw me.
Then she noticed Mara.
The smile disappeared.
"Alexander."
I walked toward her.
"Where is Brielle?"
"I believe she's upstairs."
"No."
She studied me.
"Then where have you been?"
"Looking for the truth."
My mother went pale.
"The boys?"
"Safe."
She looked around.
"Your father?"
"Alive."
"Your grandfather?"
"Also alive."
For the first time in my life, I saw fear in her eyes.
"You've spoken to him."
"Yes."
She whispered:
"Then it's over."
I stepped closer.
"What did you do to me?"
She stared at me.
"I protected you."
"You erased my memories."
"I saved your life."
"You lied about Mara."
"I kept you alive."
"You stole my children."
Her face crumpled.
"I did what your grandfather ordered."
"Why?"
"Because he said he would kill you."
Silence.
"Did he?"
"He tried."
Mara stepped forward.
"Don't believe her."
My mother looked at Mara.
"You don't understand."
"I understand everything."
"No."
She shook her head.
"You understand what happened to you."
Then she pointed toward the conservatory floor.
"You don't understand what is beneath you."
A loud metallic click echoed.
The floor split.
A section of marble descended.
A hidden staircase appeared.
Guests began screaming.
Security doors locked every exit.
My mother whispered:
"Now you see."
We descended.
Below the conservatory was another facility.
Bigger than the first.
Brighter.
Newer.
At the end of the corridor was a glass chamber.
Inside stood four infants.
My blood froze.
Milo.
Mason.
Max.
Micah.
Not the children we had brought.
Smaller.
Newborn.
Clones.
Copies created from samples taken from the original boys.
Mara broke down.
"No."
My mother closed her eyes.
"They've already started the next generation."
I turned toward her.
"What have you done?"
She answered quietly.
"Not me."
A figure stepped into the laboratory.
Brielle.
She was holding a tablet.
She looked at me.
Then at the boys.
"I tried to stop them."
"Why?"
"Because they made me do it."
She turned the tablet toward me.
A list appeared.
Names.
Payments.
Executions.
Government officials.
Doctors.
Judges.
Then one name appeared in red.
JONATHAN WHITAKER.
My father.
I looked at him.
He stood behind the glass.
He looked broken.
"I didn't kill anyone."
Brielle shook her head.
"You didn't have to."
She pressed a button.
A screen showed security footage.
My father six years earlier.
Standing beside Mara's hospital bed.
Holding a newborn.
Then handing him to Dr. Everett.
The baby was Micah.
I stared at my father.
"You took him."
He nodded.
Tears filled his eyes.
"I was trying to protect him."
"From what?"
"The project."
"Then why did you give him away?"
"Because your grandfather had ordered all four boys killed."
My mother stepped forward.
"And I disobeyed."
I looked at her.
"You helped them survive?"
She nodded.
"I had them separated."
"Mara escaped with three."
"And you took the fourth."
"My father took Micah."
Silence.
Then Micah's real voice came from behind me.
"Daddy."
I turned.
He stood at the top of the staircase.
Alive.
But someone was behind him.
Dr. Everett.
He held a gun to Micah's head.
"One final test," the doctor said.
May you like
He smiled.
"Let's see whether the original remembers how to save his son."
