Chapter 5 - The Blood on the Silver Cuff LinkFor several seconds, nobody moved.
Then everything happened at once.
Security flooded the library.
My father shouted for the doors to be locked.
Mara pulled the boys behind the sofa.
I stared at my grandfather.
Blood spread across his white shirt.
A single bullet wound beneath his collarbone.
My first thought wasn't grief.
It was guilt.
Because the final thing he'd said to me had changed everything.
Micah wasn't supposed to exist.
Someone killed him before he could explain.
Or maybe someone killed him because he knew too much.
A guard shouted.
"The shooter is gone!"
Another yelled.
"No one crossed the front gate."
My father looked at me.
"Where is Mara?"
I turned.
She was gone.
So were the boys.
My heart dropped.
I found them in the underground garage.
Mara was trying to open an armored car.
"We're leaving."
"No."
She spun around.
"Your family is killing people."
"Where is Micah?"
"I don't know."
"Then we find him."
She stared at me.
"You don't understand."
"I understand enough."
She lowered her voice.
"Micah isn't missing."
"What?"
"He was taken on purpose."
"By who?"
"By someone who wants to force you to choose."
"Choose what?"
"Your family..."
She swallowed.
"...or your sons."
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I picked up.
A distorted voice spoke.
"Your grandfather is dead."
"I know."
"Then you know what comes next."
"Where is Micah?"
"Safe."
"Put him on."
There was silence.
Then I heard a child crying.
"Daddy?"
My chest cracked open.
"Micah!"
His voice trembled.
"I can't see."
"Where are you?"
"I don't know."
The voice returned.
"Bring the silver key."
I looked at the key in my pocket.
"Where?"
"Whitaker Cemetery."
The line disconnected.
Mara grabbed my arm.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because the key doesn't open a door."
"What does it open?"
"Your grandfather's mausoleum."
We drove through the rain.
The cemetery was empty.
Black trees bent under the wind.
The Whitaker mausoleum stood at the center of the family plot.
I inserted the silver key into the lock.
Nothing.
I tried again.
Then I remembered Milo's words.
"You have the same one."
I removed my grandfather's old cuff link.
The one he had given me.
I pressed its hidden edge against the lock.
Click.
The stone door opened.
Mara gasped.
Inside wasn't a tomb.
It was a room.
Computers.
Files.
Photographs.
Medical equipment.
A laboratory hidden beneath my family's cemetery.
And there, on the wall, were four photographs.
Milo.
Mason.
Max.
Micah.
Each was labeled with a number.
SUBJECT 01
SUBJECT 02
SUBJECT 03
SUBJECT 04
Below the photographs was a single phrase.
PROJECT ECHO
I walked toward the files.
Then I found another photograph.
It was dated six years ago.
It showed Mara in the hospital.
Behind her stood Dr. Everett.
And beside him was my mother.
My mother was holding a newborn baby.
I stared.
The baby had a small birthmark on his left shoulder.
The same mark Micah had.
Beneath the photograph, someone had written:
SUBJECT 04 TRANSFERRED.
Mara covered her mouth.
"Transferred where?"
I opened the next file.
It contained a medical record.
Four babies.
One pregnancy.
Four birth certificates.
Three official.
One erased.
I read the final line.
Subject 04 was transferred to Arthur Whitaker under sealed genetic custody.
Mara grabbed the file.
"No."
"What?"
She pointed at the bottom.
The transfer date.
Then the name of the receiving physician.
My father's signature.
Jonathan Whitaker.
My father's phone rang.
I answered it.
His voice was barely audible.
"Get out of there."
"Why?"
"Because your grandfather wasn't killed."
I froze.
"What?"
My father whispered:
"He was already dead before the shooting."
I looked at the body in my memory.
"Then who did I see?"
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My father said one sentence.
"Someone was pretending to be him."
