Chapter 7 - One of Them Is Not MineBlood has a memoryNobody spoke.
The five boys stood together.
Five identical faces.
Five little bodies.
One impossible lie.
Elena stepped forward.
“Dominic, listen to me.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You're going to tell me everything.”
“I have.”
“Then why did your face change when my father said one of them isn't mine?”
She looked at the boys.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing them.”
Sloane interrupted.
“Your father altered the DNA report.”
I turned.
“What?”
“He knew there were five babies.”
“But he couldn't prove all were yours.”
Sloane pulled another file from her jacket.
I opened it.
Five birth certificates.
Four listed Elena Vale as mother.
One listed Isabella Vale.
I stared.
“That's impossible.”
Sloane nodded.
“That's why your father thought one child belonged to Isabella.”
Elena whispered.
“Because Gabriel was born first.”
I looked at Gabriel.
He looked back at me.
“When my contractions started, I went into labor before the others.”
She swallowed.
“Gabriel was born twenty-two minutes before the other four.”
“And?”
“During those twenty-two minutes, Isabella came to the hospital.”
I understood.
“She switched the babies.”
Elena nodded.
“Before she died.”
My skin prickled.
“So Gabriel could be Isabella's son.”
“Yes.”
“And not mine.”
“I don't know.”
The uncertainty was worse.
I crouched in front of Gabriel.
“Where were you born?”
He looked at Elena.
“She told me I was born in Room 17.”
I looked at Sloane.
“Room 17.”
She nodded.
“That room belonged to the Barrett clinic.”
I stared.
“You were born in a Barrett facility?”
Elena shook her head.
“No. The hospital had Room 17. Your father transferred me there.”
Something moved behind us.
A bullet struck the wall.
I grabbed Gabriel.
My men returned fire.
We ran through the archive corridor.
The five boys were crying.
Elena carried Adrian.
I held Gabriel and Luca.
Sloane carried Nico.
Matteo held onto Marco's jacket, not realizing Marco was dead.
We reached the old vault.
The door was unlocked.
Inside was a single table.
On it sat the second will.
I opened it.
My father's signature was real.
The document named five heirs.
But one name had been crossed out.
Gabriel Moretti.
Underneath was another name.
Elias Barrett.
I stared at Sloane.
“Who is Elias?”
She didn't answer.
“Who is Elias?”
Her lips trembled.
“My brother.”
I felt the room go silent.
“You have a brother?”
“He died six years ago.”
The boys stared at her.
Sloane looked at Gabriel.
Then whispered:
“Except he wasn't born six years ago.”
I stepped back.
“Explain.”
“My brother was born twenty-seven years ago.”
She looked at the document.
“The man who disappeared was not Elias.”
“What are you saying?”
She reached into her pocket.
A photograph fell onto the table.
A young man stood beside my father.
The face was unmistakable.
It was Gabriel's face.
But older.
Much older.
My blood turned cold.
The man in the photograph was not a child.
He was twenty-seven.
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And beneath his picture were three words.
ELIAS BARRETT LIVES.
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