Chapter 12 - Claire’s SecretClaire's smile disappeared immediately when she realized I had noticed.
“What did he say?”
I didn't answer.
She stepped closer.
“Julian.”
“My father told me not to trust you.”
Her face went pale.
“I was afraid he'd say that.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows.”
“Knows what?”
Claire sat down.
“My brother didn't start the program.”
“Then who did?”
“My father.”
Victor Mercer.
The name appeared again.
Claire explained that the Mercer family had spent decades funding experimental medical research through private foundations.
Children from influential families were recruited under false identities.
Some were monitored.
Some were transferred.
Some disappeared.
Noah was never the real target.
He was leverage.
The real target was my bloodline.
“And Evelyn?”
“She was supposed to give birth to both children under observation.”
I stared.
“Both?”
Claire nodded.
“The first was Noah.”
“And the second?”
“Your daughter.”
I looked at Evelyn.
Claire continued.
“Victor planned to take this baby immediately after birth.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was the one who wrote the schedule.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
“You helped them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they had my brother.”
“And now?”
“They killed him.”
“What?”
“Marcus is dead.”
My heart stopped.
Claire pulled out her phone.
She showed me the image.
Marcus Hale.
Dead.
A hospital report confirmed it.
Cause unknown.
Date: that morning.
I looked at Claire.
“Who killed him?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she handed me another document.
It was signed by my father.
A witness statement.
It named Victor Mercer as the organizer.
And one other person.
My mother.
I stared at the signature.
My mother had been involved from the beginning.
But then I noticed a handwritten note at the bottom.
She did not know the full plan.
I looked at Claire.
“What did my mother know?”
“She knew they would take Noah.”
“But not why?”
“No.”
That changed everything.
My mother had committed unforgivable things.
But maybe she had been manipulated too.
I didn't have time to decide.
We drove to the address my father had given me.
The house was empty.
Noah wasn't there.
But a child's drawing was taped to the refrigerator.
A house.
A man.
A woman.
A little boy.
And another baby.
Underneath, someone had written:
WE'RE GOING HOME.
Then I heard a sound behind me.
A floorboard.
I turned.
My mother stood in the doorway.
She was holding a photograph.
My father.
Alive.
And beside him was Noah.
She handed it to me.
“He's been with your father this whole time.”
My heart stopped.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father made me promise.”
“Where is he?”
She looked at me.
“In the place where this all started.”
“Where?”
She whispered:
“Your childhood home.”
I froze.
The house where I had grown up had been demolished fifteen years ago.
There was nothing left.
But my mother smiled faintly.
“There is something beneath it.”
My phone rang.
It was my father.
His voice was weak.
“Julian, they're here.”
“Who?”
“They found Noah.”
I heard a child crying.
Then my father shouted:
“RUN!”
May you like
The call cut out.
A second later, every light in the house went black.
