Chapter 4 - The File Beneath the FloorClaire was found three hours later.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
She had been left behind an abandoned warehouse six miles from the hospital.
The police called it an assault.
I called it a warning.
When I arrived, Claire was already in the ambulance.
She grabbed my wrist.
“Don't trust the hospital.”
“Who did this?”
She shook her head.
“I didn't see his face.”
“What did he want?”
Her breathing was shallow.
“He asked about the box.”
“What box?”
“The one Sophie gave me.”
My heart stopped.
“What box?”
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“My mother's house.”
I drove there immediately.
The house had been empty for years.
Dust covered every surface.
Old furniture sat beneath white sheets.
Claire had given me a key.
The basement smelled of wood and rain.
I searched everything.
Nothing.
Then I remembered her words.
The box.
Not the file.
Not the bag.
The box.
I checked the floorboards.
One was loose.
I lifted it.
Beneath it sat a metal container.
Locked.
I broke the lock with the handle of my flashlight.
Inside were medical records.
Photographs.
A USB drive.
And a handwritten journal.
Sophie's handwriting.
I sat on the basement floor and opened the journal.
The first page said:
I don't know how long I have.
The second:
I know Ethan will think I abandoned him.
The third:
I need him to believe that.
My eyes burned.
I kept reading.
Sophie had discovered Project Helix almost a year before our divorce.
The project was supposedly a private medical research program studying reproductive disorders.
But some of the participants had suffered miscarriages.
Others had developed aggressive cancers.
Then one physician noticed a pattern.
The patients had all been exposed to the same experimental compound.
A compound supposedly designed to improve fetal development.
It hadn't.
It had damaged both mother and child.
Sophie had been exposed before our first pregnancy.
Not by choice.
The treatment had been presented as a routine fertility medication.
She had never been told it was experimental.
My hands went numb.
Then I found another page.
The date was three days after our second miscarriage.
Sophie had written:
Ethan is angry at himself.
He thinks he failed us.
I have to stop him from asking questions.
I turned the page.
If he finds out what happened, they'll come after him.
The next page was torn.
Several pages had been removed.
I searched the box again.
There was an envelope at the bottom.
Inside was a photograph.
I stared at it.
Sophie was standing in front of a building.
Beside her was Dr. Daniel Reed.
Behind them was a sign.
PARKER BIOLOGICAL RESEARCH FACILITY.
My blood froze.
Parker.
My family name.
That wasn't possible.
I called my father.
No answer.
I called again.
Still nothing.
Then my younger brother, Nathan, answered.
“Ethan?”
“Where's Dad?”
“He's out.”
“Where?”
Silence.
“Nathan.”
“He didn't tell me.”
“Did he ever mention Parker Biological?”
Another silence.
“What is that?”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You're lying.”
Nathan exhaled.
“You shouldn't be asking about that.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Dad told me never to talk about it.”
“What is it?”
“I don't know everything.”
“Tell me what you know.”
Nathan's voice dropped.
“Parker Biological wasn't Dad's company.”
“What?”
“It belonged to Grandpa.”
I sat down.
“My grandfather died thirty years ago.”
“I know.”
“What did he research?”
Nathan hesitated.
“Genetics.”
“What kind?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at Sophie's photograph.
“Did Dad know about Project Helix?”
“I think so.”
“Did he know Sophie was involved?”
Nathan's silence answered the question.
“How long?”
“I don't know.”
“You knew?”
“No.”
“You suspected.”
Nathan whispered:
“I suspected Dad knew why you and Sophie kept losing babies.”
My throat tightened.
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Dad warned me.”
“About what?”
Nathan's voice trembled.
“He said if you ever started looking into the family research, you'd become the next person they needed to silence.”
I looked at the journal.
Another page.
One sentence.
I finally understand why they chose me.
I read it again.
And again.
Then I noticed the date.
The entry had been written before our second miscarriage.
Before Sophie even knew she was sick.
Before she knew I would leave her.
I turned the page.
A final sentence was written in red ink.
Ethan doesn't know the most important part.
The next line was missing.
Someone had torn it away.
I heard footsteps upstairs.
I froze.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming toward the basement.
I reached for my pistol.
The footsteps stopped.
Silence.
Then a man's voice called from above.
“Colonel Parker?”
My blood turned to ice.
He knew my rank.
He knew my name.
May you like
Then he said:
“You're getting very close.”
