Chapter 6 - IsabellaAdrian read the documents again.
Every word.
Every date.
Every signature.
It couldn't be real.
Mia was his daughter.
Clara was her mother.
That part was true.
But why did another birth certificate list her as Isabella Volkov?
Vincent paced.
“This could be forged.”
“Could be.”
“But if it isn't…”
Adrian didn't answer.
His phone rang.
This time it was Elena.
He answered immediately.
“You knew.”
Silence.
Then Elena whispered:
“What did they tell you?”
“You've been investigating my medical records.”
“I was trying to understand the diagnosis.”
“You knew about Mia.”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“How?”
“Because Clara asked me to.”
His anger disappeared.
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
Adrian laughed bitterly.
“Everybody seems to know my life except me.”
Elena's voice became urgent.
“Adrian, listen to me.”
He did.
“I never worked for Lucian.”
“Then the photographs?”
“They're real.”
“Explain.”
“He has someone inside the hospital.”
Adrian looked at Vincent.
Elena continued.
“They've been accessing your medical records for months.”
“Why?”
“Because your genetic profile is valuable.”
Adrian frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You have a hereditary cardiac mutation.”
“And?”
“Your daughter has it too.”
Adrian's stomach tightened.
Elena continued.
“That's why her identity matters.”
Vincent stared at him.
“What are they planning?”
Elena answered.
“They've been studying your family.”
“Who?”
“Lucian.”
“Why?”
“Because your father's bloodline has a genetic marker connected to a private medical program.”
Adrian felt cold.
“What kind of program?”
“I don't know everything.”
“You'd better start talking.”
“Elena hesitated.
“It involves engineered cardiac tissue.”
Adrian stared.
“Human tissue?”
“Yes.”
His hand tightened around the phone.
“And Mia?”
“She may be compatible with a treatment they haven't been able to develop.”
The pieces began moving.
The diagnosis.
The surveillance.
Mia.
The Black Ledger.
Lucian.
Adrian understood.
“They don't want to kill her.”
“No.”
“They want to use her.”
“Yes.”
Adrian's face became expressionless.
“Tell me where they are.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know.”
There was a pause.
Then Elena whispered:
“But I know someone who does.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
Adrian froze.
“My father is dead.”
“No.”
Elena's voice shook.
“He isn't.”
The line went dead.
Adrian stared at Vincent.
“You heard that?”
Vincent nodded.
“I heard.”
Adrian walked toward the safe.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding my father.”
Vincent grabbed his arm.
“You cannot go after him alone.”
“I won't.”
Adrian opened the safe.
Inside were guns, passports, cash, and a small envelope.
He removed it.
“What is that?”
“A letter.”
“From whom?”
Adrian opened it.
The handwriting belonged to his father.
He had received it three years earlier.
He had never opened it.
Because it had arrived the week Mia was born.
He had been afraid.
Now he broke the seal.
The letter contained only one sentence.
If your daughter ever asks who her grandfather is, tell her he died loving her.
Adrian's hands shook.
Below the sentence was an address.
A farmhouse outside Albany.
Vincent stared.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“And he was waiting.”
Adrian folded the letter.
Then his heart suddenly stuttered.
He grabbed the table.
The room blurred.
Vincent caught him.
“Adrian.”
The monitor screamed.
Adrian collapsed.
As Vincent shouted for help, his phone lit up.
A message from Lucian.
May you like
One sentence.
You have twelve hours before your father dies.
