Chapter 6 - Project EmmaWe took the folder back to the station.
Detective Cole read every page twice.
Some documents were medical.
Others were financial.
A few appeared to be legal agreements.
But the strangest pages were handwritten notes.
One was dated twenty-three years earlier.
Rachel is the carrier.
Another:
Child must remain within family structure.
Another:
Do not allow Mercer trustees to discover substitution.
I stared at the word.
Substitution.
“What does that mean?”
Detective Cole didn't answer.
Mara joined us.
She studied the documents.
“Some of these terms are consistent with an old fertility arrangement.”
I looked at her.
“What arrangement?”
“An embryo transfer.”
My stomach turned.
“You're saying Emma...”
“No conclusions yet.”
But the documents suggested exactly that.
Years before Emma was born, my mother had allegedly arranged a fertility procedure involving genetic material connected to the Mercer family.
There was one problem.
I remembered Emma's birth.
I remembered the pregnancy.
The appointments.
The ultrasound.
Everything.
But I never remembered anyone explaining where the embryo came from.
Because no one had.
I had assumed it was mine and my husband's.
Now I wasn't sure.
At 3:40 p.m., the hospital called.
Emma was awake.
I rushed to her room.
Her eyes were open.
“Mama.”
I kissed her forehead.
“You scared me.”
She smiled weakly.
“I'm sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
She looked toward the door.
“Is Grandma here?”
“No.”
She relaxed.
Then she whispered:
“Grandma said I had to be brave.”
“When?”
“Before breakfast.”
My heart stopped.
“What else did she say?”
Emma thought.
“She said Aunt Vanessa would make me sleep.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did she say why?”
Emma nodded.
“She said when I woke up, I would live with Lily.”
I looked at Detective Cole.
He had entered quietly behind me.
His expression hardened.
“Emma,” he said gently, “did Grandma tell you to sit in Lily's chair?”
She nodded.
“She said if I sat there, everybody would get mad.”
“Why?”
Emma shrugged.
“Because it was part of the plan.”
The room went silent.
“What plan?” I asked.
Emma looked frightened.
“Don't tell Grandma.”
“I won't.”
“She said Papa would sign the paper.”
I felt ice in my veins.
“Which paper?”
Emma's eyes filled with tears.
“The one that makes me go away.”
Detective Cole exchanged a glance with Mara.
I bent close.
“Emma, did Grandpa know?”
She nodded again.
“He was there.”
My daughter closed her eyes.
Then she whispered:
“Grandpa told Aunt Vanessa to hit the table first.”
Detective Cole straightened.
“What?”
But Emma was already falling asleep.
At 5:06 p.m., detectives searched the family home again.
This time they found the object Emma had described.
A wooden serving tray had been struck against the table.
The impact was consistent with creating a sudden loud noise.
A distraction.
Not chaos.
A setup.
And then they found something else.
A small recording device hidden inside the kitchen clock.
It contained audio from the entire morning.
The recovered file began at 7:59.
My mother's voice appeared first.
“Remember. The girl must look responsible.”
Vanessa answered:
“She is four.”
My mother replied:
“That makes it easier.”
There was a long silence.
Then my father spoke.
“What if Rachel refuses the custody papers?”
My mother said:
“She won't.”
“Why?”
“Because after today, she'll be too afraid to fight.”
Detective Cole paused the recording.
Then played the final thirty seconds.
My mother whispered:
“After the injury, we take Emma from the hospital before Rachel can understand what's happening.”
I felt numb.
They had planned to take my daughter immediately after attacking her.
Then another voice appeared on the recording.
May you like
A voice none of us expected.
My husband.
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