Chapter 3 - There are moments when a man’s entire understanding of reality cracks apart.Mine happened in a hallway at 2:43 a.m.
I looked at Sophie.
Then toward the nursery.
Then back at her.
“Say that again.”
She swallowed.
“She said you're not their father.”
My mind rejected the sentence.
It refused to form meaning.
I pushed open the nursery door.
The babies were asleep.
Exactly where they had been.
No woman.
No intruder.
No movement.
Only the faint ticking of the wall clock.
I crossed the room.
One by one, I checked their faces.
Theo.
Miles.
Nora.
They were mine.
My blood.
My children.
At least, I had believed they were.
I remembered Lucia's pregnancy.
I remembered every appointment.
Every ultrasound.
Every night she had rested her hand on her stomach.
Then I remembered something else.
The triplets had been born three weeks early.
Lucia had died during delivery.
The doctors had called it a catastrophic hemorrhage.
I had been devastated.
I had barely seen the babies for the first twenty-four hours.
Everything after that had been a blur of funeral arrangements, doctors, lawyers, and grief.
What if something had happened during those twenty-four hours?
I looked at Marco.
“Get me the original birth records.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
He nodded.
“And the hospital records.”
“Understood.”
I turned toward Elena.
She was standing in the doorway.
Still.
Terrified.
I walked toward her.
“Sophie said your husband knew about my children.”
Elena shook her head.
“I don't know anything.”
“You're lying.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I swear to God…”
“Your husband worked for me.”
“Yes.”
“He died in a warehouse fire.”
She nodded.
“You said he died.”
“He did.”
“Did you see his body?”
Her face collapsed.
“No.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Because they wouldn't let me.”
“Who wouldn't?”
She covered her mouth.
“Please.”
“Who wouldn't let you?”
She whispered one word.
“Lucia.”
I froze.
“You saw my wife after she died?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know she was involved?”
Elena looked toward Sophie.
“Because Caleb told me.”
“When?”
“The night before he died.”
She stopped.
Then she reached into her apron pocket.
She pulled out a tiny brass key.
“I was told to give this to you only if the babies started screaming.”
I stared at it.
“Who gave it to you?”
“Caleb.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
I took the key.
There was a number engraved on it.
“What's room seventeen?”
Elena shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Marco returned.
“Sir.”
I turned.
His face told me something was wrong.
He handed me a folder.
The hospital records.
The births.
And one page that made my blood turn to ice.
“What's this?”
“The DNA test.”
I looked at him.
“What DNA test?”
“They ran one after the birth.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I opened the document.
Three names.
Theo Moretti.
Miles Moretti.
Nora Moretti.
And under biological father:
UNKNOWN.
I stared at the page.
“That’s impossible.”
Marco pointed to the bottom.
“There’s more.”
A handwritten note.
“Do not release paternal identity without authorization from Dr. Evelyn Vale.”
I didn't know an Evelyn Vale.
“Who is Dr. Vale?”
Marco shook his head.
“That's what we're trying to find out.”
Then Sophie entered the room.
She walked toward me without fear.
“Daddy said the key opens the room where the first babies slept.”
I crouched.
“First babies?”
She nodded.
“Before yours.”
My pulse accelerated.
“How do you know this?”
She touched the doll.
“He told me.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Your father is dead, Sophie.”
“I know.”
“Then how does he talk to you?”
She looked almost offended.
“Through her.”
She pointed at the doll.
I picked it up.
The fabric was cold.
Too cold.
The mismatched button eyes seemed to follow me.
Then I noticed something sewn into the back.
A tiny zipper.
I pulled it open.
Inside was a folded strip of paper.
My hands trembled as I unfolded it.
Only six words were written.
THE CHILDREN WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.
I looked at Sophie.
She whispered:
“Daddy said you're next.”
Suddenly, a gunshot exploded somewhere in the estate.
Marco drew his weapon.
Everyone dropped.
A second shot.
Glass shattered upstairs.
Then a third.
Marco shouted into his radio.
“Lock down the house!”
Men began running through the corridors.
I grabbed the children’s security monitor.
One camera feed after another went black.
Then the nursery camera returned.
A figure was standing beside the cribs.
This time it wasn't a woman.
It was a man.
He leaned toward the camera.
And even through the distortion, I recognized him.
Caleb Reed.
His face was burned.
One side was almost completely scarred.
He looked directly into the camera.
Then he mouthed four words.
“Find Room Seventeen.”
The feed died.
Marco stared at me.
“Boss…”
I was already moving.
May you like
Because if Caleb Reed was alive, then the man buried two years ago wasn't Caleb.
And somebody had just tried to kill my children to keep me from discovering why.
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