Chapter 4 - The Child Who Was Never BuriedAdrian couldn't speak.
“A third baby?”
Victoria nodded.
“He was born after Clara.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I'm not.”
Adrian grabbed the back of a chair.
His entire world seemed to be tilting.
Mr. Cross looked disturbed.
“Victoria.”
She turned toward him.
“You knew?”
Her lips trembled.
“Yes.”
“Then why did you marry me?”
Victoria looked at Adrian.
“Because your father ordered me to.”
The sentence landed like a gunshot.
“My father?”
“He wanted me close to you.”
“Why?”
“To make sure you never remembered Evelyn.”
Adrian stared.
“You were watching me?”
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
Victoria started crying.
“From the truth.”
Adrian walked away.
He needed air.
He stepped onto the terrace overlooking the garden.
Guests were leaving through the gates.
The wedding decorations fluttered in the evening wind.
Hours ago, he had been the happiest man in the room.
Now he wasn't even certain the memories in his own mind belonged to him.
He closed his eyes.
The headache returned.
Rain.
A burning smell.
Evelyn screaming.
A baby crying.
Someone saying:
“Take the boy.”
Then a gunshot.
Adrian opened his eyes.
He was breathing hard.
Mr. Cross appeared behind him.
“You remembered something.”
“Maybe.”
“Tell me.”
“A baby.”
The lawyer went pale.
“What did you hear?”
“Someone said, ‘Take the boy.’”
Mr. Cross lowered his head.
“Then the sedatives are wearing off.”
“What sedatives?”
“You were medicated for weeks after the accident.”
“Why?”
“To suppress recurring seizures.”
Adrian stared.
“That's what I was told.”
“You were told only half the truth.”
Mr. Cross pulled out an old medical report.
The patient was diagnosed with traumatic memory fragmentation.
Interference with memory formation was suspected.
Adrian read it slowly.
“Someone tampered with my treatment.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Daniel Mercer had a doctor on the payroll.”
Adrian turned.
“Victoria's father.”
“Yes.”
“Why would he care what I remembered?”
Mr. Cross looked at him.
“Because you saw him carrying a child out of the fire.”
The world went silent.
Adrian remembered.
A man.
A dark coat.
A baby wrapped in red.
Daniel.
He had seen Daniel.
And then someone had struck him.
Adrian staggered backward.
“Where is the third child?”
Mr. Cross hesitated.
“I believe he is alive.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
“Then find him.”
“We've been trying.”
“For how long?”
“Twenty-two years.”
Adrian stared.
“Who else knows?”
“One person.”
“Who?”
Mr. Cross's expression changed.
“Your mother.”
Adrian looked back at the ballroom.
Victoria was standing alone beneath the chandeliers.
He approached her.
“Did my mother tell you where the boy is?”
“No.”
“Then what did she tell you?”
Victoria wiped her tears.
“She told me something you have to understand.”
“What?”
“That the third child was never meant to inherit anything.”
Adrian frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he wasn't your father's son.”
Adrian stopped.
“What?”
Victoria swallowed.
“He was Evelyn's son.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
Victoria looked directly into his eyes.
“The boy wasn't conceived naturally.”
Adrian's face tightened.
“What are you saying?”
“He was created from stolen genetic material.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Your father had a private fertility clinic.”
Adrian could barely process the words.
“Why?”
“To create an heir that could never challenge the family.”
Victoria looked toward the corridor.
“But the doctor made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“She used your genetic sample.”
Adrian's heart pounded.
“And Evelyn carried the pregnancy.”
“Yes.”
“So the boy is…”
“Your son.”
Adrian shut his eyes.
Another memory surfaced.
A newborn.
A tiny hand around his finger.
Evelyn smiling through tears.
“You're his father.”
Then the room filled with smoke.
A door slammed.
Daniel screamed:
“Get the baby!”
Adrian opened his eyes.
“Where is he?”
Victoria whispered:
“They killed everyone who knew.”
“Everyone?”
She nodded.
“Except one.”
“Who?”
Victoria's voice cracked.
“The woman in the photograph.”
Adrian stared.
“My mother.”
Before he could speak, Clara appeared at the doorway.
She was holding an old piece of paper.
“Daddy?”
Adrian turned.
She held it toward him.
“I found this in Aunt Victoria's bag.”
He took it.
It was an old birth certificate.
The child's name had been scratched away.
Only the first letter remained.
J.
Then Adrian noticed the date.
The same date as his memory.
May you like
And at the bottom of the page was a handwritten warning.
JONAH VALE MUST NEVER BE FOUND.
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