CHAPTER 9 — I WAS NEVER MICHAEL CARTER
The words on the screen refused to disappear.
WELCOME HOME, SUBJECT ZERO.
I stood motionless.
For seven years, I had believed my greatest nightmare was losing Emma.
Now I was beginning to wonder whether I had ever known who I was in the first place.
Daniel stepped closer.
“Michael…”
I raised my hand.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
I couldn't think.
My name.
My birth certificate.
My father's name.
My grandfather's trust.
Every memory suddenly felt contaminated.
“What did you call me?”
Claire looked at me.
“Michael.”
“You said my birth certificate was false.”
“Yes.”
“Then who am I?”
Claire's lips trembled.
“I don't know.”
The answer hurt more than any lie she had told me.
“You don't know?”
“No.”
“You knew enough to marry me.”
“I was told who you were.”
“By whom?”
“Your grandfather.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So even my name came from him?”
Claire lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
Daniel picked up the black folder.
“Subject Zero is listed as Carter bloodline.”
I looked at him.
“What if that's me?”
“Then we need DNA.”
“Against whom?”
“Your father's remains.”
“My father was cremated.”
Daniel paused.
“Then against your mother.”
I stared at Claire.
“My mother.”
“She died six years ago,” Claire said.
“Where are her medical records?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel immediately reached for his phone.
“I'll find them.”
I walked back toward the black folder.
There was one photograph inside.
A newborn.
A small hospital bracelet.
I turned it over.
The bracelet read:
BABY M — MALE
No surname.
No date.
Only a handwritten number:
00
I stared at it.
“Subject Zero.”
Claire nodded.
Daniel examined the photograph.
“This is old.”
“How old?”
“About forty years.”
My heart stopped.
Forty years.
I was thirty-eight.
That meant Subject Zero wasn't necessarily a child from seven years ago.
It could be me.
I looked at Claire.
“When was I born?”
She swallowed.
“March 14.”
“What year?”
“1988.”
The photograph was dated 1988.
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
She didn't answer.
“Claire.”
“Carter Medical Center.”
“That hospital doesn't exist anymore.”
“I know.”
Daniel looked up.
“It was demolished in 2003.”
I stared at him.
“Then how do we verify the birth?”
“We find archived records.”
Claire shook her head.
“They won't exist.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather destroyed them.”
I stepped toward her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I was there.”
My anger returned.
“You were there when my records were destroyed?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather told me I needed to know what would happen if I ever betrayed the family.”
I stared at her.
“What happened?”
“He showed me a basement.”
“What was inside?”
“Records.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
I froze.
“My records?”
“Yes.”
“Why would my records be stored underground?”
Claire whispered:
“Because your grandfather wasn't protecting your identity.”
“He was hiding it.”
“Yes.”
Daniel suddenly looked at the black folder.
“Michael.”
“What?”
“There's something written on the back.”
He turned it over.
A sentence had been scratched into the paper.
SUBJECT ZERO WAS NOT BORN.
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Claire looked terrified.
“He was created.”
Silence.
Daniel stared at her.
“Created how?”
“I don't know.”
“You've been involved in this for seven years. Stop saying you don't know.”
Claire looked at me.
“I swear.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
She took a trembling breath.
“Your grandfather believed blood could be engineered.”
My stomach tightened.
“Genetic engineering?”
“Not exactly.”
“What, then?”
“He believed children could be selected.”
“For what?”
“Traits.”
Daniel stared.
“What traits?”
“Intelligence. Health. Memory. Physical ability.”
I felt sick.
“You're saying my family selected children?”
“Yes.”
“Like products?”
Claire nodded.
“And Subject Zero?”
“He was the first successful attempt.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What was special about him?”
Claire whispered:
“He remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“Everything.”
Daniel frowned.
“That's impossible.”
Claire shook her head.
“Not everything.”
She looked at me.
“Pain.”
I stared.
“Pain?”
“Your grandfather believed trauma could produce stronger loyalty.”
I felt cold.
“He tested children.”
“Yes.”
“On me?”
“I don't know.”
“You were there.”
“I was there when you were older.”
“When?”
“When you were six.”
I froze.
“What happened when I was six?”
Claire looked away.
“You disappeared for three days.”
My heart stopped.
I remembered that.
Or thought I did.
I had always been told I'd been sick.
A fever.
A hospital stay.
But now—
“Where was I?”
Claire whispered:
“At the Carter Research Center.”
I felt dizzy.
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
“Tell me.”
“You came back different.”
“How?”
“You wouldn't speak.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Selective mutism?”
I nodded slowly.
“Three days.”
I remembered fragments.
White walls.
A bright light.
A man behind glass.
A needle.
A voice telling me:
Don't forget.
I pressed my fingers against my temple.
Suddenly, the memory sharpened.
A woman was holding me.
She was crying.
Not my mother.
Someone else.
She whispered:
“I'm sorry.”
Then another voice.
My grandfather.
“Again.”
I opened my eyes.
Claire was staring at me.
“What?”
“You remembered.”
I nodded.
“I was there.”
“Where?”
“The research center.”
Daniel looked at Claire.
“What did they do to him?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I grabbed the edge of the table.
“I remember a room.”
“What room?”
“Glass.”
“A laboratory?”
“Yes.”
“Who was there?”
“My grandfather.”
“Anyone else?”
I closed my eyes.
A face appeared.
A young man.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
A crescent-shaped mark under his ear.
Lucas.
But he couldn't have been there.
He wasn't born yet.
Unless—
I opened my eyes.
“Lucas was there.”
Claire's face went white.
“No.”
“He was.”
“You were six.”
“Yes.”
“Lucas wasn't born.”
“Then who did I see?”
Claire didn't answer.
Daniel whispered:
“Maybe the boy wasn't Lucas.”
I stared at him.
“Maybe it was his father.”
My memory shifted.
The boy wasn't fourteen.
He was older.
Maybe twenty.
Same eyes.
Same birthmark.
Same face.
Jonathan.
I suddenly understood.
The face I remembered wasn't Lucas.
It was Jonathan.
And he had been young.
Very young.
Standing beside my grandfather.
Watching me through the glass.
I whispered:
“Jonathan was there.”
Claire stepped backward.
“He was.”
I looked at her.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your grandfather told me if I ever told you, he would kill you.”
I stared at her.
“And you believed him?”
“Yes.”
“For thirty-two years?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Only until yesterday.”
“What changed?”
“Emma.”
I fell silent.
Claire continued.
“She was the first child your grandfather couldn't erase completely.”
“Why?”
“Because she survived.”
“And Subject Zero?”
Claire shook her head.
“He wasn't a child your grandfather created.”
“What?”
“He was the child your grandfather was trying to replace.”
I stared.
“Replace with whom?”
Claire looked at the black folder.
“With Ethan.”
My stomach tightened.
“Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“The primary heir.”
“Yes.”
“So Ethan was supposed to replace me?”
Claire nodded.
“But why?”
“Because your grandfather knew your identity was unstable.”
I couldn't understand.
“Unstable?”
“He wasn't sure you were biologically connected to the family.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Then why did he make me heir?”
“Because you carried the right markers.”
I felt sick.
“What markers?”
“Your blood.”
“My blood?”
“Your grandfather needed someone who carried a particular genetic combination.”
Daniel shook his head.
“This is insane.”
Claire continued.
“He couldn't find it naturally.”
“Then where did it come from?”
She looked at me.
“Jonathan.”
My heart stopped.
“Jonathan gave my grandfather the genetic material.”
“What?”
“That's why Jonathan was important.”
“He wasn't your grandfather's son.”
“No.”
“He was the source.”
I stared.
“What does that make me?”
Claire whispered:
“His biological descendant.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
Jonathan wasn't my uncle.
Not biologically.
He was my biological father.
The man I had been taught to hate.
The man who had been watching my family.
The man behind the black watch.
Jonathan.
My father.
I staggered backward.
“No.”
Claire started crying.
“I'm sorry.”
“No.”
“You were told your father was Daniel Carter.”
I shook my head.
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
I looked at the documents.
The DNA comparison.
Jonathan.
Me.
The genetic markers.
Everything aligned.
My entire life was built on a false father.
And suddenly, Jonathan's obsession with me made sense.
He wasn't merely watching an heir.
He was watching his son.
Daniel found another document.
He read it slowly.
“Michael…”
“What?”
“This says your biological mother was Evelyn Cross.”
I stared.
The nurse.
The woman from the photograph.
The woman supposedly dead.
“She was my mother?”
Claire nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then who raised me?”
“Your grandmother.”
“My father's mother?”
“No.”
“My grandfather's wife.”
I felt numb.
She wasn't my grandmother.
She was the woman assigned to raise me.
The Carter family had manufactured my identity before I could even speak.
I was born under one name.
Given another.
Raised by people who weren't my biological parents.
And placed inside a family whose inheritance depended on my existence.
I looked at Claire.
“Did my father know?”
“Yes.”
“Did Jonathan know?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't he take me?”
Claire looked down.
“Because your grandfather threatened to kill Evelyn.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“So Jonathan let me go.”
“He believed he could protect you from a distance.”
“By watching?”
“Yes.”
“By manipulating everything?”
“No.”
Claire shook her head.
“Some of what you think Jonathan did wasn't Jonathan.”
I stared.
“What do you mean?”
“Richard.”
“Richard?”
“Richard used Jonathan's name.”
“For what?”
“To make people afraid.”
Daniel looked up.
“That explains the black watch.”
I frowned.
“Richard had the same watch?”
“Yes.”
Claire nodded.
“Your grandfather gave identical watches to all three men.”
“Why?”
“To identify members of Project Meridian.”
I looked at the black watch on the desk.
“So the man who attacked the school…”
“Could have been Richard.”
“And the man who photographed my children?”
“Could have been Richard.”
“Then where is Jonathan?”
Claire whispered:
“I don't know.”
The lights suddenly flickered.
Daniel reached for his weapon.
A sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone was approaching.
The officers moved into position.
I stood behind the desk.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside.
Gray hair.
Black coat.
Black watch.
Jonathan.
I stared at him.
For thirty-eight years, I had been told my father was dead.
Then I discovered he wasn't my father.
Now the man standing before me claimed the blood I had spent my entire life believing belonged to someone else.
Jonathan looked at me.
His eyes were strangely familiar.
“Hello, Michael.”
My throat tightened.
“Are you my father?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then:
“Yes.”
I couldn't move.
He stepped closer.
“I wanted to tell you years ago.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because your grandfather would have killed you.”
“You let me believe you were my uncle.”
“I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice.”
Jonathan looked at Claire.
“She knows.”
Claire looked away.
“You knew what my grandfather did to me.”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing.”
Jonathan's face hardened.
“I tried.”
“Not enough.”
“No.”
He accepted it.
“Not enough.”
I stared at him.
“Where is Emma's real birth record?”
His expression changed.
“You found Room 17B.”
“Yes.”
“Then you found the records.”
“Not all of them.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because the most important record isn't there.”
“Where?”
Jonathan looked directly at me.
“Inside your own house.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“The original birth certificate.”
“For whom?”
He paused.
“For you.”
I felt dizzy.
“You said my identity was false.”
“It is.”
“Then what does the original say?”
Jonathan's eyes filled with something I couldn't identify.
Regret.
Fear.
“Your real name.”
I stared at him.
“What is it?”
He stepped closer.
“Lucas.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
Jonathan nodded.
“You were the first Lucas Carter.”
I couldn't breathe.
The real Lucas.
The child whose identity had been reused.
The boy everyone was searching for.
It wasn't another child.
It was me.
My identity had been stolen before I could remember it.
The name Michael Carter had been assigned to me.
And somewhere along the way, someone had taken my real name and given it to another child.
I whispered:
“Then who is the boy at St. Andrew's?”
Jonathan looked at me.
“Your son.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The boy you think is Lucas.”
He shook his head.
“He isn't your brother.”
“He's Ethan's twin?”
“No.”
“Then who is he?”
Jonathan's face became grim.
“He is the child Claire was supposed to hide seven years ago.”
I looked at Claire.
She began crying.
Jonathan continued:
“And if he is still alive…”
He paused.
“…then Richard has already found him.”
My phone rang.
The screen displayed an unknown number.
I answered.
A child's voice whispered:
“Daddy?”
My heart stopped.
“Who is this?”
A pause.
Then:
“It's Ethan.”
I looked toward Daniel.
Ethan was supposed to be at home.
The child's voice trembled.
“Daddy…”
“What happened?”
“Emma is gone.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Jonathan's expression changed.
“It's begun.”
I looked at him.
“What has?”
May you like
He answered with four words:
“Richard took the children.”
