Chapter 4 - The Sample That Should Have Been Destroyed
The hospital ordered emergency DNA testing.
Not because Luka demanded it.
Not because Derek wanted it.
Because the administrator understood the liability.
If my fertility procedure had involved unauthorized donor material, the hospital system wanted documentation before anyone left the building.
I remembered the clinic.
Mercer Reproductive Center.
White marble floors.
Soft music.
Warm smiles.
Dr. Adrian Mercer had held my hand after our embryo transfer.
“You and Derek have waited a long time for this.”
He had known.
I suddenly understood that.
He had known something.
At midnight, Luka entered my room carrying coffee he knew I could not drink because I was breastfeeding.
He placed it on the table anyway.
“You always carry useless coffee into maternity rooms?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I didn’t know what people bring.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
One broken sound.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then I looked at him.
“If the test says you’re Grace’s father…”
He stared at the bassinet.
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
“I won’t take her from you.”
I studied his face.
“You signed that form.”
“It was stupid.”
“Yes.”
“I was angry.”
“At Derek?”
“At every man who walks away from a child.”
Something changed in his eyes.
Personal pain.
I did not ask.
Not yet.
“You really had no idea?”
“No.”
“About the clinic?”
“No.”
“My pregnancy?”
“No.”
“Me?”
He looked at me.
“I knew your name.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel Reed disappeared from my family’s world twenty-five years ago.”
“Three months ago, he contacted me.”
I stared at him.
“He contacted you?”
“He said someone had accessed M-17.”
My heart dropped.
“When?”
“Two days after you became pregnant.”
My hands went cold.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know who you were.”
“Samuel refused to say.”
“He only told me a woman was in danger.”
“My father knew?”
Luka nodded.
I grabbed my phone.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Then Rosa entered.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Samuel Reed’s house is empty.”
My pulse stopped.
Luka stood.
“How empty?”
“Front door open.”
“Car still there.”
“Phone on kitchen floor.”
I threw off the blanket.
Pain shot through my body.
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“My father is missing.”
“You gave birth this morning.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
The words came out more sharply than either of us expected.
I stared at him.
He stepped back.
“Emma.”
“We’ll find him.”
“How?”
“My people are already moving.”
“Your people?”
“You still haven’t asked what I do.”
I gave him a bitter look.
“Fine.”
“What do you do?”
He pulled out his phone.
The screen showed six companies.
Security.
Shipping.
Biotechnology.
Real estate.
Private aviation.
“I run Moretti Holdings.”
I stared.
“You’re Luka Moretti.”
“Yes.”
“As in Moretti Holdings?”
“Yes.”
“The company with buildings in three countries?”
“Fourteen.”
“Of course.”
He slid the phone away.
“I have resources.”
“For once, let me use them for something decent.”
At 2:43 a.m., security footage arrived from my father’s neighbor.
A black SUV had stopped outside his house.
Two men entered.
Seven minutes later, my father walked out between them.
Alive.
Not restrained.
But terrified.
He climbed into the SUV voluntarily.
Then a third figure stepped from the driver’s side.
Derek’s father.
Victor Holloway.
I stared at the screen.
“No.”
Luka zoomed in.
Victor looked directly at the neighbor’s security camera.
And smiled.
As if he wanted us to see him.
Then my phone rang.
Victor.
I answered.
“Where is my father?”
“Safe.”
“If you hurt him—”
“Emma.”
His voice was smooth.
“I have known you since you were nineteen.”
“I paid for your wedding.”
“I toasted the birth of your daughter before she was even conceived.”
“You think I would harm your father?”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
“Good.”
“You’re finally learning.”
“What do you want?”
“M-17.”
“I don’t have it.”
“No.”
“But Luka does.”
I looked at him.
Luka shook his head.
Victor continued.
“Tell Moretti to bring me the surviving archive.”
“Where?”
“I’ll call again.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Why?”
His answer came softly.
“Because Grace Moretti is worth more money than you can imagine.”
Then the call ended.
Luka stared at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Grace Moretti.
Victor had said it like fact.
May you like
Not possibility.
Fact.
