CHAPTER 4 — THE CAMERA IN THE NURSERY
Frank was bleeding.
Badly.
The bullet had torn through his shoulder, but somehow he remained standing.
“Go!”
He shoved me toward the emergency exit.
“Get the boy!”
Emily grabbed my arm.
We ran.
Bullets struck the metal walls behind us.
One hit the door inches from my head.
We escaped through a drainage tunnel and emerged beneath the harbor.
Cold rain hit my face.
I turned back.
Frank stumbled out behind us.
“Come on!”
He collapsed against a concrete barrier.
Emily immediately pressed her hands against his wound.
“You'll live.”
Frank laughed bitterly.
“That's optimistic.”
I looked at him.
“Who is Richard?”
Frank's eyes met mine.
“You already know.”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
He swallowed.
“Your father feared him.”
I froze.
“My father worked for him.”
“No.”
Frank shook his head.
“Your father tried to stop him.”
I stared at him.
“Then why did Claire die?”
Frank looked away.
“Because William failed.”
My heart sank.
“My father tried to save Claire?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“Because he knew you would go after Richard.”
“And?”
“He was right.”
Sirens approached in the distance.
Frank pushed himself upright.
“We can't go back to the hospital.”
“My son is there.”
“No.”
He grabbed my arm.
“That's exactly where they expect you to go.”
Emily nodded.
“We need somewhere Richard can't see.”
I looked at her.
“Where?”
“My father's house.”
Two hours later, we entered an abandoned property outside Boston.
The house had been empty for years.
Dust covered the furniture.
The electricity had been disconnected.
There were no cameras.
No phones.
No security systems.
For the first time that night, I could breathe.
Frank sat at the kitchen table.
Emily cleaned his wound.
I stood by the window.
My mind wouldn't stop.
Claire.
Richard.
My father.
Noah.
Emily's daughter.
The missing children.
Everything was connected.
But I still didn't understand the beginning.
Why Noah?
Why now?
Why me?
Emily finished bandaging Frank.
Then she sat across from me.
“You need to know the truth about Claire.”
I nodded.
“She wasn't investigating Carter Holdings.”
“Then what was she investigating?”
“Your father.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because she found something in his private archive.”
“What?”
“A list.”
“Of what?”
“Children.”
I remembered the photograph.
Number 214.
Emily continued.
“Every child on the list had a connection to someone powerful.”
“What kind of connection?”
“Biological.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“Some were illegitimate children.”
“Some were heirs.”
“Some were children born through secret relationships.”
“And some?”
Emily's voice dropped.
“Some were witnesses.”
I felt sick.
“Witnesses to what?”
“Crimes.”
I looked at Frank.
He said nothing.
Emily continued.
“The network offered powerful families a service.”
“What service?”
“They could make a child disappear.”
I stared at her.
“Legally?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“Birth certificates changed.”
“Medical records changed.”
“School records changed.”
“Social security numbers changed.”
“Photos disappeared.”
“Witnesses were paid.”
“Doctors were threatened.”
“Parents were told their child had died.”
My hands curled into fists.
“And Claire found this?”
“Yes.”
“She tried to expose them.”
“Yes.”
“Richard killed her.”
Emily nodded.
“But he didn't do it alone.”
I looked at her.
“Who helped him?”
She didn't answer.
Instead, she stood.
“Come with me.”
We walked into a basement.
Emily opened a rusted metal cabinet.
Inside were dozens of files.
She pulled out one.
The cover read:
CLAIRE CARTER — PROJECT 214
I opened it.
The first page was a photograph.
Claire.
The second page was a medical report.
The third was a birth certificate.
I stared.
The name wasn't Claire Carter.
It was Claire Elizabeth Morgan.
I looked up.
“She wasn't born a Carter.”
“No.”
“Then why did she have access to my father's records?”
“Because your father chose her.”
“For what?”
Emily opened another file.
Inside was a photograph of Claire and William Carter.
They were standing together.
Not romantically.
Professionally.
Claire was holding a folder.
William looked terrified.
The date was ten years before Claire married me.
I felt something break inside me.
“My father knew her before I did.”
“Yes.”
“What was she doing for him?”
“Trying to destroy Richard's network.”
I stared at the photograph.
Then I noticed something.
A handwritten note.
IF I DIE, FIND MICHAEL.
I froze.
“What does this mean?”
Emily looked at it.
“It means Claire expected you to survive.”
“What?”
“She knew Richard would eventually come after you.”
I shook my head.
“She could have warned me.”
“She tried.”
I looked at her.
“When?”
“The night she died.”
I remembered.
The phone call.
Claire had called me at 11:18 p.m.
I had been in a meeting.
I had ignored it.
She called again.
I ignored her again.
Then she left a voicemail.
I had never listened.
I pulled out my phone.
The voicemail was still there.
Three years old.
My fingers trembled as I pressed play.
Claire's voice filled the basement.
“Michael…”
She was crying.
“If you hear this, don't trust anyone.”
A pause.
“I found the file.”
Her breathing became shaky.
“They know about Noah.”
My blood stopped.
Noah hadn't even been born yet.
Claire continued.
“They know about the child you're going to have.”
I looked at Emily.
Neither of us moved.
Claire whispered:
“Your father is trying to protect you.”
Then—
“He told me Richard is planning something.”
The recording crackled.
A car door slammed.
Claire gasped.
“Michael, if I don't come home—”
The message ended.
I stared at my phone.
“She knew Noah would exist.”
Emily nodded.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Frank stood.
“There's more.”
“What?”
He pointed toward the file.
“Look at the date.”
I did.
The file had been created six months before Claire's death.
But Noah wasn't conceived until eight months after that.
I stared at the document.
Impossible.
Then Emily turned pale.
“Michael…”
“What?”
She pointed to another page.
A genetic report.
The father's name had been redacted.
The mother's name was Claire.
The child was listed as:
MALE — CARTER BLOODLINE
Expected birth:
SIX MONTHS AFTER CLAIRE'S DEATH.
My heart stopped.
“No.”
Emily whispered:
“Someone knew about Noah before he was conceived.”
Frank looked toward the basement door.
“Then Noah wasn't an accident.”
A sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Someone was inside the house.
We froze.
Frank raised his gun.
Emily grabbed the files.
I turned off the light.
The footsteps stopped.
Then came a voice.
A woman's voice.
Soft.
Broken.
“Michael?”
I knew that voice.
I hadn't heard it since I was sixteen.
I whispered:
“Mom?”
Silence.
Then the voice came again.
“Don't trust your father.”
My heart nearly stopped.
The basement door opened.
A woman stood at the top of the stairs.
Older.
Pale.
Her hair streaked with gray.
But I knew her face.
My mother.
Elizabeth Carter.
The woman everyone had told me died twelve years ago.
She looked directly at me.
And said:
“Richard isn't the only person who wants your son.”
Then she held up a photograph.
A photograph of Noah.
May you like
Taken inside the hospital.
Taken twenty minutes before he was born.
