Chapter 6 - THE CHILD THEY CREATEDWe spent the night in a hotel under fake names.
Neither of us slept.
By morning, Julian had found another document.
A hospital record.
The date was twenty-six years ago.
My birth.
The mother's name was Eleanor Vance.
The father's name was listed as unknown.
But beneath it was a handwritten code.
Project V.
“What is Project V?” I asked.
Julian shook his head.
“I don't know.”
We took the documents to Harrison's former estate attorney.
She was eighty-seven and living in Connecticut.
Her name was Margaret Hale.
When she saw the file, she started crying.
“I prayed nobody would ever find this.”
“What is it?”
She looked at me.
“Your grandmother's final investigation.”
“Into what?”
“Your parents.”
She opened a safe.
Inside was an old medical folder.
“You were born through an experimental fertility program.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Your mother couldn't conceive naturally.”
I stared.
“She had several miscarriages.”
“Yes.”
“Then how was I born?”
Margaret looked away.
“Your grandmother arranged for a donor.”
“Who?”
“Alexander Sterling.”
I felt sick.
“But why?”
“Because Eleanor wanted a child who would eventually unite the Vance and Sterling families.”
I stared.
“That's insane.”
“It gets worse.”
Margaret handed me another document.
“The program wasn't simply fertility treatment.”
“What was it?”
“Genetic screening.”
I read the report.
My blood type.
My genetic markers.
My mother's medical history.
Then a line highlighted in red.
Child selected for hereditary compatibility with Vance succession trust.
I looked up.
“They chose me.”
“Yes.”
“Because of my genetics?”
“Yes.”
My hands began shaking.
“This isn't a family.”
“No.”
Margaret looked at me sadly.
“It was a project.”
I sat down.
All my life, I had wondered why my mother treated me like property.
Now I knew.
She had never seen me as a daughter.
She had seen me as an investment.
But there was one more page.
I turned it over.
A handwritten note from my grandmother.
If they succeed, Vivienne will never know the truth.
Then:
But there was another child.
I stopped.
“Another?”
Margaret nodded.
“Your mother gave birth to twins.”
I stared.
“What?”
“One survived.”
“Me.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
My heart stopped.
“Then who?”
She whispered:
“Your brother.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
“That's what everyone said about my grandmother.”
Margaret looked at me.
“He wasn't dead.”
The room went silent.
“Then where is he?”
She pulled out a photograph.
A young man.
Maybe twenty-seven.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
A faint scar above his eyebrow.
He looked like me.
I stared.
“Who is that?”
Margaret whispered:
“Ethan Vance.”
My twin brother.
Alive.
Somewhere.
And apparently, someone had spent twenty-six years making sure I never knew he existed.
My phone buzzed.
A message appeared.
Vivienne.
Stop looking.
Then another.
Your brother is watching you.
I looked around the room.
The curtains moved.
I stood.
“Who is there?”
No answer.
Then the lights went out.
A window shattered.
Margaret screamed.
Someone grabbed my arm.
I fought.
A man's voice whispered:
“Don't.”
I froze.
He released me.
The emergency lights came on.
A man stood across the room.
Green eyes.
My face.
My blood stopped.
He looked at me.
“Hi, Vivienne.”
I couldn't speak.
May you like
He smiled sadly.
“I'm Ethan.”
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