Chapter 8 - THE DOCTOR'S HORRIBLE SECRETDr. Victor Crane was eighty-three.
He lived in a private medical facility in Boston.
He had been one of the most respected fertility specialists in America.
He also had a private archive.
We found him there.
He looked at Ethan first.
Then me.
His face collapsed.
“You survived.”
I stepped forward.
“You created us.”
“No.”
“You selected us.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your family demanded it.”
“Why us?”
He looked at Ethan.
“Your grandmother had a rare genetic condition.”
I frowned.
“What condition?”
“She couldn't carry certain pregnancies.”
“So?”
“So the Vance succession trust required a biological heir with specific markers.”
I felt sick.
“They wanted a perfect heir.”
“Yes.”
“Money.”
“Power.”
“Control.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“And Ethan?”
“He was considered the primary heir.”
“What about me?”
“Your mother wanted a daughter.”
“Why?”
“She believed a daughter would be easier to control.”
I laughed bitterly.
“She was right.”
Crane looked ashamed.
“Your grandmother opposed the project.”
“Then why did she allow it?”
“She didn't.”
“What?”
“She tried to stop it.”
“Then who did?”
He looked at Harrison's name on an old document.
“Your grandfather.”
My heart sank.
“He funded everything.”
“Yes.”
“And my parents?”
“They signed.”
I closed my eyes.
For twenty-six years, I had blamed Eleanor.
Now I realized she had been only one piece of something much larger.
But there was another document.
Crane opened a locked drawer.
“This is why I contacted your grandmother.”
He handed me a file.
Inside was a genetic report.
Two embryos.
One male.
One female.
Then a third line.
Unregistered embryo transferred.
I stared.
“Third?”
Crane nodded.
“Your grandmother secretly created another embryo.”
“Why?”
“To make sure your family could never control the succession completely.”
“Where is the child?”
He looked at me.
“That's the secret your grandmother died protecting.”
I swallowed.
“Who is it?”
Crane whispered:
“Your mother never knew.”
A knock sounded.
Three times.
Crane went pale.
“Don't open that door.”
We didn't.
The door exploded.
Armed men stormed in.
Crane was shot.
I screamed.
He fell into my arms.
With his final breath, he whispered:
“Look beneath the chapel.”
Then he died.
Ethan grabbed me.
“Move!”
We ran.
Outside, police surrounded the building.
But someone had already escaped.
May you like
On the ground was a single piece of paper.
THE THIRD CHILD LIVES.
