Chapter 4 - THE BABY THEY STOLE
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The hospital became a fortress.
Police.
Private security.
Federal investigators.
Everyone searching for my son.
My daughter slept in my arms.
Adrian stood by the window.
He looked like a man holding himself together by force.
“Where would she take him?”
He asked Eleanor.
“Somewhere with a genetic lab.”
“Give me names.”
“Three.”
She listed them.
Boston.
New York.
Philadelphia.
We searched all three.
Nothing.
Then Marcus, Adrian's security director, arrived.
“Dr. Whitmore.”
Adrian turned.
“We have something.”
He showed him a vehicle image.
A dark SUV.
Registered to a research foundation.
Shaw Biomedical Initiative.
Adrian stared.
“Rebecca.”
Marcus nodded.
“It's been dormant for four years.”
“Find it.”
“We did.”
He pointed toward a map.
“An old private facility in Vermont.”
We moved immediately.
I refused to stay behind.
Adrian didn't argue.
On the drive north, neither of us spoke.
Snow hit the windshield.
My daughter slept beside me.
Finally Adrian said:
“I am sorry.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“That isn't enough.”
“I know.”
“You believed lies.”
“I know.”
“You left me alone.”
“I know.”
“You never came back.”
His eyes filled.
“I thought you hated me.”
“I did.”
He looked at me.
“Do you still?”
I stared out the window.
“I don't know.”
That was the truth.
We reached the facility after midnight.
The building was abandoned.
No lights.
No security.
We entered.
Inside, medical equipment filled the rooms.
Empty incubators.
Genetic sequencing machines.
Research files.
And photographs of children.
Hundreds.
I stopped.
“What is this?”
Adrian stared at a wall.
His face went white.
“These are patient records.”
I walked closer.
My name appeared.
NAOMI REED — CLASSIFIED
My heart stopped.
Beside it was another file.
ADRIAN WHITMORE — GENETIC CARRIER
Then another.
EMBRYO COMPATIBILITY PROJECTION.
I looked at Adrian.
“This started before we met.”
“Yes.”
“Your family planned this.”
He shook his head.
“I didn't know.”
I opened a file.
My mother's name was there.
She had participated in the original study.
A photograph showed her with Rebecca Shaw.
I couldn't breathe.
“My mother worked with her.”
“Yes.”
Then footsteps echoed.
We turned.
Rebecca appeared at the end of the corridor.
She held my son.
He was sleeping.
I nearly ran toward her.
“Give him to me.”
She shook her head.
“He's safe.”
“You kidnapped him.”
“I saved him.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“From what?”
“From your family.”
Eleanor entered behind us.
Rebecca looked at her.
“You're still lying.”
Eleanor's face hardened.
“You stole the child.”
“I rescued him.”
“From what?”
Rebecca laughed.
“From the experiment.”
Silence.
“What experiment?” I asked.
Rebecca looked at me.
“The one your mother helped create.”
I felt sick.
She explained.
The original research was never about treating disease.
It was about identifying genetically compatible children for organ and tissue research.
The Whitmore family had funded illegal trials.
Children had been recruited without informed consent.
Some died.
My mother had discovered the truth.
She tried to expose them.
Rebecca had helped her.
But Eleanor stopped them.
The program was buried.
The records erased.
Until my babies were born.
My son had the rare marker.
That made him the first naturally conceived child with the full genetic pattern.
Everyone wanted him.
Not because of money.
Because his DNA could unlock the old research.
I stared at my baby.
“No.”
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears.
“I'm sorry.”
“You could have told me.”
“I was afraid your family would kill you.”
Adrian looked at Eleanor.
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
“You knew children were harmed.”
“Yes.”
His face broke.
“You're my mother.”
“I was protecting you.”
“No.”
His voice shook.
“You were protecting the company.”
Rebecca stepped forward.
“Your mother killed my research partner.”
Eleanor's face changed.
“What?”
Rebecca smiled bitterly.
“She thought she buried everyone.”
Then she looked at me.
“But one person survived.”
My blood went cold.
“Who?”
May you like
Rebecca answered:
“Your mother.”
