Chapter 13: The Son of Martin Hale
The birth certificate shook in my hands.
Father: Martin Elias Hale.
Mother: Sofia Elena Morales.
The date matched ours.
The clinic matched ours.
Even the attending physician was the same.
Samuel Pierce.
Caleb stared through the windshield at Jonathan’s vehicle ahead.
He did not blink.
Elena looked from the paper to him.
“That does not prove Martin is your father.”
“It proves someone wanted the record to say he was.”
Caleb’s voice was flat.
Too flat.
The kind of calm that only appears when anger has nowhere safe to go.
I examined the certificate again.
There was no seal from the county.
No registration number.
Only the clinic stamp and Samuel’s signature.
“A private birth record,” I said.
Caleb looked at me.
“Meaning?”
“It may never have been filed publicly.”
Vanessa leaned forward from the back row.
“Blackwood used private records all the time.”
Elena turned toward her.
“This predates Blackwood.”
“The official building, yes.”
Vanessa nodded toward Jonathan’s SUV.
“But Martin’s private medical work began years before the hospital opened.”
Aaron studied the road ahead.
“Martin would have been what?”
“Twenty-six?” I asked.
“Twenty-seven,” Caleb said.
He had already calculated it.
Of course he had.
Caleb had spent years studying people before deciding whether to trust them.
Now the most important fact of his life had been placed in his hands by a man trapped inside a hidden hospital.
“What did Martin tell you about your parents?” Elena asked.
Caleb kept staring forward.
“That my mother died during childbirth.”
“And your father?”
“He never said.”
“He told me I had been abandoned.”
Vanessa’s expression changed.
“You lived with him?”
“Not openly.”
Caleb’s voice became colder.
“He placed me with foster families.”
“Schools.”
“Training programs.”
“He appeared whenever I failed.”
Elena frowned.
“Failed at what?”
“Whatever standard he had invented that week.”
“Languages.”
“Memory tests.”
“Physical control.”
“Reading people.”
“Following instructions.”
Aaron glanced at him through the mirror.
“He trained you.”
“He shaped me.”
Caleb’s mouth tightened.
“Then sent me inside the board as though I had earned my position.”
Vanessa looked away.
Perhaps she had known pieces of this.
Perhaps she had only suspected.
With Vanessa, silence was rarely innocent.
I folded the birth certificate.
“Why would Jonathan name you after a man he killed?”
Caleb finally looked at me.
“That is the better question.”
Elena reached for the box.
“Then we open Father’s envelope.”
Jonathan’s voice came through the vehicle radio immediately.
“No.”
We all looked toward the speaker.
He had been listening through the shared channel.
Caleb picked up the envelope marked with his name.
“I was not asking permission.”
“Caleb.”
Jonathan’s tone changed.
Less commanding.
More urgent.
“Do not make decisions before you understand the context.”
Caleb laughed once.
“Context.”
“You buried my mother.”
“Gave me to Martin.”
“Let him train me.”
“And now there is context.”
“I did not give you to Martin.”
“Then who did?”
Silence answered.
The road curved through a wooded section.
Rainwater gathered along the shoulder.
Ahead, Blackwood Medical Center remained hidden behind the hills.
Jonathan finally spoke.
“I believed you were dead.”
Caleb stared at the radio.
“You knew Elena survived.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Daniel survived.”
“Yes.”
“But not me?”
“I was told the third infant died.”
“By whom?”
“Samuel.”
My grip tightened around the birth certificate.
Samuel’s signature remained beneath Martin’s name.
Caleb asked,
“And you accepted that?”
“No.”
“I demanded to see the body.”
“What did they show you?”
“A child.”
“Male.”
“Same approximate weight.”
“Same birth date.”
Elena whispered,
“A replacement.”
Jonathan continued.
“I ordered another examination.”
“The body disappeared before it could happen.”
“And Martin?” Caleb asked.
“He claimed Sofia had arranged it.”
Sofia.
Our mother.
The woman who had told us there were three infants.
The woman who believed only two survived.
Either Martin had deceived both parents…
Or one of them was still lying.
Caleb tore open the envelope.
Jonathan’s voice sharpened.
“Stop.”
The seal broke.
Inside were three items.
A photograph.
A handwritten note.
And a small metal identity tag.
Caleb lifted the photograph first.
Martin stood outside a private clinic.
Younger.
Dark hair.
No scar near his temple.
In his arms was a newborn wrapped in a gray blanket.
Beside him stood Jonathan.
The two men were not fighting.
They were smiling.
Elena looked over Caleb’s shoulder.
“That was taken after we were born.”
The date had been printed along the edge.
Eight days after our birth.
Jonathan had claimed he believed Caleb was dead.
Yet there he was.
Standing beside Martin.
Watching him hold the child.
Caleb pressed the radio button.
“You saw me.”
Jonathan did not answer.
“You saw me alive.”
The SUV ahead slowed slightly.
Adams’s voice came through the channel.
“Jonathan, answer him.”
My father finally spoke.
“I saw an infant.”
“Do not insult me.”
“I could not confirm he was you.”
Caleb looked down at the identity tag.
It bore a number.
No name.
Subject C-3.
Vanessa inhaled sharply.
Aaron noticed.
“You recognize that.”
She nodded.
“Blackwood classification.”
“It existed that early?”
“The first subjects were not housed at Blackwood.”
“Where were they held?” I asked.
She looked toward the wooded hills.
“In smaller clinics.”
“Private estates.”
“Research wings.”
“Anywhere the board could control medical access.”
Caleb unfolded the note.
The handwriting belonged to Jonathan.
He read it silently.
Then again.
Elena touched his arm.
“What does it say?”
He handed the page to me.
Only four lines had been written.
Martin,
The child cannot remain connected to the Whitmore name.
Raise him outside the family.
If he survives the program, bring him back when he is useful.
At the bottom was Jonathan’s signature.
No one spoke.
The tires hissed across the wet road.
Blackwood remained somewhere ahead.
But inside our vehicle, we had already entered another kind of prison.
Caleb stared at nothing.
Elena took the note from me.
“This could be forged.”
Caleb shook his head.
“I know his signature.”
“So do I.”
“It can still be forged.”
Vanessa leaned closer.
“The phrasing is his.”
Elena turned on her.
“You do not know him.”
“I worked under people trained by him.”
Vanessa pointed toward the note.
“Connected to the Whitmore name.”
“Outside the family.”
“When he is useful.”
“That is exactly how Jonathan writes about people.”
Aaron said nothing.
That silence hurt more than agreement.
Caleb pressed the radio again.
“Did you write this?”
Jonathan answered after several seconds.
“Yes.”
Elena closed her eyes.
I felt anger move through me slowly.
Not hot.
Not wild.
The kind that becomes more dangerous because it is clear.
“You said you believed he was dead,” I told Jonathan.
“I believed the child Martin held might not survive.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“The child was sick.”
“What kind of sickness?”
No answer.
Caleb leaned toward the radio.
“What program?”
Jonathan’s voice lowered.
“The early memory trials.”
Vanessa stared at the speaker.
“They used an infant?”
“It was not designed as a memory trial.”
“Then what was it?”
“A neurological observation study.”
Caleb laughed bitterly.
“Say it plainly.”
Jonathan remained silent.
“Say what you did to me.”
My father finally answered.
“You were born with severe respiratory distress.”
“The clinic did not expect you to live.”
“Martin had access to experimental treatment.”
“So you gave him permission.”
“I authorized emergency care.”
“You told him to raise me outside the family.”
“Because the board knew Sofia had delivered twins.”
“Three children would have attracted questions.”
Elena looked toward me.
“There it is.”
“One of us had to disappear.”
Jonathan’s voice became firmer.
“I believed hiding Caleb was the only way to keep him alive.”
Caleb held the note up.
“You wrote, ‘If he survives the program.’”
“It was the language Martin required.”
“You signed it.”
“Yes.”
“You left me with him.”
“Yes.”
The last answer came quietly.
No defense.
No context.
Just truth.
Caleb leaned back.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he looked toward the box.
“We dissolve everything connected to Blackwood.”
I nodded.
Elena did too.
Jonathan spoke immediately.
“You cannot.”
Caleb pressed the radio.
“Listen carefully.”
His voice remained controlled.
“You do not get to tell me what I cannot destroy.”
“You do not understand what Level Seven contains.”
“Then explain.”
Silence.
Caleb smiled without humor.
“That is what I thought.”
The convoy left the main highway.
A narrow road curved toward an abandoned pumping station.
The structure appeared through the trees.
Concrete walls.
Rusting pipes.
A collapsed fence.
No signs.
No security.
Exactly the kind of place designed to look forgotten.
Adams’s SUV stopped first.
State vehicles positioned themselves along the tree line.
Agents stepped out quietly.
No sirens.
No flashing lights.
Jonathan was removed from the rear seat.
His hands remained cuffed.
Margaret exited behind him.
She looked pale but steady.
When Caleb climbed out, Jonathan looked at the open envelope in his hand.
“You read it.”
“Yes.”
Jonathan’s eyes shifted toward the photograph.
“There are details you still do not know.”
Caleb walked past him.
Jonathan said his name again.
This time, Caleb stopped.
He did not turn.
“What?”
“I did not know what Martin became.”
Caleb looked back.
“You knew what he was capable of.”
“Yes.”
“And you gave him a child.”
Jonathan’s face tightened.
“I was trying to save you.”
“No.”
Caleb stepped closer.
“You were trying to save the family name.”
The words landed hard.
Margaret looked away.
Elena stood beside Caleb.
I joined them.
For the first time, Jonathan faced all three of us without a system, title, or secret room separating us.
He looked smaller.
Not because he had changed.
Because we finally saw the scale correctly.
He had spent years enlarging himself through silence.
Truth reduced him.
Adams unfolded the survey map over the hood of her vehicle.
“The service tunnel begins beneath the pumping station.”
She pointed toward a narrow corridor marked in blue.
“It runs east for approximately eight hundred yards.”
“Then connects to Blackwood’s utility level.”
Aaron studied the route.
“Any electronic locks?”
Jonathan stepped closer.
“Two.”
“One at the tunnel entrance.”
“One before the utility lift.”
“What opens them?” Adams asked.
“The first uses an old board code.”
“The second requires a trustee scan.”
Everyone looked toward the box.
Caleb lifted it.
“So Martin knows we are coming.”
“If the system reports the scan,” I said.
Jonathan nodded.
“It will.”
“Can we bypass it?”
“Possibly.”
Aaron looked toward Vanessa.
“You worked at Blackwood.”
“Not maintenance.”
“You still know more than most of us.”
She studied the map.
“There is a drainage channel beneath the utility lift.”
“It was used during flood inspections.”
“Wide enough for a person?”
“Barely.”
“Where does it exit?”
“Level Two.”
Adams shook her head.
“We need Level Seven.”
“Then use the drainage route to enter without triggering the trustee scan.”
Vanessa pointed toward another corridor.
“From Level Two, there is an old staff stairwell.”
“It runs to Level Five.”
“After that, everything becomes biometric.”
Caleb looked at Jonathan.
“And that is where you become useful.”
Jonathan met his gaze.
“You will need my eyes.”
Aaron said,
“Your legal status is dead.”
“The facility does not use legal status.”
Jonathan nodded toward his face.
“It uses registered biological patterns.”
“Retina.”
“Bone geometry.”
“Voice.”
Elena’s expression hardened.
“You built a building that recognizes your body even after your death.”
“I built a facility intended to remain secure under political pressure.”
“You built a monument to yourself.”
Jonathan did not respond.
Adams assigned teams.
Two would enter through the main grounds only after receiving her signal.
One would remain outside the tunnel.
Medical personnel would prepare for mass extraction.
Digital forensics would access the system once Caleb connected the box.
“What about Martin?” I asked.
Adams checked her weapon.
“We take him alive.”
Vanessa laughed softly.
Adams looked at her.
“You disagree?”
“Martin does not remain inside buildings after he invites people into them.”
“Then why move patients toward Level Seven?”
“Because he wants us to think he is protecting something.”
Caleb folded the birth certificate and placed it inside his coat.
“What is he really doing?”
Vanessa stared at the pumping station.
“Finishing something.”
Jonathan’s face changed.
Just enough.
Aaron noticed.
“What?”
Jonathan remained silent.
Aaron moved closer.
“You know what she means.”
“No.”
“You reacted.”
Jonathan looked toward the woods.
“There was a final stage.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“Of course there was.”
“What stage?” I asked.
Jonathan’s voice dropped.
“Continuity.”
Caleb frowned.
“Explain.”
“The board feared exposure.”
“Arrests.”
“Deaths.”
“Succession conflicts.”
“So Martin proposed a way to preserve institutional memory.”
Vanessa went pale.
“I thought continuity was theoretical.”
“It was.”
“What is it?” Adams demanded.
Jonathan looked at the three of us.
“A complete identity transfer protocol.”
Nobody spoke.
He continued.
“Not literal memory transfer.”
“Behavioral reconstruction.”
“Medical alteration.”
“Document replacement.”
“Voice training.”
“Conditioned recall.”
Caleb looked toward the identity tag in his hand.
“Like Peter Cole.”
“Yes.”
“But more advanced.”
Vanessa whispered,
“Founders.”
Jonathan nodded.
“Level Seven was built to preserve key members of the board through replacements.”
Elena stared at him.
“You mean if one chairman died…”
“Another person could assume his life.”
“His identity.”
“His legal authority.”
Aaron looked toward Jonathan.
“Is that why Samuel has an active patient record?”
“Possibly.”
“No.”
I studied my father.
“That is why Martin needed the original archive.”
“He needed the complete personal histories.”
Jonathan looked at me.
“Yes.”
“The released files gave him everything.”
“Medical history.”
“Family details.”
“Private correspondence.”
“Enough to create better replacements.”
Caleb lifted the metal box.
“And our biometric data?”
Jonathan did not answer.
Elena’s face changed.
“He is not moving the patients.”
“He is preparing replacements for us.”
The silence confirmed it.
Adams raised her radio.
“All units remain outside until we identify the targets.”
Vanessa stepped toward the tunnel entrance.
“If Martin has reached continuity stage, waiting helps him.”
“And rushing helps him too,” Adams replied.
Caleb looked at the box screen.
The tracker map remained active.
Samuel.
Thomas.
Several unknown patients.
All moving downward.
Then three new identifiers appeared.
Subject D-W
Subject E-M
Subject C-H
My initials.
Elena’s.
Caleb’s.
Three signals already waited on Level Seven.
I stared at the screen.
“They are not preparing replacements.”
Caleb looked at me.
“They already have them.”
Jonathan closed his eyes.
Margaret whispered,
“How long?”
Vanessa checked the status codes.
“D-W active for nine years.”
“E-M active for seven.”
“C-H active for twelve.”
Caleb’s replacement had existed the longest.
Perhaps before he even joined the board.
Elena looked toward Jonathan.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“You watched us for decades.”
“I did not know this.”
“For once, I believe him,” Vanessa said.
Everyone looked at her.
She continued.
“Martin never creates one version of a person.”
“He creates competing versions.”
“One remains useful.”
“One becomes disposable.”
Caleb’s face emptied.
“He did that to me.”
Vanessa nodded slowly.
“You may not have been the first Caleb.”
The words hit him like a physical blow.
He stepped backward.
“What does that mean?”
“When I worked intake, I saw a file labeled Hale-2.”
“I assumed it was a project code.”
“What year?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
Caleb looked toward the hospital hidden beyond the hills.
He was thirty.
If there had been another version fourteen years earlier, then Martin may have tested the identity before Caleb ever knew the board existed.
Elena touched his arm.
He pulled away instinctively.
Not from her.
From everyone.
I understood.
When your entire identity becomes evidence, even kindness feels like surveillance.
Aaron opened the tunnel door.
A stale smell rose from the darkness.
Metal stairs descended beneath the pumping station.
Adams switched on her flashlight.
“We move.”
The team entered one at a time.
Aaron first.
Adams behind him.
Then Jonathan under guard.
Margaret stayed outside with medical staff despite her protests.
Vanessa followed Jonathan.
Caleb entered next.
Elena and I carried the box between us.
The tunnel was narrow.
Concrete walls sweated with moisture.
Old pipes ran overhead.
Every sound traveled.
Boots.
Breathing.
The scrape of equipment.
After several minutes, the outside world disappeared.
The air became colder.
The passage sloped downward.
At the first electronic door, Jonathan gave Adams a six-digit code.
The panel flashed green.
Aaron opened the door.
Beyond it, the tunnel changed.
Newer walls.
Clean lighting.
Fresh wiring.
Blackwood maintenance signs appeared along the corridor.
Vanessa stopped.
“This has been renovated.”
“When?” Adams asked.
“I do not know.”
“You worked here.”
“Not this section.”
A camera mounted above the door turned toward us.
Caleb raised the metal box.
The screen displayed:
FACILITY LINK DETECTED
UNAUTHORIZED HEIR ENTRY
Red lights came on.
Jonathan cursed under his breath.
A calm female voice filled the tunnel.
“Trustee identities confirmed.”
“Daniel Whitmore.”
“Elena Morales.”
“Caleb Hale.”
Caleb froze at the surname.
The voice continued.
“Chairman Jonathan Whitmore confirmed.”
“Status conflict detected.”
“Current chairman deceased.”
“Biological presence verified.”
“Continuity review required.”
A steel door slammed shut behind us.
Adams turned.
“We have lost the exit.”
Aaron tried the manual release.
Nothing happened.
Ahead, the tunnel lights turned on one by one.
Leading us forward.
Vanessa whispered,
“It wants us to enter.”
“No,” Jonathan said.
His voice was tight.
“Martin wants us to enter.”
The ventilation system activated.
A faint scent moved through the corridor.
Clean.
Sweet.
Medical.
Vanessa covered her mouth.
“Do not breathe deeply.”
Adams immediately pulled masks from her pack.
“What is it?”
“Sedative aerosol.”
Jonathan shook his head.
“Too weak at this concentration.”
“It is not meant to knock us out.”
“What is it meant to do?” Elena asked.
Vanessa looked toward the camera.
“Make us easier to influence.”
Aaron distributed masks.
We moved faster.
At the end of the corridor, a maintenance grate opened into a drainage channel.
The space was barely tall enough to crawl.
Cold water covered the floor.
Adams sent one agent first.
Then another.
We followed.
The metal box scraped against the concrete.
Every movement echoed.
Halfway through, Caleb stopped.
Elena whispered,
“What is wrong?”
He pointed toward the wall.
Someone had carved words into the concrete.
Not recently.
The scratches were deep.
Repeated.
I AM CALEB.
Below it:
MARTIN IS NOT MY FATHER.
Then another line.
JONATHAN IS NOT MY FATHER.
Caleb stared at the message.
I moved closer.
The final sentence had been carved beneath the others.
SOFIA LIED TO ALL OF THEM.
Elena’s breathing changed.
“Who wrote this?”
Caleb ran his fingers across the scratches.
“Someone who believed he was me.”
Vanessa crawled closer.
“No.”
She examined the markings.
“This handwriting…”
Caleb looked at her.
“What?”
“I have seen it.”
“Where?”
“In Martin’s private office.”
“On notes.”
“Medical instructions.”
“Corrections.”
Aaron looked back through the channel.
“Martin wrote this?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“No.”
“His son did.”
Caleb’s face hardened.
“I am his son.”
She looked at him.
“I do not think you are the only one.”
The drainage channel opened into a utility room.
We climbed out one by one.
Clean hospital floors waited beyond the service door.
White walls.
Fluorescent lighting.
No staff.
No patients.
Only the hum of machinery.
A sign read:
BLACKWOOD MEDICAL CENTER — LEVEL TWO
Caleb remained near the drainage exit.
The carved words had followed him into the room.
Elena stepped beside him.
“We do not know who wrote them.”
“We know enough.”
“No.”
“We know someone wanted to destabilize you before we reached Level Seven.”
Caleb looked at her.
“You sound like Daniel.”
“That is not an insult.”
“It was not meant as one.”
For the first time since opening the envelope, his expression softened.
Barely.
Then the lights flickered.
A wall monitor turned on.
Martin Hale appeared.
He sat in a dark office.
No guards.
No visible weapon.
Only a glass of water in front of him.
“Welcome home, Caleb.”
Caleb stepped toward the screen.
“Where are Samuel and Thomas?”
“Safe.”
“Where are the replacements?”
Martin smiled.
“Which ones?”
Elena moved beside Caleb.
“You created versions of us.”
“I created safeguards.”
Jonathan spoke from behind the agents.
“You created fraud.”
Martin’s smile widened.
“Jonathan.”
“You look healthier than your death certificate suggested.”
“You used my system.”
“You abandoned your system.”
“You turned it into a prison.”
“You built the locks.”
“I merely decided who deserved the keys.”
Jonathan stepped closer to the monitor.
“Release the patients.”
Martin ignored him.
His attention remained on Caleb.
“Did you open the envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know.”
“I know you are listed as my father.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound unconvinced.”
Martin leaned back.
“Good.”
“Doubt was the first useful thing I taught you.”
Caleb’s hands curled.
“You raised me as an experiment.”
“No.”
“I raised you as proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That identity is stronger than blood.”
The wall beside the monitor became transparent.
Not glass.
A screen.
Behind it appeared a hospital room.
A man sat inside.
Same height as Caleb.
Same facial structure.
Same dark hair.
His clothing matched Caleb’s almost exactly.
He lifted his head.
Even his expression was familiar.
Caleb stared at himself.
The man behind the screen stood.
Then spoke.
“Daniel.”
My body went cold.
His voice sounded like Caleb’s.
But he was looking at me with recognition.
“Elena.”
She took one step backward.
The man smiled faintly.
Then looked toward Caleb.
“You are late.”
Caleb approached the screen.
“Who are you?”
The man tilted his head.
A gesture Caleb often made when studying a lie.
“My name is Caleb Hale.”
“No.”
“It has been for fourteen years.”
Martin’s voice came through the monitor.
“Subject C-H.”
“The first successful continuity heir.”
Caleb stared at Martin.
“You replaced me before I joined the board.”
Martin smiled.
“No.”
“I tested you against him.”
“What does that mean?”
“You both received the same memories.”
“The same training.”
“The same personal history.”
“The same belief that you survived an abandoned childhood.”
Elena looked between the two men.
“Which one is Sofia’s child?”
Martin’s eyes shifted toward her.
“That is the question Jonathan spent thirty years avoiding.”
Jonathan’s face became pale.
Caleb saw it.
“You know.”
My father remained silent.
Caleb moved toward him.
“Which one of us was born in that clinic?”
Jonathan looked at the man behind the screen.
Then at Caleb.
“I cannot tell.”
The answer broke something.
Caleb laughed.
Not loudly.
Not wildly.
A single breath of disbelief.
“You watched me.”
“Used me.”
“Put me inside the board.”
“And you do not even know whether I am your son?”
Jonathan’s voice lowered.
“I know one of you is.”
Martin corrected him.
“No.”
“One of them is Sofia’s son.”
Jonathan looked toward the monitor.
Martin continued.
“The father was never confirmed.”
Everyone became still.
Caleb’s expression changed.
The birth certificate.
Martin’s name.
Jonathan’s note.
Thomas’s warning.
Jonathan named you after the man he killed.
All of it pointed toward the same hidden event.
Elena asked,
“Who could the father be?”
Martin smiled.
“Ask Sofia what happened seven months before the clinic.”
Jonathan stepped toward the screen.
“Do not.”
Martin’s smile disappeared.
“You have protected yourself long enough.”
He looked directly at Caleb.
“Your mother was not Jonathan’s prisoner when you were conceived.”
“She was Martin’s?” Caleb asked.
Martin shook his head.
“No.”
“She was Thomas Whitmore’s.”
The hallway went silent.
I looked toward Jonathan.
His face had emptied.
Elena whispered,
“Thomas?”
Martin continued.
“Sofia loved one Whitmore brother.”
“Jonathan loved her.”
“Margaret loved the other.”
“And when Thomas tried to expose the board…”
He leaned closer to the camera.
“…Jonathan removed him.”
Jonathan shouted,
“That is a lie.”
Martin’s voice remained calm.
“Then open Level Seven.”
“Let Thomas answer.”
A door unlocked at the end of the hallway.
Above it, a sign illuminated.
AUTHORIZED ACCESS — LEVEL SEVEN
Adams looked toward Jonathan.
“You said we needed three authorizations.”
Martin answered through the speaker.
“You do.”
The door opened wider.
Samuel Pierce stood inside the elevator.
Alive.
Older than the man who died in the courtroom.
Thinner.
But unmistakably himself.
Beside him stood Thomas Whitmore.
His silver hair fell to his shoulders.
One side of his face showed the marks of old surgeries.
Margaret’s former fiancé.
Jonathan’s lost brother.
And possibly Caleb’s father.
Thomas looked at Jonathan.
“You finally came.”
Jonathan stared at him.
Thomas’s expression held no surprise.
Only thirty-one years of waiting.
Then he looked toward Caleb.
Both Calebs.
The man beside us.
And the man behind the glass.
Thomas closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he spoke to Martin through the camera.
“You promised only one would be awake.”
Martin smiled.
Jonathan turned toward Thomas.
“What does that mean?”
Thomas stepped out of the elevator.
Samuel followed unsteadily.
The second Caleb struck the glass from inside his room.
Once.
Hard.
A crack spread across the screen.
Thomas looked at both men.
Then at us.
“Sofia did not give birth to three children.”
Elena’s face went pale.
I could barely breathe.
Thomas continued.
“She gave birth to four.”
The cracked glass shattered outward.
The second Caleb stepped into the hallway.
May you like
And every light on Level Two turned red.
End of Chapter 13
