Chapter 8 - THE THIRD DNA
The answer was buried in my father's files.
We searched until sunrise.
At 5:41 a.m., Luka found a document labeled EVE PROTOCOL.
Evelyn read it twice.
Then she sat down.
“What?”
I demanded.
“Tell me.”
She turned the screen.
“Samuel predicted Victor would eventually try to reproduce M-17.”
“So?”
“He built a trap into the treatment.”
Luka stared at her.
“What kind of trap?”
“A genetic watermark.”
Emma's unexplained marker wasn't foreign DNA.
It was a signature.
My father's signature.
A biological proof that any child produced through the stolen M-17 process had been created using technology Victor had illegally taken from Samuel.
Emma wasn't an experiment.
She was evidence.
Living evidence.
“If Victor gets control of her,” Evelyn said, “he can remove the marker before anyone independently tests her.”
“And if we expose it?”
“His entire operation collapses.”
Luka stood.
“Then we expose it.”
Price shook his head.
“We need the original research.”
I knew where it was.
“Research Unit 4.”
Nobody answered.
I looked at Luka.
“We're going.”
“No.”
“Stop saying no.”
“You gave birth yesterday.”
“And yesterday my husband tried to hand my daughter to a laboratory.”
Price interrupted.
“We don't need Claire inside.”
I looked at him.
“You need Victor to believe I'm coming.”
Price reluctantly nodded.
“Then he believes it.”
The plan was simple.
Which meant it immediately went wrong.
I called Victor.
“I'll come.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Bring Emma.”
“No.”
“Then Daniel dies.”
I looked at Daniel's frozen image on the video.
“I don't care.”
Victor laughed.
“You're Samuel's daughter after all.”
We arranged the meeting.
I would enter alone.
Police would surround the property.
Luka would remain outside.
At least that was the plan.
When I arrived, Victor's men searched me.
No weapons.
No phone.
They led me downstairs.
Daniel was still tied to the chair.
He looked terrible.
“Claire.”
I ignored him.
Victor stood beside a steel table.
On it sat the M-17 file.
“Where's Emma?”
“Safe.”
“You disappoint me.”
“You ruined my life.”
Victor smiled.
“No.”
He pointed at Daniel.
“He did that.”
Daniel lowered his head.
“I merely gave him opportunities.”
I looked at my husband.
“How much?”
Daniel began crying.
“Claire—”
“How much was my daughter worth?”
“I didn't know.”
“How much?”
“Two million.”
The words destroyed whatever remained of our marriage.
Victor chuckled.
“He negotiated.”
I slapped Daniel.
His head snapped sideways.
Then I grabbed the M-17 folder.
Victor didn't stop me.
That should have warned me.
The folder was empty.
I looked up.
Victor smiled.
“You really think I'd keep eighteen years of research in a paper folder?”
A steel door slammed behind me.
I heard shouting upstairs.
Gunfire.
Victor calmly pressed a button.
A monitor turned on.
It showed the safe apartment.
Emma's room.
My daughter sleeping in her bassinet.
A man wearing hospital scrubs stepped into the frame.
Victor smiled.
“You brought the police here.”
May you like
He leaned toward me.
“So I sent someone somewhere else.”
