Chapter 4 - THE BLOOD THEY STOLE
The hospital had taken Grace's blood less than an hour after she was born.
A routine newborn screening.
At least that was what I had been told.
Now Luka believed one of those samples had never reached the hospital laboratory.
Someone had replaced it.
Someone had taken my daughter's blood.
Derek sat across from me.
“I didn't know.”
I couldn't even look at him.
“You knew enough.”
“Emma—”
“You married me because your father ordered you to.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt worse than another lie.
“You let me believe our life was real.”
“It became real.”
“When?”
He couldn't answer.
That told me everything.
Luka interrupted.
“Charles is leaving tonight.”
“For where?”
“Switzerland.”
Derek shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
“My father doesn't need to leave the country.”
“His laboratory is here.”
Luka stared at him.
“Where?”
Derek hesitated.
“Tell him.”
“Emma—”
“TELL HIM.”
Derek lowered his eyes.
“Calloway Children's Institute.”
I felt sick.
Everyone knew that place.
It was one of the most respected pediatric research hospitals in the state.
Charles Calloway appeared in commercials holding sick children.
He donated millions to genetic disease research.
Luka looked almost amused.
“Of course.”
Derek nodded.
“The public hospital is upstairs.”
“The real laboratory is underground.”
“How do we get inside?”
Derek looked at me.
“We don't.”
Luka stepped closer.
“Wrong answer.”
“My father has armed security.”
“So do I.”
“You don't understand.”
Derek's voice dropped.
“He's been preparing for this baby for twenty-five years.”
The sentence made me shiver.
Luka turned toward the hidden files.
“We need evidence before we move.”
I opened another folder.
Inside was a list of seventeen names.
Sixteen were marked TERMINATED.
The final name was my mother's.
DR. ELENA HALE.
Beside her name:
SUBJECT M-17 SUCCESSFUL.
My hands shook.
Underneath was another page.
A legal agreement.
Calloway Biomedical claimed ownership of all biological materials resulting from the project.
Including offspring.
“Ownership?”
My voice broke.
“They thought they owned me?”
Luka's face hardened.
“They still do.”
I continued turning pages.
Then something fell onto the floor.
A photograph.
I picked it up.
My father stood beside Charles Calloway.
Between them was a little boy.
Maybe six years old.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
I looked at Luka.
The boy looked exactly like him.
“Who is this?”
Luka didn't answer.
Derek stared at the photograph.
Then at Luka.
“No way.”
“What?”
Derek looked horrified.
“That's my father.”
I looked again.
Charles Calloway.
My father.
And Luka.
Luka finally spoke.
“Charles Calloway is my biological father.”
Everything stopped.
Derek stared at him.
“That makes you—”
“Your half-brother.”
Derek stumbled backward.
“No.”
Luka's voice stayed cold.
“Your father had an affair with my mother.”
“He abandoned us.”
“My mother's husband raised me as his own.”
“But Charles came back when he needed Moretti Biomedical.”
I looked between them.
“You're brothers?”
“By blood.”
Luka looked disgusted by the words.
Derek shook his head.
“My father never told me.”
“He wouldn't.”
“Why?”
“Because he tried to kill me.”
Silence.
Luka pointed toward the photograph.
“That picture was taken three months before the fire.”
“Charles discovered your mother wanted to destroy M-17.”
“He ordered the laboratory burned.”
My throat tightened.
“He killed my mother.”
“Yes.”
“And tried to kill me.”
“Yes.”
Derek looked sick.
Luka continued.
“Your father helped him cover it up.”
“My father?”
“Thomas Hale.”
I stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
“No.”
Luka didn't blink.
“He saved you.”
“But first he helped create the thing everyone was fighting over.”
My hands trembled.
Before I could respond, a sound came from upstairs.
Glass breaking.
Luka instantly killed the lights.
“Everyone down.”
Another crash.
Footsteps.
Derek whispered.
“They found us.”
Luka handed him a gun.
Derek stared at it.
“You trust me?”
“No.”
“Then why give me this?”
“Because Emma is standing behind you.”
Luka looked at him.
May you like
“Now I get to find out whether you ever loved her.”
The back door exploded inward.
