Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Hospital PhotographVincent did something he had not done in years.
He called his aunt.
Isabella Moretti.
She was sixty-seven.
Elegant.
Cold.
And according to everyone in the family, incapable of being surprised.
But when Vincent showed her Charlotte's bracelet, she dropped her coffee.
“I haven't seen that in years.”
Vincent stared.
“You recognize it.”
Isabella wiped her hands.
“No.”
“Don't lie.”
She looked at Charlotte.
Then away.
“I recognize the hospital.”
“What hospital?”
“St. Matthew's.”
Charlotte's heart beat faster.
“Was my mother there?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Not voluntarily.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Explain.”
Isabella sat down.
“Twenty-two years ago, your father and Dominic were involved in something.”
“What?”
“A private medical operation.”
Vincent's face turned cold.
“What kind?”
“Genetic research.”
Charlotte looked confused.
Isabella continued.
“Rich people paid enormous sums for babies with specific blood markers.”
Vincent stared.
“You're talking about trafficking.”
“Yes.”
“Did my father do it?”
“He financed it.”
“Dominic?”
“He infiltrated it.”
Vincent went silent.
“Why?”
“To destroy it.”
Charlotte whispered:
“My mother?”
Isabella looked at her.
“Elena was a nurse.”
Charlotte's eyes filled.
“She worked with Dominic.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he put my bracelet in his coffin?”
Isabella closed her eyes.
“Because he knew someone would come looking.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Who?”
Isabella shook her head.
“I can't say.”
“Why?”
“Because that person is still alive.”
“Who?”
She looked directly at Vincent.
“Your mother.”
Vincent went completely still.
His mother had died when he was twenty-three.
Or so he'd always believed.
“You're telling me my mother is alive?”
Isabella shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why did you say—”
“She was alive when Dominic died.”
Vincent stood.
“Explain.”
“She entered protective custody.”
“By whom?”
“Dominic.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother was trying to expose your father.”
Vincent looked at Charlotte.
“The children.”
Isabella nodded.
“They were not all victims.”
“What?”
“Some were protected.”
Charlotte stared.
“Protected?”
“The families who couldn't be trusted were removed.”
“And my mother protected me.”
“Yes.”
“From Vincent's father?”
“From everyone.”
Vincent walked away.
His phone rang.
Marco.
“Boss, we found Edward Vale.”
“Where?”
“Leaving a private hospital.”
“Which one?”
“St. Matthew's.”
Vincent grabbed his coat.
“Take thirty men.”
Charlotte stood.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
“My mother worked there.”
“You're not going.”
“I know something you don't.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What?”
“The photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“My mother had one.”
“Of what?”
“She and Dominic.”
Charlotte pulled the photograph from her backpack.
Vincent studied it.
Dominic.
Elena.
A hospital hallway.
And three children.
Two boys.
One girl.
Charlotte.
But she looked at the photograph again.
There was another detail.
A red ribbon tied around one baby's wrist.
Vincent zoomed in.
The child had a bracelet.
St. Matthew's.
Same date.
Same number.
Charlotte's stomach dropped.
“There were two.”
Vincent nodded.
“Two what?”
“Two bracelets.”
The photograph showed twins.
Charlotte.
And another baby.
Who was gone.
Vincent looked at Isabella.
“What happened to the other child?”
Isabella shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Charlotte whispered:
“My mother always said I had a brother.”
Vincent's phone rang again.
This time, it was Edward Vale.
Vincent answered.
Vale's voice was calm.
“You finally found the photograph.”
Vincent stared.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Where is Charlotte's brother?”
Vale laughed.
“Closer than you think.”
“Tell me.”
“Ask her.”
Vincent looked at Charlotte.
“What?”
Vale continued.
“Ask Charlotte why she remembers a hospital room she's never been in.”
The call ended.
Charlotte went pale.
“I don't remember.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Think.”
“I can't.”
“Try.”
Charlotte closed her eyes.
A room.
White walls.
A red light.
A woman crying.
A baby screaming.
Dominic shouting.
Someone saying:
“Take the girl.”
Then another voice:
“Which one?”
A man answering:
“The one with the mark.”
Charlotte gasped.
“The mark.”
“What mark?”
She touched her shoulder.
A small birthmark.
Shaped like a crescent.
Vincent stared.
Isabella whispered:
“That's it.”
“What?”
“The protected bloodline.”
Charlotte looked at them.
“What does that mean?”
Isabella whispered:
“It means someone didn't steal you.”
May you like
She swallowed.
“They chose you.”
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