Chapter 2 - The Truth Hidden in the Children’s Blood
The next six hours changed everything I believed about my family.
Elena was taken to a private consultation room.
Dr. Yates wanted her out.
I refused.
“She stays.”
“She isn't a physician.”
“She knows something you don't.”
Elena looked at the doctor.
“You found the compound?”
“Yes.”
“Did the children receive an immune-suppressing trial drug?”
Dr. Yates frowned.
“Of course not.”
“Check their medication records.”
“We've checked them repeatedly.”
“Not just this admission. Their entire history.”
He hesitated.
Elena looked at me.
“Mr. Mercer, your children's exposure didn't begin when they got sick.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means whatever altered their blood was introduced years ago.”
Dr. Yates crossed his arms.
“That is an extraordinary claim.”
“So was the fact that their markers matched a research model from seven years ago.”
His expression changed.
“What research model?”
Elena pulled another paper from her bag.
“I worked at Mercer Biogen.”
I looked at her.
“You were an employee?”
“Yes.”
“As what?”
“Research assistant.”
“Why would you work for them?”
“Because I was twenty-three, broke, and believed scientific research could save lives.”
She smiled bitterly.
“I learned too late that some people are more interested in controlling life than saving it.”
Dr. Yates examined the papers.
His face grew increasingly serious.
“You understand what this means?”
“Yes.”
“You've seen this before?”
“I've seen the early stages.”
He lowered his voice.
“Then we need a specialist.”
Elena shook her head.
“We need the original compound.”
“What?”
“The treatment won't work unless the doctors know exactly what was used.”
I looked at her.
“Where is it?”
“In a facility owned by Mercer Biogen.”
My stomach tightened.
“I closed that facility.”
“No.”
She met my eyes.
“You closed the front company.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
“The laboratory beneath the old research campus was never shut down.”
I called Prescott.
“Get me a full inventory of every property Mercer Biogen owns.”
“Already running it.”
I looked at Elena.
“How did Genevieve find you?”
“She didn't.”
“What?”
“I found her.”
The room went silent.
Elena explained that she'd noticed irregular test results while working in the lab.
They were running trials on blood-cell regulation.
The subjects weren't volunteers.
They were embryos.
Fetal tissue.
And eventually, human pregnancies.
“I confronted my supervisor,” Elena said.
“What happened?”
“He told me to forget what I'd seen.”
“And you didn't.”
“No.”
She found encrypted files.
One contained Genevieve's name.
“Why your wife?”
“Because she was part of a private family screening program.”
I frowned.
“Genevieve didn't participate in anything.”
“She didn't know.”
Elena pulled up an old medical form.
“During her pregnancy, Mercer Family Medical performed genetic screening.”
I recognized the clinic.
It was owned by my uncle.
“My father-in-law recommended that clinic,” I said.
Elena nodded.
“That was the entry point.”
Genevieve's pregnancy had been monitored using equipment secretly modified to deliver the compound.
Not enough to harm the mother.
Just enough to alter the fetal blood stem cells.
The objective had been to produce a disorder that appeared naturally years later.
Then came the motive.
Victor Mercer wanted a controllable biological weapon.
A disease that could be triggered or accelerated.
A treatment that could then be sold to governments and corporations.
I sat down.
“My children were test subjects.”
“Yes.”
“Why leukemia?”
“Because it was supposed to look like leukemia.”
Dr. Yates looked stunned.
“It's not leukemia?”
Elena shook her head.
“They have symptoms resembling acute leukemia, but the marrow failure is chemically induced.”
Dr. Yates immediately began making calls.
A new hematology team was assembled.
Blood samples were sent to an independent lab.
For the first time in months, the doctors had something to investigate besides the disease itself.
But we still needed the compound.
That night Prescott came to me.
“We found the facility.”
“Where?”
“Forty-three miles west.”
“Can we access it?”
“Legally?”
I looked at him.
He sighed.
“That wasn't the question you asked.”
“Get a warrant.”
He looked at Elena.
“She won't survive going there.”
Elena shook her head.
“I have to.”
“No,” I said.
“If I don't identify the compound, your children die.”
I wanted to argue.
Instead I said, “You'll have protection.”
We drove at midnight.
The old laboratory appeared abandoned.
Broken windows.
Rusting signs.
Overgrown fencing.
But Prescott immediately spotted new tire tracks.
Someone was still using it.
Inside, Elena found the hidden elevator.
It required a biometric scan.
She placed her palm against the panel.
The doors opened.
I stared at her.
“You said you were just a research assistant.”
“I was.”
“How did you have clearance?”
“I didn't.”
She pointed to the scanner.
“Genevieve added me.”
We descended.
The basement laboratory was operational.
Monitors glowed in empty rooms.
Freezers hummed.
Folders lined the walls.
Then Elena stopped.
A large screen displayed two names.
SUBJECT J-06.
SUBJECT B-06.
Jonah.
Blythe.
I felt something inside me crack.
My children weren't merely part of a past experiment.
They had been monitored their entire lives.
A file opened automatically.
Current condition: progression anticipated.
Estimated mortality window: ten days following treatment resistance.
The exact sentence Dr. Yates had spoken that morning.
Someone knew.
Someone had already predicted their death.
Then another line appeared.
Emergency intervention authorized upon maternal removal.
Maternal removal.
I turned to Elena.
“My wife.”
She nodded.
“They didn't just kill Genevieve.”
“They needed her gone before she exposed them.”
A sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Prescott drew his weapon.
The lights went out.
Gunfire erupted.
We dropped behind a steel console.
Prescott fired back.
Someone shouted.
Elena grabbed my sleeve.
“There!”
She pointed toward a storage room.
Inside was a refrigerated case.
A label read:
Compound M-17.
Elena opened it.
Three vials remained.
She grabbed them.
Then a bullet struck the wall beside my head.
Prescott shouted.
“Move!”
We ran.
The laboratory's alarm began screaming.
As we reached the elevator, Elena looked back.
A man stood at the end of the corridor.
I recognized him.
Victor Mercer's private security director.
He smiled.
“You should have stayed ignorant, Lawson.”
The elevator doors closed.
As we escaped into the night, Elena clutched the vial against her chest.
“We have what we need.”
I looked at her.
“Will it save them?”
Her eyes filled.
“Maybe.”
“For the first time since your wife died,” I said, “I finally have hope.”
May you like
She looked at me.
“Don't waste it.”
