Chapter 5 - My Brother’s Wife Was Still Alive
I called Daniel from the church steps.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
On the third call, his phone went straight to voicemail.
Vincent came toward me.
“What happened?”
I shoved the ultrasound into his chest.
“You knew.”
He looked at it.
His face changed.
“Where did she get this?”
“You knew Noah might be my nephew.”
“I suspected.”
“You suspected?”
“Isabella found the name Claire Foster in Halpern’s files.”
“And you didn’t think that mattered?”
“I didn’t know she was related to you until after the flight.”
That explained the investigation.
It did not excuse it.
I called Daniel again.
Nothing.
“Where does your brother live?” Vincent asked.
“Seattle.”
“I’ll have someone—”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“I am not sending your people after my brother.”
“What if someone already has?”
That stopped me.
I hated him for being right.
Within twenty minutes, we were in Vincent’s SUV.
I called Daniel’s wife.
Disconnected.
I called his office.
He had not been there in four days.
Then my mother called.
“Rachel?”
The moment I heard her voice, anger detonated.
“Mom, who was your mother?”
Silence.
“Rachel—”
“Who was your mother?”
“Where are you?”
“Answer me.”
She started crying.
That was the answer.
I closed my eyes.
Vincent sat beside me, saying nothing.
“My mother’s name was Sofia,” she whispered.
I pressed my hand to my mouth.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew all of it.”
“Not all.”
“Did Dad know?”
“Yes.”
“Did he die because of it?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
I looked out the window at Boston sliding past.
Every childhood memory suddenly had another version beneath it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your father died protecting us.”
“And you thought lying would make that worthwhile?”
“I thought keeping you alive would.”
My anger weakened.
Only slightly.
“Where’s Daniel?”
Another silence.
My blood turned cold.
“Mom.”
“He called me two days ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That Claire was alive.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“He found an email. From her.”
“Why didn’t he call me?”
“Because the email said not to.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course it did.
“What did Claire say?”
“That people were watching the family. That Noah was safe for now. That Daniel had to stop looking.”
Vincent leaned toward the phone.
“Ask if she gave a location.”
My mother heard him.
“Who is that?”
“Vincent Castrovani.”
Her reaction was immediate.
“Get away from him.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Mom, listen—”
“No. Rachel, you get away from him right now.”
“Why?”
“Because his father killed yours.”
Vincent went still.
I stared at him.
“My father was dead seven years before I took control,” he said quietly.
My mother heard him.
“Carlo ordered it.”
Vincent’s face drained.
“Do you know that?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Thomas told me the night before he died.”
The SUV suddenly felt too small.
My mother continued.
“Your father had copied Halpern’s files. Carlo knew. He threatened Daniel. Thomas agreed to meet him at the marina.”
My stomach twisted.
“The boat accident.”
“There was no accident.”
I covered my mouth.
Vincent looked away.
For the first time, he seemed ashamed of a crime he had not committed.
“What happened to the files?” he asked.
My mother was silent.
“Mrs. Foster,” Vincent said, “if those files still exist, someone may be searching for them.”
“They’re gone.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I burned them.”
I almost believed her.
Then I remembered the way she used to hide Christmas presents.
Badly.
“Mom.”
Silence.
“Where are they?”
“I said they’re gone.”
“Where?”
She exhaled.
“Thomas left one copy.”
My heart pounded.
“Where?”
“In the place no Castrovani would ever search.”
Vincent muttered, “That narrows it down to nowhere.”
I ignored him.
“Mom.”
“The children’s wing at Merritt.”
I stared.
“My hospital?”
“Your father helped renovate the old pediatric chapel after a fundraiser. Behind the cornerstone plaque, there’s a metal box.”
My entire body went cold.
The break-in at my apartment.
The stolen photograph.
The message.
Whoever was watching me didn’t know where the files were.
Not yet.
I looked at Vincent.
“We have to go back.”
He was already calling security.
We arrived at Merritt fifteen minutes later.
The old pediatric chapel had been closed for renovation.
Vincent’s security cleared the corridor.
I found the bronze plaque.
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS J. FOSTER, PARAMEDIC, FATHER, FRIEND.
My throat tightened.
I had walked past it hundreds of times.
There were four screws.
Behind it was a cavity.
Inside sat a metal box.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Files.
Photographs.
Lab records.
A cassette tape.
And a letter addressed to me.
Rachel, if you are reading this, then I failed to keep the truth away from you.
I swallowed hard.
Vincent stood behind me.
I kept reading.
The Castrovani family carries a rare mutation that can cause severe fasting intolerance, pain crises, and neurologic symptoms in infancy. Carlo funded Halpern to identify carriers because he wanted to find Sofia’s descendants.
But Halpern discovered something worse.
The mutation is treatable.
Carlo didn’t want treatment.
He wanted control.
Families were told their babies were sick enough to require private care. Some children disappeared into a network of clinics.
I stopped.
Vincent whispered, “Jesus.”
The next page listed names.
Dozens.
Then I saw one I knew.
Claire Foster.
Status: Pregnant. Carrier.
Then another.
Baby Male Foster.
Status: Delivered.
Disposition: Transfer requested.
I gripped the edge of the box.
Noah.
There was a final note.
Transfer blocked by I.C.
Isabella Castrovani.
She had saved him.
My nephew.
And then I found the next page.
Claire Foster.
Status: Alive.
Location: St. Agnes Recovery Center, Maine.
I turned to Vincent.
“My brother’s wife is alive.”
May you like
Before he could answer, the lights in the chapel went out.
A second later, gunfire exploded in the corridor.
