Chapter 2 - The Doctor Tried to Send Emma Away—But My Children’s Medical Records Showed Someone Had Been Altering Their Treatment for MonthsDr. Yates wanted Emma removed immediately.
“She has no clearance to be in a private medical suite.”
I stood between them.
“She stays.”
“Lawson, this is absurd.”
“Then explain why you recognized her.”
His face changed.
“I didn't.”
Emma laughed quietly.
“You did.”
I looked at her.
“You're certain?”
“My mother worked with him.”
Dr. Yates's expression became defensive.
“That is ridiculous.”
I opened the file.
“Then why is your signature on this?”
I showed him the forged medical entries.
He stared.
“This isn't mine.”
“Someone copied it.”
He looked at Emma.
She nodded.
“Exactly.”
For the first time, the doctor looked frightened.
I locked the door.
“No one leaves.”
Dr. Yates swallowed.
“I need to call the hospital administration.”
“No.”
“You can't hold me here.”
“I can.”
He knew I could.
Everyone did.
But I wasn't interested in intimidation anymore.
I was interested in truth.
“Start talking.”
He sat.
Emma opened the records.
She had marked dates in red.
“Every time Jonah's counts improved, someone changed his dosage.”
She moved to Blythe's file.
“Same pattern.”
Dr. Yates stared.
“I didn't authorize those changes.”
“Then who did?”
He didn't know.
Or wouldn't say.
I stared at him.
“Doctor.”
He closed his eyes.
“There was a research consultant.”
“Name.”
“Dr. Adrian Vale.”
Emma went still.
My voice hardened.
“Who is he?”
“Genetic researcher.”
“Connected to the hospital?”
“Indirectly.”
“Connected to my wife?”
Silence.
“Doctor.”
He finally answered.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he study?”
“Children born from a specific donor pool.”
My heart stopped.
“Donor pool?”
He nodded.
“Certain genetic traits.”
“Mine?”
“Your wife.”
I looked toward the twins.
“What did they inherit?”
He hesitated.
“Something unusually valuable.”
Emma spoke.
“Bone marrow regeneration.”
Dr. Yates nodded.
“It was never supposed to be commercialized.”
“Was it?”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
I wanted names.
Companies.
Accounts.
Everything.
But Dr. Yates kept repeating one phrase.
“I was trying to protect them.”
“By letting them get worse?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
He admitted he had noticed irregularities months earlier.
Someone was sabotaging treatment.
He reported it.
Then the report disappeared.
After that, he became afraid.
“Afraid of whom?”
He looked toward the door.
“Your security.”
I frowned.
“My security?”
“One of your men had access to patient records.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
I thought of Prescott.
No.
He had been with me for fifteen years.
Then I remembered someone else.
Daniel Shaw.
One of my newer security managers.
He handled electronic access.
I called him.
“Come to the medical wing.”
He arrived ten minutes later.
He looked confused.
“What happened?”
I showed him the records.
He denied everything.
Emma watched him carefully.
Then she said:
“Your left cuff.”
He looked down.
There was a tiny smear of blue ink.
The same ink used on forged signatures.
Daniel stared.
I reached for him.
He stepped back.
Security surrounded him.
He was not the mastermind.
He confessed quickly.
He had been paid to alter access logs.
By whom?
A woman.
He didn't know her name.
Only that she worked for a private investment company.
Name:
Vera Black.
The name meant nothing to me.
But when Emma heard it, she went pale.
“You know her.”
She shook her head.
“Not personally.”
“Then how?”
“My mother did.”
Emma explained.
Vera Black had been connected to the research program.
She had recruited women.
She had secured biological samples.
She had handled contracts.
Genevieve had discovered something.
She tried to leave.
That was when the danger began.
I remembered the weeks before Genevieve's death.
Her anxiety.
Her secret phone.
Her late-night drives.
Her insistence that I stop asking questions.
I had thought she was pulling away from me.
Maybe she had been trying to protect me.
And our children.
I looked at Emma.
“Did your mother die?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
I froze.
“Two years ago?”
She nodded.
Same year as Genevieve.
Same method.
Same type of collision.
My hands tightened.
“Your mother was killed.”
“I believe so.”
“And my wife?”
“I believe so.”
The room went silent.
Dr. Yates looked terrified.
I asked:
“What did Genevieve discover?”
Emma answered:
“She found out the research wasn't about treatment anymore.”
“What was it about?”
“Creating biological products using children's genetic material.”
I stared at her.
“That sounds insane.”
“It is.”
“Evidence?”
She tapped the drive.
“On here.”
The drive contained contracts.
Payment records.
Emails.
Photos.
Everything.
But one folder was encrypted.
Label:
MERCER CHILDREN
My blood ran cold.
“Open it.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“I don't have the key.”
“Who does?”
“My mother.”
“She’s dead.”
“I know.”
“Then we're stuck.”
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“My mother left a clue.”
She showed us a photograph of Genevieve.
Taken three months before her death.
My wife was standing beside my children.
Behind them was a painting.
A lighthouse.
I recognized it.
The painting hung in my library.
Genevieve had bought it shortly before she died.
I walked there.
Behind the painting was a small compartment.
Inside—
a key.
Emma stared.
“Your wife knew.”
I inserted it into the drive.
The folder opened.
A list of research subjects.
Jonah.
Blythe.
Their genetic profiles.
Then a second list.
Potential buyers.
One name appeared at the top.
Vera Black.
Another.
Dr. Adrian Vale.
And a third.
My own name.
Under mine:
PRIMARY OBSTACLE.
I felt the room tilt.
I had been the obstacle from the beginning.
That meant Genevieve had known.
She had known they would come for me.
Maybe that was why she died.
I turned to Emma.
“What else?”
She opened the last file.
A video.
Genevieve.
Alive.
Recorded months before her death.
She looked directly into the camera.
“Lawson, if you're seeing this, then something happened.”
My chest tightened.
“I need you to listen.”
She looked down.
“If our children become sick, don't trust the diagnosis.”
I closed my eyes.
She continued:
“They aren't sick because of their genes.”
A pause.
“They're being made sick.”
I couldn't breathe.
She named a person.
Not Vera.
Not Adrian.
Someone else.
A person I knew.
A person inside my family.
Someone who had access to our home.
Someone who had been standing beside me for years.
Then the video ended.
The name appeared on screen.
Prescott Hale.
I stared.
My second-in-command.
My oldest friend.
The man I had trusted with my life.
I slowly turned toward the medical suite.
Prescott was standing outside the glass doors.
Watching.
May you like
And when our eyes met—
he looked away.
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