Chapter 4 - Dr. Reeves Had Worked With Sophia Before the Bombing, and His Files Revealed That Two Babies Had Been Marked for the Same “Treatment”Dr. Reeves' laboratory was hidden beneath a private medical office.

We found it after following a shell corporation.

The walls were covered with files.

Genetic profiles.

Medical charts.

Prenatal records.

Children.

I saw my son's name.

Then Leo's.

Then Sophia's.

The project had a code name.

Helix Nine.

The goal was to identify infants carrying a rare genetic mutation.

The mutation affected metabolism.

Some babies couldn't process standard nutrients.

Others reacted unpredictably to medication.

But with a specific treatment, they could survive.

The catch?

The treatment had been developed using experimental research on newborns.

My stomach turned.

"Who approved this?"

Dr. Marquez answered.

"No legitimate ethics board."

Lorenzo looked at the files.

"Why my son?"

"Because he has the mutation."

"And Hunter's baby?"

"Same marker."

I stared.

My son.

Leo.

Same genetic condition.

Same bloodline?

No.

Unless—

My mother had always said I inherited something from my father's family.

Something rare.

Something worth protecting.

Could this be it?

The researcher logs showed one line repeatedly:

MATERNAL MILK IMPROVES RESPONSE.

My breath caught.

My milk wasn't merely accepted.

It contained something Leo needed.

Maybe something my own baby needed.

The treatment had been designed around a specific maternal marker.

Mine.

Someone had known.

That was why I had been brought to the mansion.

But then why had my baby been declared dead?

Because they needed me to believe I was childless.

Because they wanted my milk.

Because they wanted Leo alive.

The project was not about killing the babies.

It was about controlling them.

And the person who controlled the research could control access to life-saving treatment.

Lorenzo stared at the documents.

"This is bigger than my family."

"Yes."

"Who funded it?"

The records led to one company.

Rossi Biomedical Holdings.

Owned by a board member Lorenzo trusted.

His uncle.

Marco Rossi.

Lorenzo's face changed.

"My uncle?"

"Maybe."

We searched Marco's office.

Found transfers.

Hospital records.

Private flights.

And a list of babies.

One name was circled.

Hunter Dawson — neonatal donor candidate.

I stared.

My employment.

My grief.

My body.

All planned.

Then a photograph appeared.

My baby.

Alive.

Three weeks old.

Wearing a hospital bracelet with another name.

I nearly collapsed.

"That's him."

Lorenzo caught me.

"What?"

"That's my son."

He looked at the photograph.

"You're sure?"

I nodded.

"I'd know him."

I pointed at the tiny birthmark near his eyebrow.

"It's him."

Lorenzo closed his eyes.

"We're going to get him."

The location attached to the photograph was a private clinic in New Jersey.

We left immediately.

When we arrived, the building was abandoned.

A nurse had fled through the back.

We found empty cribs.

Empty beds.

And one note.

TRANSFERRED TO ROSSI ESTATE — SUBJECT R-17.

I looked at Lorenzo.

"R-17."

The designation from my birth records.

The baby on the photograph had been moved.

To his house.

Our house.

Lorenzo realized it at the same moment.

"My son."

"No."

May you like

He Came to End Their Marriage—Then Learned Someone Had Been Trying to De...

The Mafia Boss Ordered the Gunmen to Drop Their Weapons

My Mafia Husband Left Me to Freeze Above Aspen

I whispered.

"Your son was never the only baby in that nursery."