Chapter 7 - THE RED HOUSE
The drive should have taken nearly two hours.
We made it in seventy-three minutes.
Marcus arranged a state police escort only after we were already moving.
Thomas rode beside me.
I drove.
He kept telling me to slow down.
I ignored him until he said one thing that mattered.
“Grace needs you alive.”
My foot eased off the accelerator.
Behind us, two unmarked vehicles followed at a distance.
We did not use sirens.
If Marianne’s people were watching the highway, we wanted them uncertain.
Julian remained at the airport.
So did Sienna.
Marianne refused to leave.
That surprised everyone.
She simply sat inside the private terminal drinking tea as if she were waiting for a delayed flight.
At 11:31, Julian called.
“She knows you left.”
“How?”
“She asked me whether you still drive too fast when you’re angry.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“What else?”
“She said we’re all making this harder than necessary.”
I laughed.
“Of course she did.”
“Clara.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not now.”
“I need to say it.”
“No.”
“If something happens—”
“Nothing is happening.”
I ended the call.
I could not carry his guilt while racing toward my daughter.
At 11:44, Thomas pointed through the windshield.
“There.”
The house sat against the red rocks outside Sedona.
Glass.
Stone.
Steel.
Beautiful.
Isolated.
Marianne had hosted us there twice during our marriage.
I remembered drinking coffee on the terrace.
I remembered telling her I loved the view.
I remembered Sienna taking photographs beside the pool.
Now every memory felt staged.
The gate stood open.
That frightened me more than if it had been locked.
Marcus arrived behind us.
“Stay in the car.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“My daughter is inside.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I do.”
I got out.
Marcus swore and followed.
Two officers moved ahead.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, every light was on.
No voices.
No movement.
“Rachel?”
Nothing.
“Grace?”
My voice broke around her name.
We searched the first floor.
Empty.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Living room.
Empty.
Guest rooms.
Empty.
Then Thomas found blood.
Not much.
Three drops near the stairs.
My stomach turned.
Marcus crouched.
“Could be anyone’s.”
I knew he was trying to keep me steady.
We followed the drops.
Upstairs.
Down the hallway.
Into Marianne’s study.
A chair had been overturned.
A phone lay shattered near the desk.
Beside it was a baby’s yellow shoe.
I recognized it instantly.
The missing shoe from Grace’s photograph.
I picked it up.
My fingers shook.
“She was here.”
“Yes.”
Marcus’s voice was quiet.
“They moved her.”
I looked at the clock.
11:58.
Two minutes.
My phone rang.
Marianne.
I answered.
“Where is she?”
No greeting.
No pretending.
Marianne sounded calm.
“Clara.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“You always were dramatic.”
“I will spend every dollar I have destroying you.”
“You already spent much of it building the foundation I used.”
The cruelty was deliberate.
She wanted me angry.
Angry people made mistakes.
I forced my voice lower.
“What do you want?”
“Miles.”
“Why?”
“He is the public heir.”
“Grace was born first.”
Silence.
There.
That mattered.
“You know she was born first.”
Marianne’s voice cooled.
“Rachel was never supposed to keep her.”
My skin went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“Bring Miles to me.”
“No.”
“Then Grace remains with people you will never find.”
“You think I’ll stop?”
“No.”
“That’s why I prepared.”
The clock changed.
12:00.
Midnight.
Nothing happened.
No scream.
No explosion.
No dramatic consequence.
Just silence.
Marianne laughed softly.
“You expected a clock to strike.”
“What happens now?”
“Now you learn patience.”
She hung up.
I stared at the phone.
Marcus immediately contacted the airport.
Marianne had vanished.
Somehow, while everyone watched the private terminal, she had walked into a staff corridor and disappeared through a service exit.
Julian had tried to follow.
Two vehicles blocked him.
By the time police cleared them, Marianne was gone.
Sienna remained.
So did the jet.
She had never planned to fly from Hawthorne.
The airport had been another distraction.
Thomas examined the shattered phone in the study.
“Rachel’s.”
“How do you know?”
“She sent me messages from this model.”
One officer called from downstairs.
“We found something.”
We ran.
In the garage stood a blue pickup truck.
Peter Hale’s.
Empty.
Keys missing.
In the back seat was a child safety seat.
Beside it, a bloodstained handkerchief.
My stomach twisted.
Then a noise came from the storage room.
A soft thump.
An officer opened the door.
Dr. Peter Hale fell forward.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
His wrists were tied.
His forehead was bruised.
Marcus knelt beside him.
“Peter.”
Hale opened his eyes.
He saw me.
And began crying.
“Clara.”
“Where is Grace?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where is she?”
“They took Rachel.”
“Who?”
“Marianne’s people.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
I grabbed his shirt.
Marcus tried to pull me back.
“No.”
“Peter, look at me.”
He did.
“You took my embryos.”
He nodded weakly.
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You put my child inside Sienna.”
“Yes.”
“You sent my daughter to Denver.”
“Yes.”
“Then you are going to help me find her.”
His breathing became ragged.
“I tried.”
“What does that mean?”
“I contacted Rachel.”
“I told her the truth.”
“I helped her leave Phoenix.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
He stared at me.
“Your case wasn’t the only one.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“How many?”
Marcus asked.
Peter whispered.
“Thirty-two.”
The room went silent.
“Thirty-two embryos?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Thirty-two families.”
I stepped backward.
The scale of it was almost impossible to comprehend.
“Marianne?”
“Not all.”
“Then who?”
Peter looked terrified.
“The program.”
“What program?”
He started coughing.
An officer called for paramedics.
Peter grabbed my wrist before they could move him.
“Listen.”
“I don’t have long before they find out I talked.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the windows.
“The people who funded it.”
“Marianne?”
“She was one of them.”
“Who else?”
Peter’s grip weakened.
“Board members.”
“Clinic directors.”
“Donor agencies.”
“Private family offices.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“Names.”
Peter shook his head.
“On my server.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
“Where?”
His eyes found mine.
“Clara’s foundation.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The original server is hidden in the Bright Tomorrow office.”
“Where?”
“Your old office.”
I remembered the room.
The office they took from me.
The one Sienna used now.
“Where inside?”
Peter whispered.
“Behind the wall.”
Then his eyes closed.
Paramedics rushed him out.
I stood in Marianne’s garage holding Grace’s yellow shoe.
My daughter was missing.
My son was safe for the moment.
And somewhere inside the foundation I had built to help families was a hidden server containing evidence that dozens of families might have been betrayed exactly as I had.
Marcus came beside me.
“We go back.”
“To the foundation?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the red rocks outside.
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Marianne expects us to go there.”
“Maybe.”
“She built every move around what she expected me to do.”
“What are you suggesting?”
I looked at the yellow shoe.
“We stop following.”
Marcus watched me.
“And start doing what?”
“Hunting.”
Before he could answer, Thomas’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered cautiously.
No voice.
Only a recorded message.
A child crying.
Then Rachel whispered.
“Clara.”
My heart stopped.
“I can hear them talking.”
“They’re taking us to Chicago.”
“Not the foundation.”
“A church.”
“The one Marianne used to—”
The recording cut off.
Thomas stared at me.
Julian called seconds later.
His voice was shaken.
“Clara.”
“What?”
“My mother just sent me an address.”
I closed my eyes.
“What address?”
He told me.
I knew it.
St. Matthew’s Church.
The church where Julian and I had been married.
And the place where Marianne had once told me I was officially part of the Cross family.
May you like
Now she was taking my daughter there.
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