Chapter 4 - My Father’s Last Warning
I stared at Daniel’s message until the screen went dark.
Then I turned the phone facedown.
“Open it.”
Luka looked surprised.
“A minute ago you were ready to rip my hand off for touching it.”
“I told you not to open it before we understood what we had.”
“And now?”
“Now Daniel knows the envelope exists.”
That chilled me.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could he be watching us?”
Luka immediately looked toward the windows.
Rafael moved to a control panel.
“System is clean.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No camera has been breached.”
“What about my phone?”
Luka held out his hand.
I hesitated.
Then gave it to him.
He switched it off.
“Rafael.”
The older man brought a signal-blocking pouch.
Luka sealed my phone inside.
“What if someone needs me?”
“The only people who know you’re here shouldn’t know you’re here.”
That was difficult to argue with.
My daughter began fussing.
The mystery would have to wait.
I lifted her from the carrier.
Her tiny mouth searched instinctively against my sweatshirt.
“Oh.”
My face burned.
“She’s hungry.”
Luka immediately turned away.
The gesture was so respectful it almost made me laugh.
Rafael pointed toward a hallway.
“There’s a guest suite.”
“Why does your house have a nursery?”
I asked.
He froze.
I had noticed the doorway beyond him.
Pale walls.
A crib.
A rocking chair.
Shelves of diapers.
Luka looked uncomfortable.
“Because I had six hours.”
“You built a nursery in six hours?”
“I made calls.”
“Why?”
He looked at the baby.
“Because you weren’t going back to Daniel’s house tonight.”
“You didn’t know I’d come with you.”
“No.”
“What if I refused?”
“I would’ve made sure you had somewhere else safe.”
The answer landed somewhere I didn’t want to examine yet.
I went to the guest room.
For nearly forty minutes, the world shrank to my daughter.
Feeding her.
Changing her.
Trying to understand whether she was warm enough.
Wondering whether every sound she made was normal.
I named her while sitting alone in that unfamiliar room.
Isabella Grace.
I had always loved Isabella.
Daniel wanted Madison.
For months we had argued playfully.
Now Daniel’s opinion no longer mattered.
“Isabella.”
Her tiny fingers curled around mine.
“You’re Isabella Grace.”
I cried when I said it.
Not because I was sad.
Not exactly.
Because she was the first thing that belonged entirely to the future instead of the past.
When I returned to the living room, Luka was standing beside the fire.
He had removed his jacket.
More tattoos covered his forearms.
Dates.
Names.
A compass.
A black rose.
I noticed one date immediately.
September 14.
The day my father died.
“You tattooed the date.”
Luka followed my gaze.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To remember.”
“People usually want to forget the worst day of their lives.”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because forgetting makes it easier to forgive the wrong people.”
I sat.
The envelope remained on the table.
“You said Adrian Cross had men following you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Gabriel had discovered evidence that Meridian’s fertility program was operating illegally.”
“What kind of illegal?”
“Consent fraud.”
“Meaning?”
“Patients were being enrolled in genetic research they hadn’t agreed to.”
My stomach tightened.
“Research?”
“Embryo screening.”
“Donor substitution.”
I looked at Isabella.
“Substitution?”
Luka’s voice became careful.
“Using genetic material different from what the patient was told.”
I felt sick.
“And M-17?”
“I think it may have been one of the donor profiles.”
“Yours.”
“Maybe.”
“You said your sample was stored there.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever authorize anyone to use it?”
“No.”
“Not for research?”
“No.”
“Not for fertility treatment?”
“No.”
“Not for donation?”
His answer was immediate.
“Never.”
I believed him.
That frightened me.
Because if his DNA had been used, he was not the villain.
He was another victim.
I picked up the old envelope.
“Why does this say before marriage?”
“I don’t know.”
I glared at him.
He raised one hand.
“I genuinely don’t.”
I broke the seal.
Inside were two folded sheets.
The first was a laboratory report.
Date.
Fourteen years ago.
PATIENT: DANIEL ADRIAN CROSS.
I stopped breathing.
Daniel had been twenty-two.
The report contained medical terminology I didn’t understand.
One line had been circled in red ink.
AZOOSPERMIA CONFIRMED.
“What does that mean?”
I whispered.
Luka took the paper.
His face became hard.
“It means no measurable sperm.”
I stared at him.
“Infertile?”
“In most cases, yes.”
“No.”
“Sofia.”
“No.”
“Daniel told me his tests were normal.”
“When?”
“Before IVF.”
“Did you see them?”
I already knew the answer.
“No.”
Daniel had told me the fertility problem was unexplained.
He said neither of us had anything technically wrong.
We just needed help.
I looked at Isabella.
My heart pounded.
“Daniel knew he couldn’t father a child.”
Luka returned the report.
“At twenty-two, he knew there was a serious problem.”
“But maybe treatment fixed it.”
“Possible.”
“Maybe the diagnosis changed.”
“Possible.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
The second sheet was not a laboratory report.
It was handwritten.
My father’s handwriting.
Sofia,
If you are reading this, then I failed to tell you the truth before you needed it.
I stopped.
My vision blurred.
I had not seen my father’s handwriting in twelve years.
For a moment, I was thirteen again.
Sitting at our kitchen counter.
Watching him leave notes inside my lunch bag.
Eat something green.
Call your mother.
You are smarter than the math test.
I swallowed and continued.
The Cross family must never control your medical decisions.
They must never control your child.
And under no circumstances should you marry Daniel Cross until you have independently verified the enclosed report.
My hands shook violently.
“He knew Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“He knew I might marry Daniel?”
Apparently.
“But I met Daniel eight years after Dad died.”
Luka went completely still.
“That’s not possible.”
“I met him at twenty-one.”
“Where?”
“Boston University.”
“Who introduced you?”
The question seemed random.
I searched my memory.
“A woman named Marianne Cole.”
Luka’s face changed.
“What?”
“Marianne was my father’s attorney.”
“She was my godmother.”
“Sofia.”
“What?”
“Marianne Cole worked for Adrian Cross after your father died.”
I stopped breathing.
No.
Marianne had helped my mother after Dad died.
She had handled the estate.
She sent birthday cards.
She helped me apply to college.
She was the one who arranged my internship where I met Daniel.
I had believed it was coincidence.
Now Luka was looking at me as if the coincidence had just become evidence.
I returned to the letter.
If Daniel Cross enters your life after my death, assume it was arranged.
I dropped the page.
“No.”
Luka leaned forward.
“What does it say?”
I couldn’t speak.
He took the letter.
His eyes moved over the words.
His face darkened.
“Jesus.”
I felt like I was falling.
“My marriage was arranged?”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“My father literally wrote it.”
“He wrote a warning.”
“He predicted Daniel would enter my life.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop.”
My voice broke.
“Please stop saying you don’t know.”
Luka went quiet.
I picked up the letter again.
There was more.
Meridian was never about fertility treatment.
The children were the assets.
That sentence made no sense.
I read it again.
The children were the assets.
Below it, my father had written:
M-17 is the only file Adrian cannot allow to become public.
If a Bennett daughter ever carries an M-17 pregnancy, the old agreement activates.
Do not allow Cross counsel to establish paternal control.
Find Luka.
Trust him only after he tells you what happened on September 14.
My eyes lifted.
“What happened on September 14?”
Luka looked toward the fire.
“My father knew I was driving.”
“Yes.”
“What haven’t you told me?”
His jaw worked.
“Gabriel didn’t die at the crash site.”
“You already told me that.”
“He was conscious.”
I held my breath.
“He made me leave him.”
“What?”
“We were trapped.”
“Why would he do that?”
“The car was burning.”
I covered my mouth.
Luka’s voice stayed low.
“He was pinned.”
“You left him?”
“He ordered me to.”
“You left my father in a burning car?”
“I came back.”
“When?”
“Three minutes later.”
“What happened?”
“The car wasn’t there.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Neither was Gabriel.”
“That’s impossible.”
“The fire was out.”
“No ambulance had arrived.”
“No police.”
“Just tire marks.”
I couldn’t process it.
“They took him.”
“I believe so.”
“Who?”
“Cross security.”
“Why?”
“To find out where he hid the Meridian evidence.”
My entire childhood grief suddenly felt unstable.
If my father had not died in the crash, what had happened afterward?
Was he alive for minutes?
Hours?
Days?
Years?
I forced myself to continue reading.
At the bottom of the letter were coordinates.
And a sentence.
The final proof is in Vault 17.
Luka read over my shoulder.
“I know those coordinates.”
“Where?”
“Boston Harbor.”
“What is there?”
“An old private bank.”
Rafael entered from the security room.
“We have a problem.”
Luka stood.
“What?”
“Someone triggered the south gate.”
“Vehicle?”
“No.”
“A person.”
The security monitor showed a woman standing outside in the rain.
She wore a cream coat.
Her hair was soaked.
Her makeup had run down her face.
I recognized her immediately.
Vanessa.
Daniel’s mistress.
“What is she doing here?”
I whispered.
Luka looked at Rafael.
“How did she find us?”
“She didn’t use the road.”
Rafael enlarged another camera.
Vanessa had come through the woods.
Barefoot.
One shoe was missing.
Bloodless scratches marked her cheek.
She looked terrified.
She stared directly into the camera.
Then she held up a white piece of paper.
Three words were written across it.
DANIEL KNOWS EVERYTHING.
May you like
Below that:
HE’S COMING FOR THE BABY.
