Chapter 19 - The Man in Adrian’s Office
Daniel did not run.
That was the first thing Claire told me.
The second was worse.
He admitted being there.
Police detained him within an hour.
I watched television footage of him entering a state police vehicle.
No struggle.
No statement.
No eye contact with cameras.
Luka turned off the television.
“Do you think he did it?”
I asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the camera footage is too convenient.”
“That doesn’t prove innocence.”
“No.”
“What would?”
“The truth.”
I laughed bitterly.
“We’ve had excellent luck with that.”
Claire arranged for me to speak with Daniel through his attorney.
Not Marianne.
A new criminal defense lawyer.
Daniel appeared on video from an interview room.
He looked exhausted.
“What happened?”
I asked.
He stared at me.
“I went to see Adrian.”
“Why?”
“He called.”
“What did he want?”
“To negotiate.”
“For what?”
“He said Samuel was coming.”
My pulse quickened.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“What did he offer?”
“Information.”
“In exchange?”
“Protection.”
“For himself?”
“No.”
Daniel looked at me.
“For you.”
I almost laughed.
“Adrian wanted to protect me?”
“He wanted you alive because Isabella had become too valuable.”
“Comforting.”
“He said Samuel would take her.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him I wasn’t helping.”
“Then?”
“He gave me a file.”
“What file?”
“Samuel’s location history.”
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to Claire’s investigator.”
Claire confirmed.
“We have it.”
“Then what happened in the office?”
Daniel’s face changed.
“Adrian said something about you.”
“What?”
“He said you weren’t supposed to survive the birth.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because the trust originally required maternal death for direct child succession.”
Gabriel had never mentioned that.
“Dad?”
My father was sitting beside me.
He went pale.
“That clause was removed.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Adrian said Samuel restored it.”
My heart pounded.
“If I die…”
“Isabella inherits without fiduciary delay.”
Luka’s face hardened.
“Which means whoever controls Isabella controls everything.”
Exactly.
“What happened next?”
I asked.
Daniel looked down.
“I hit him.”
“Daniel.”
“One punch.”
“He fell.”
“Was he alive?”
“Yes.”
“You left?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“11:42.”
“The security log says you never left.”
“Then the log is false.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No.”
“Did Adrian mention Samuel’s appearance?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Daniel frowned.
“He said Samuel wouldn’t look like we expected.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anything else?”
“He kept calling him Doctor.”
Doctor.
We all looked at each other.
Samuel Cross.
A whistleblower.
Genetic scientist maybe.
Doctor.
Then Claire opened Adrian’s location file.
Recent meetings.
Rhode Island.
Albany.
St. Catherine.
One recurring contact.
Dr. Anne Whitcomb.
No.
Too obvious.
Another name appeared.
Dr. Nathan Vale.
Independent genetic counselor.
The man who ran our first “independent” paternity laboratory.
My blood froze.
The lab that said Luka was 99.9997 percent Isabella’s father.
Claire’s face changed.
“Vale’s credentials are fake.”
“What?”
“He became licensed under that name eighteen years ago.”
“No birth record.”
“No medical school record before age thirty.”
Luka stood.
“Photo?”
Claire opened it.
An older man.
Silver hair.
Glasses.
I had seen him.
At the hospital.
Not in my room.
In the corridor.
Walking behind the two suited men.
He had looked like a physician.
Nobody noticed him.
Gabriel stared.
Then whispered.
“Samuel.”
My heart stopped.
Dr. Nathan Vale was Samuel Cross.
He had been near me from the beginning.
He had run the first DNA test.
He had controlled at least one of the samples.
He had been watching Isabella.
“Where is he now?”
Claire checked.
“His clinic is closed.”
“Home?”
“Empty.”
“Passport?”
“No departure.”
Luka looked at the nursery.
“We move Isabella.”
“No.”
I said.
He turned.
“I’m not running again.”
“Sofia.”
“He expects us to.”
“Yes.”
“Then we don’t.”
“What do you suggest?”
I looked at Adrian’s file.
“Samuel wants Isabella.”
“He wants the trust.”
“He wants the registry.”
“He wants control.”
“So we take away the reason to take her.”
“How?”
“Dissolve the trust.”
Gabriel stood.
“You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Isabella owns the beneficial interest.”
“She’s three days old.”
“Exactly.”
“So who can petition?”
“You.”
“As mother.”
“Yes.”
“And Luka as biological father.”
Gabriel hesitated.
“Yes.”
I looked at Luka.
“Would you?”
“Immediately.”
“Nine hundred million dollars.”
“I don’t care.”
“Neither do I.”
Gabriel looked horrified.
“That money could compensate victims.”
That stopped me.
He was right.
Destroying the trust might protect Isabella.
But the assets could help 312 Meridian victims.
Counseling.
Medical testing.
Legal fees.
Restitution.
A new idea formed.
“We don’t dissolve it.”
Claire saw it.
“We convert it.”
“Victims’ fund.”
“Yes.”
“Can we?”
Gabriel thought.
“With court approval.”
“Emergency?”
“Possible.”
“If both current fiduciaries consent.”
“Who?”
“Luka.”
“And?”
Gabriel looked at Daniel.
“Alternate heir until Isabella’s certification completes.”
Daniel.
From jail.
Of course.
Claire called his attorney.
Daniel agreed immediately.
No conditions.
No percentage.
No protection.
At 6:00 p.m., we filed an emergency petition to convert the Bennett-Moretti trust into a restitution and victim-support trust.
If granted, Samuel’s financial motive disappeared.
Public notice would also destroy secrecy around the registry.
We finally moved first.
At 8:12, Judge Harper granted temporary conversion.
Nine hundred million dollars frozen for victim restitution.
Samuel lost the prize.
For ten minutes, I felt relief.
Then the nursery monitor made a sound.
A soft click.
I looked at the screen.
Isabella sleeping.
Then static.
Luka ran upstairs.
I followed.
The crib was empty.
Window closed.
Door locked from inside.
No broken glass.
No alarm.
Nothing.
My scream tore through the house.
“ISABELLA!”
Rafael searched.
Closets.
Bathroom.
Under furniture.
Impossible places.
Nothing.
Then we found the bassinet blanket in the hallway.
Folded.
Placed neatly.
A card on top.
MONEY WAS NEVER THE POINT.
My body went cold.
On the back:
ASK GABRIEL WHAT ISABELLA CAN PROVE.
I turned toward my father.
His face told me he knew.
“Dad.”
He didn’t answer.
“What can my daughter prove?”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
Then said the words that explained why Samuel had never cared about the money.
“Isabella can prove who owns Meridian’s original genetic patents.”
I stared.
“So?”
He looked at me.
“And those patents include a therapy worth billions.”
“What therapy?”
“A gene-editing platform.”
“When developed?”
“Thirty years ago.”
“By who?”
Gabriel whispered.
“Samuel Cross.”
“Then why does he need Isabella?”
“Because the patent ownership was locked to biological succession.”
My stomach dropped.
“Whose succession?”
“Samuel’s.”
I stared.
“But Isabella isn’t Samuel’s child.”
Gabriel looked devastated.
“One of her two genetic cell lines may be.”
My knees failed.
Luka caught me.
The second genetic line.
The chimera.
Samuel had not engineered Isabella only as an heir to the Moretti trust.
May you like
He may have engineered her as his own biological successor.
And now he had taken her.
