Chapter 22 - THE CHILD WHO DIDN'T EXISTFor twelve hours, I believed Daniel Voss was lying.
Then Alexander found the file.
After I was shot protecting Caleb, Dominic's private doctors had saved my life.
Blood transfusions.
Surgeries.
Emergency procedures.
During treatment, tissue samples had been stored.
Legally.
Temporarily.
One sample disappeared.
Years later, an embryo had been created without my consent.
I became physically ill reading the report.
Dominic smashed a desk.
Not metaphorically.
Caleb found me sitting outside beside the Hudson.
He sat beside me.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Then:
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
He shrugged.
“I mean—not good. But I'd be worried if you said yes.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then cried.
Caleb leaned against me.
Somewhere in the world might be a child created from stolen genetic material.
My child.
Maybe.
The records could still be fake.
But one name appeared repeatedly.
Dr. Samuel Keene.
Fertility specialist.
Former Northstar Meridian consultant.
He disappeared six years earlier.
Evelyn recognized the name.
“He worked for the Circle.”
Dominic wanted him found.
So did I.
This time, not for evidence.
For an answer.
We traced Keene to Arizona.
He lived under another name.
When we arrived, he surrendered immediately.
“I've been waiting for you.”
I hated him instantly.
“Where is the child?”
His eyes lowered.
“Alive.”
Dominic grabbed him.
I stopped him.
“Boy or girl?”
“A girl.”
My knees almost failed.
“How old?”
“Six.”
Six.
Somewhere, a six-year-old girl existed because someone had stolen part of me.
“Where?”
Keene hesitated.
Dominic stepped forward.
“Doctor.”
“Connecticut.”
“Who has her?”
Keene whispered:
“A foster family.”
That surprised me.
The Circle hadn't raised her.
Keene explained.
The embryo program had been Daniel Voss's project.
Charles Voss opposed it.
Not ethically.
Strategically.
When Charles discovered what his son had done, he ordered the child destroyed.
Keene couldn't.
So he falsified her death.
He arranged a private adoption through intermediaries.
“She doesn't know anything.”
“Name?”
“Emma.”
My heart broke.
Emma.
Dominic looked at me.
I couldn't read his face because mine probably looked the same.
Hope.
Horror.
Love for someone we had never met.
Fear that meeting her could destroy the only life she knew.
Keene gave us the address.
We didn't go.
Not immediately.
Instead, we investigated the family.
David and Rachel Bennett.
Teachers.
Married twelve years.
No criminal history.
No Circle connections.
Emma appeared happy.
Photographs showed missing front teeth.
Soccer uniforms.
Birthday cakes.
A dog named Pancake.
Caleb studied one photograph.
“She looks like you.”
I couldn't answer.
Dominic left the room.
I found him outside.
“We can't take her.”
He looked at me.
“I know.”
“She has parents.”
“I know.”
“She doesn't know us.”
“I know.”
His voice cracked.
I touched his hand.
“What do we do?”
For once, Dominic Mercer had no answer.
The decision was made for us.
Rachel Bennett called the next morning.
“I don't know who you are,” she said, terrified, “but men came to our house asking about Emma.”
My blood froze.
“Where is she?”
“With me.”
“Leave.”
“What?”
“Take your daughter and leave now.”
Dominic was already calling security.
Rachel whispered:
“They said her biological family wants her back.”
“No.”
I stood.
“Listen carefully. Anyone claiming to represent us is lying.”
“Who are you?”
I closed my eyes.
The answer felt impossible.
“I'm the woman whose DNA was used to create your daughter.”
Silence.
Then Emma's voice came faintly through the phone.
“Mom?”
Rachel began crying.
So did I.
Outside their house, tires screamed.
Rachel gasped.
May you like
Someone had arrived.
Then the call disconnected.
