Chapter 3: The Secret Behind the Twins
Daniel didn't open the door.
He moved toward the window, pulled the curtain aside, and looked down at the street.
Two black SUVs were parked outside the hotel.
A man stood beside the entrance, speaking into his phone.
"How many?"" I whispered.
"At least four.""
"Are they from the Whitmores?""
"Probably.""
Another knock.
"Mr. Mercer," the man outside repeated.
"We don't want to make a scene.""
Daniel looked at me.
"Do you trust me?""
I almost laughed.
"That's a ridiculous question after fifteen years.""
"I know.""
"Then give me a reason.""
He reached into the folder and pulled out a photograph.
It showed my father sitting in a wheelchair, holding a newspaper.
On the back was a handwritten message.
*Claire, if you are reading this, don't trust the Whitmores. Don't trust the money. And don't let them use your blood.*
My breath caught.
It was my father's handwriting.
I recognized the way he crossed the letter t.
"Where did you get this?""
"From the nurse who has been looking after him.""
"Where is he now?""
"An undisclosed medical facility.""
"Then why did that man say he had been moved?""
Daniel's expression hardened.
"Because someone found out where he was.""
The hotel room door rattled.
"Mr. Mercer, open the door.""
Daniel took out his phone and made a quick call.
"Get the car to the service entrance. Now.""
He ended the call.
Then he grabbed the folder and handed me a small envelope.
"Keep this.""
"What is it?""
"Your father's original letter to you.""
I opened it.
The paper was yellowed at the edges.
Claire,
If you're reading this, I have failed to protect you in the way I promised your mother I would.
There are things about our family that I couldn't explain while you were growing up.
You were never supposed to marry into the Whitmore family.
Not because they were wealthy.
Because they were dangerous.
The letter ended with a sentence that made my hands tremble.
*Your mother didn't die in an accident.*
I looked at Daniel.
"My mother?""
He nodded slowly.
"Your father believes she was murdered.""
I felt the room tilt.
My mother had died when I was twelve.
A car accident on a rainy highway.
At least, that was what the police report said.
"Who did it?""
"We don't know yet.""
The door shook again.
Daniel grabbed my suitcase.
"We're leaving.""
We escaped through the service corridor and reached the underground garage. A dark sedan waited beside the loading area.
The driver opened the rear door.
Daniel pushed the suitcase inside.
I climbed in after it.
As the car pulled away, I looked back at the hotel entrance.
Two men in black suits were running toward the garage.
One of them pointed directly at our car.
"Daniel!""
He looked over his shoulder.
"Don't look back.""
The driver accelerated.
We turned onto a side street and disappeared into traffic.
For twenty minutes, nobody spoke.
Then I looked at Daniel.
"I want to know everything about Madison.""
He nodded.
"Her full name is Madison Blake. She joined Whitmore Capital eighteen months ago as an executive assistant.""
"Grant's assistant?""
"Yes.""
I remembered the first time Grant mentioned her.
He had described her as hardworking and ambitious.
I had even sent her a Christmas gift.
A silver bracelet.
"How did she get pregnant?""
"That's what we're trying to establish.""
I looked at him.
"Trying?""
"Claire, Madison's medical records were accessed by someone at the clinic. The pregnancy was initially classified as high-risk because the twins share a rare genetic marker.""
"And the donor issue?""
"One twin developed a serious blood disorder before birth. The doctors believe a stem-cell transplant may eventually be necessary.""
I stared out the window.
"Grant said I might be compatible.""
"That's why he wants you back.""
"But why me?""
Daniel opened his briefcase and removed a report.
"Your father spent years studying a rare inherited blood marker found in your family. He believed it could help develop treatments for several genetic disorders.""
I looked at the document.
The words were dense with medical terminology.
One section had been highlighted.
*HAYES FAMILY LINEAGE: RARE HEMATOPOIETIC COMPATIBILITY PROFILE.*
I swallowed.
"So they want my blood.""
"More precisely, they want access to your genetic material and the research associated with it.""
"Could I help the babies?""
Daniel looked at me carefully.
"Possibly. But any donation would need to be medically evaluated. Nobody should be pressuring you into it.""
I thought of Madison's message.
The hospital.
The twins.
I hated Grant.
But the babies hadn't done anything wrong.
"Take me to the hospital.""
Daniel frowned.
"Claire—"
"If those children need help, I want to know the truth. I'm not agreeing to anything. I just want to see the medical records.""
He studied my face.
Then he nodded.
"All right.""
St. Catherine's Hospital stood in the center of the city, surrounded by glass office towers and expensive apartment buildings.
We entered through a private medical entrance.
A nurse escorted us to the maternal-fetal medicine department.
Dr. Andrew Bennett met us in a consultation room.
He was in his late fifties, with tired eyes and a wedding band that looked almost identical to Grant's.
"Mrs. Whitmore," he said.
I stiffened.
"Ms. Hayes.""
His eyes widened slightly.
Daniel closed the door.
"Doctor, we need the complete records concerning Madison Blake's pregnancy and Claire's previous genetic testing.""
Dr. Bennett looked uncomfortable.
"I can't disclose another patient's medical information without authorization.""
Daniel placed a legal document on the table.
"Then review this court-approved preservation order. We aren't asking you to release unrelated information. We're asking you to prevent the destruction of records connected to a suspected fraud investigation.""
The doctor's face changed.
"Fraud?""
I leaned forward.
"Doctor, did Grant Whitmore have a fertility procedure at this hospital?""
Dr. Bennett hesitated.
"Your husband underwent several assessments.""
"Did he undergo a procedure involving donor material?""
The doctor looked toward the door.
Then he quietly said, "Yes.""
My chest tightened.
"What kind of donor material?""
He opened a locked cabinet and removed a sealed envelope.
"Mrs. Whitmore, your husband provided a sample for genetic screening. However, there was an unusual discrepancy between the information he supplied and the results.""
"What discrepancy?""
"The sample was registered under a different biological profile.""
I stared at him.
"You're saying the sample wasn't his?""
"I'm saying the genetic markers did not match the identity recorded on the consent form.""
Daniel stepped forward.
"Was there a second donor?""
Dr. Bennett didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he opened a computer file.
A list of laboratory results appeared.
He turned the monitor toward us.
Two donor profiles.
One was identified as GRANT WHITMORE.
The other was marked with an anonymous code.
Below it was a note:
*DONOR PROFILE: R.H. — HAYES PATERNAL LINEAGE.*
My blood turned cold.
R.H.
Robert Hayes.
My father.
I looked at Daniel.
"Why would my father be listed as a donor?""
Daniel's expression was unreadable.
"Because he wasn't.""
Dr. Bennett swallowed.
"There's more.""
He printed another page.
"This is the genetic comparison performed after Madison's pregnancy was confirmed.""
I looked down.
The first result indicated that Grant was the biological father of both twins.
The second result showed something else.
A hereditary marker associated with the Hayes family.
I felt sick.
"Explain it.""
Dr. Bennett took a breath.
"Both children carry a genetic marker that is exceptionally rare. It is found in your father's family line.""
"That doesn't mean my father is their father.""
"No. It doesn't.""
"Then what does it mean?""
The doctor hesitated.
"One of the embryos was created using genetic material from a donor whose identity was improperly recorded.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Are you saying Madison's twins were conceived using my father's genetic material?""
Dr. Bennett looked at Daniel.
Then back at me.
"We believe so.""
The room fell silent.
I struggled to understand.
My father was supposedly dead when Madison was conceived.
Someone had used his genetic material without permission.
But why?
And why had the Whitmores paid me fifty million dollars to disappear?
Daniel took the report from the doctor's hand.
"Who authorized the transfer?""
Dr. Bennett shook his head.
"The authorization came from a private account. The original donor file was sealed.""
"Whose account?""
The doctor looked at me.
"Whitmore Capital.""
I stood up.
"Grant knew.""
Daniel didn't contradict me.
"He may have known about the donor arrangement," he said.
"We still need to establish what he knew about the identity.""
My phone rang.
Grant.
I answered and put it on speaker.
"Claire?""
"What did you do?""
Silence.
"Claire, listen to me.""
"Did you use my father's genetic material?""
I heard a sharp breath.
Then Grant said, "Who told you that?""
I closed my eyes.
That was enough.
"Did you know?""
"There's a lot you don't understand.""
"Then explain it.""
He lowered his voice.
"Come back to Boston. We can discuss this privately.""
"No.""
"Claire, please.""
"Did you know Madison's twins were conceived using my father's genetic material?""
A long silence followed.
Then Grant whispered, "Your father agreed to it.""
My stomach twisted.
"My father was dead.""
"He wasn't.""
The words landed like a slap.
I gripped the phone.
"How long have you known?""
"Since before our wedding.""
I couldn't speak.
"Claire, I can explain.""
"Fifteen years?""
He said nothing.
"Fifteen years, Grant?""
His voice broke.
"My mother told me it was necessary.""
I looked at Daniel.
He had gone completely still.
Then Grant said something that made the entire room feel colder.
"Claire, there's another reason Evelyn wanted you gone.""
"What?""
"Madison isn't the only woman carrying my child.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"What are you talking about?""
Grant's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Your last IVF cycle. The embryos we were told had failed...""
I couldn't breathe.
"...one of them was never destroyed.""
The call ended.
I stared at the blank screen.
Dr. Bennett slowly sat down.
Daniel looked at the report in his hands.
Then the doctor spoke.
"Mrs. Hayes, there's something else you need to see.""
He opened a second file.
It contained a photograph of a frozen embryo storage label.
The patient's name was mine.
The father's name was Grant Whitmore.
But beneath the identification number, someone had added a handwritten note.
*TRANSFERRED — RECIPIENT: EVELYN WHITMORE.*
My knees nearly buckled.
Evelyn hadn't simply wanted Madison to have children.
She had been planning to take mine, too.
May you like
And according to the date on the document, the transfer had already happened.
*Eleven months ago.*
