Chapter 7 - Vincent’s Order
Vincent didn't deny it.
I moved away from him.
“Claire.”
“Don't.”
He stopped.
Three days before my labor, Vincent received information that Evan Foster was transporting stolen financial records through the mountains.
He had been ordered to intercept him.
“Ordered by whom?”
“My father.”
Patrick Callahan.
Vincent had believed the message came from one of his father's old contingency systems.
He followed Evan's vehicle.
Then the storm separated them.
Vincent found the cabin.
Found me.
“Were you going to kill Evan?”
“If necessary.”
I stared at him.
There it was.
The man behind the protector.
Not good.
Not safe.
Just a dangerous man who had chosen, for reasons I still didn't understand, not to leave me behind.
“Why tell me now?”
“You asked.”
Evan laughed behind the glass.
“Heroic.”
Vincent ignored him.
Then Evan revealed the stolen records.
He hadn't been transporting financial documents.
He had stolen patient files from Patrick Mercer's medical network.
My prenatal results were among them.
Evan discovered what they wanted from our daughter.
He panicked.
“So you sabotaged the SUV?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don't know.”
He claimed he left for help genuinely.
Then Patrick Mercer's people found him.
They held him for two days.
He escaped.
Returned.
Was captured again outside the cabin.
Parts made sense.
Others didn't.
Vincent asked the important question.
“Where are the files?”
Evan looked at me.
“Inside Claire's wedding ring.”
I stared at my hand.
Vincent carefully examined it.
The center stone twisted free.
Micro-storage.
Evan had hidden the files on me before leaving the vehicle.
“You used me to transport evidence?”
“To keep it away from them.”
“You could have told me.”
“I was trying to keep you ignorant.”
“Everyone keeps saying ignorance protects me.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
The drive contained hundreds of medical records.
Unauthorized tests.
Genetic tracking.
Children.
Families.
For decades.
My father, Daniel, had discovered the program before his death.
He tried exposing it.
Patrick Mercer had him killed.
My mother learned enough to hide me.
Before dying, she asked Eleanor Callahan for help.
That was the connection.
Eleanor had protected me because she owed Margaret.
Suddenly our families weren't enemies or partners.
They were tangled together by guilt.
Then Vincent found a file with his own name.
CALLAHAN, VINCENT.
He opened it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He turned the screen away.
I grabbed it.
Genetic screening.
Age six.
Age twelve.
Age eighteen.
Patrick Callahan had been testing his own son for decades.
Why?
Then we saw the final line.
PRIMARY DONOR CANDIDATE: VINCENT CALLAHAN.
My daughter wasn't Patrick Callahan's first potential donor.
Vincent was.
He whispered:
“My father didn't fake his death to protect the family.”
I understood.
“He disappeared because you refused?”
Vincent shook his head.
“I never knew.”
Then the warehouse alarms activated.
Someone had breached the perimeter.
Evan stood.
“That's Patrick Mercer.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he wants those files more than he wants the baby.”
The lights went out.
Then Evan looked through the glass at me.
“Claire, whatever happens, don't let them take Vincent either.”
I stared.
“Why?”
His answer came just before the first door exploded open.
“Because your daughter isn't the match.”
May you like
He pointed at Vincent.
“He is.”
