Chapter 8 - Vincent Carter
The photograph was clear.
Vincent Carter.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
David stared at it for a long time.
“My father died in my arms.”
Margaret turned pale.
“What?”
“You weren't there.”
“I saw the body.”
“So did I.”
Cole looked troubled.
“What exactly happened?”
Twelve years earlier, Vincent was shot during an attack at a warehouse.
David reached him first.
Vincent lost consciousness.
Hospital transport.
Declared dead.
Closed coffin.
Family-controlled funeral.
Again.
Too many opportunities.
Then Cole said:
“I didn’t sign his death certificate.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Who did?”
A doctor named Samuel Kane.
Dead six years.
Convenient.
David looked at Margaret.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
For once, I believed her immediately.
She looked betrayed.
Almost relieved.
As though a man who had haunted her might now have a body again.
Marcus’s people traced Vincent and Amelia.
They had entered the bank.
Opened the vault.
Left twenty minutes later.
The vault contained one object.
A sealed envelope Vincent had placed there thirty-four years earlier.
Contents unknown.
Then Amelia made a call.
To the hospital.
Specifically—
My phone.
It rang.
Everyone froze.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Natasha.”
Calm.
Older.
“You don't know me.”
“Amelia?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
Marcus moved closer.
She heard him.
“Is Marcus there?”
His face broke again.
“Yes.”
“Don't put him on.”
He closed his eyes.
Then she said:
“I need you to take Chloe away from the Carters.”
I almost laughed.
“You'll have to be more specific.”
Amelia didn't.
“David is not safe.”
“Someone tried killing him.”
“I know.”
“Was it Vincent?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Silence.
“Amelia?”
“Ask David what happened three months before you disappeared.”
David stiffened.
I looked at him.
“What happened?”
He said nothing.
Amelia continued:
“Ask him who he killed.”
My stomach dropped.
David’s face hardened.
“Enough.”
She heard him.
“Hello, brother.”
David whispered:
“You're alive.”
“So are you.”
“Where is Father?”
“With me.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
Then Amelia addressed me again.
“Natasha, your daughter’s blood cannot be donated.”
Dr. Winters stepped closer.
“Why?”
Amelia heard her voice.
“Elena?”
The surgeon froze.
“My God.”
Her mother.
“Mom?”
Silence.
Amelia broke.
Only briefly.
“Elena.”
Dr. Winters began crying.
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“You disappeared when I was sixteen.”
“I had to.”
“No.”
Elena’s voice shook.
“You chose to.”
The room fell silent.
Then Amelia said:
“I’m sorry.”
Dr. Winters turned away.
I understood her anger.
Different family.
Same word.
Protection.
Always after the damage.
Then Amelia returned to Chloe.
“Do not let them draw more blood.”
“Why?”
“Because someone has been waiting eight years for a direct Carter heir with that antigen profile.”
“For what?”
She whispered:
“Project Lazarus.”
David stared at Cole.
He went white.
“What is that?”
Cole answered slowly.
“Vincent’s original program.”
Not treatment.
Not blood research.
Something larger.
Amelia continued:
“Your daughter isn’t a donor.”
Pause.
May you like
“She’s the final subject.”
Then the call ended.
