Chapter 3 - The File With My Name on It
We reached Roman’s estate shortly after midnight.
Calling it a house would have been ridiculous.
The property stood behind stone walls and iron gates on the northern edge of Chicago, surrounded by enough cameras to make a government building look careless.
I expected gold furniture and armed men standing beside paintings.
Instead, I found toys.
Everywhere.
A stuffed elephant beneath a marble console.
Tiny shoes near the stairs.
A plastic stacking ring beside a sculpture that probably belonged in a museum.
Roman Voss’s feared criminal empire apparently included an ongoing losing war against toddler clutter.
Lily woke when we entered.
She looked around.
Then at me.
“Mom.”
The word still destroyed me every time.
Roman’s housekeeper, Teresa, appeared from a side hallway.
She was a warm-faced woman in her sixties.
When she saw me holding Lily, she stopped.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Roman said, “Teresa, this is Pamela.”
She nodded slowly.
The babies reached toward me again.
Teresa covered her mouth.
“They’ve never done that.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“You don’t understand. They barely let strangers touch them.”
She looked at Roman.
“Even when they were infants.”
Something inside me settled.
Not proof.
Not science.
But something deeper.
Roman handed Miles to Teresa.
“Prepare a room for Pamela.”
“One night,” I said.
Roman looked at me.
“We’ll argue tomorrow.”
“I’m not moving in.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You were about to.”
For the first time that night, his mouth almost curved.
Almost.
“I’m beginning to understand why the children like you.”
I should have been irritated.
Instead, exhaustion nearly made me laugh.
Then Donovan entered.
“We have Bishop’s address.”
Roman immediately became serious.
“When do we leave?”
“Now.”
I looked at the sleeping children.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
I glared at Roman.
“They are my children.”
“We don’t have confirmation.”
“You believed it ten minutes ago.”
“I believe it enough to keep you alive.”
“I’m coming.”
“You were threatened tonight.”
“Which is exactly why I need answers.”
Roman stared at me.
Teresa quietly carried Miles away.
Smart woman.
Finally Roman said, “You stay in the vehicle until I say otherwise.”
I crossed my arms.
“I make no promises.”
“You are impossible.”
“You had my children for fourteen months. You can survive me for one night.”
The words landed harder than I intended.
Roman’s face closed.
I immediately regretted them.
He had not stolen them.
Whatever else Roman Voss was, he had fed them, protected them, stayed awake through illnesses, hired specialists, learned which stuffed animals stopped which child from crying.
He had been their father when I wasn’t allowed to be their mother.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked surprised.
“So am I.”
“For what?”
“That you lost fourteen months.”
The sincerity in his voice made me look away.
We reached Dr. Bishop’s house shortly before dawn.
Police had not been called.
Roman apparently preferred handling certain situations privately.
I hated that.
But after seeing Melissa’s terror about Hart’s connections, I understood why.
The front door had been forced open.
Drawers lay overturned.
Cabinets emptied.
Someone had searched the place violently.
But there was no blood.
No body.
“Maybe she escaped,” I said.
Donovan nodded.
“Possible.”
Roman searched the study.
I wandered toward the kitchen.
A framed photograph had fallen facedown beside a bookshelf.
I lifted it.
Dr. Karen Bishop stood beside three other doctors at a medical conference.
Hart was one of them.
Another man looked vaguely familiar.
I turned the frame over.
Names were written on the back.
Karen Bishop.
Elias Hart.
Samuel Grant.
Richard Hayes.
My hands went cold.
Hayes.
My last name.
I stared at the final man.
Then recognition hit.
A photograph from childhood.
My father.
“No.”
Roman approached.
“What?”
I handed him the picture.
“That’s my father.”
“You said you had no family.”
“I don’t.”
My father had died when I was eleven.
At least, that was what I had been told.
A boating accident.
His body had never been recovered.
My mother died four years later from cancer.
I had grown up with an aunt who passed away during college.
Roman studied the photograph.
“What did your father do?”
“He worked in medical research.”
“At St. Matthew’s?”
“I don’t know.”
Donovan searched quickly.
Then looked up.
“Richard Hayes was a geneticist.”
I frowned.
“That’s not what my mother told me.”
“What did she say?”
“Pharmaceutical research.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“Search deeper.”
Behind the photograph was a folded piece of paper.
My name was written across it.
PAMELA HAYES.
My fingers shook as I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten message.
If Pamela ever comes looking, tell her Richard was right.
The children are not the secret.
She is.
My breath stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Roman read over my shoulder.
“I don’t know.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Every security man immediately drew a weapon.
Roman moved in front of me.
“Stay here.”
Naturally, I followed him.
He shot me an angry look.
I whispered, “Waste your breath later.”
The upstairs bedroom door was open.
A shadow moved inside.
Roman entered first.
Dr. Karen Bishop stood beside the window holding a kitchen knife.
She looked twenty years older than I remembered.
“Don’t come closer.”
Roman lowered his weapon.
“Dr. Bishop.”
Her eyes moved to me.
The knife slipped from her hand.
“Pamela.”
I stepped forward.
“You knew.”
She started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
Those words had become poison.
Everyone was sorry.
Nobody had stopped anything.
“Tell me.”
Bishop looked at Roman.
“Who is he?”
“The man who raised my children.”
Her face changed.
“They survived?”
“You knew they were alive.”
“I hoped.”
I nearly struck her.
“Fourteen months.”
“I tried to save you.”
“You let me believe they were dead!”
“Hart would have killed you.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
Bishop gripped the dresser.
“Your delivery was not random.”
I felt Roman beside me.
“What are you talking about?”
“Hart had monitored you for years.”
“Why?”
“Because of your father.”
She looked toward the photograph I still held.
“Richard discovered something during a research program twenty-eight years ago.”
“The year I was born.”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
Bishop explained.
Richard Hayes had worked on a gene therapy project funded through shell companies.
The research involved rare immune-system abnormalities.
When early trials became unethical, my father threatened to expose everything.
The project was shut down publicly.
Privately, Hart continued it.
“And me?”
“You were born with a rare genetic mutation.”
I stared at her.
“I’m healthy.”
“That was why Richard became obsessed with protecting you.”
She stepped closer.
“The mutation made you unusually resistant to several inherited disorders.”
Roman frowned.
“What does this have to do with the children?”
“Hart believed Pamela’s children could carry the same trait.”
I understood.
“They weren’t stealing babies for adoption.”
“Some babies, yes.”
“But mine?”
Bishop shook her head.
“Your triplets were worth far more alive.”
I felt sick.
“To whom?”
“Private biomedical interests. Illegal research groups. People who wanted access to their genetic material.”
Roman’s face turned murderous.
“They intended to experiment on children?”
Bishop nodded.
“They intended to study them indefinitely.”
Roman walked toward the window.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
That silence frightened me more than anything.
“You helped him,” I said.
Bishop looked horrified.
“No.”
“You worked with Hart.”
“I discovered what he intended three days before your delivery.”
“Then why didn’t you call police?”
“I did.”
She laughed bitterly.
“The detective I contacted reported me to Hart within an hour.”
Roman glanced at Donovan.
Corruption.
Again.
Bishop continued.
“I tried moving your delivery to another hospital.”
“Hart stopped it?”
“He induced labor.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The medication you received during your final prenatal appointment.”
I remembered nausea.
Cramping.
Then contractions.
“He caused me to deliver early?”
“Yes.”
Rage replaced grief.
Bishop started crying.
“I switched one chart. Delayed one transfer. It gave Adrian Voss enough time to intercept the vehicle.”
Roman looked at her.
“You knew Adrian?”
“He contacted me after learning Hart’s broker network was using one of your brother’s shipping facilities without permission.”
Roman’s eyes darkened.
“My company.”
“Yes.”
“Adrian found the babies because Hart was moving them through my business.”
“Yes.”
“And then he died.”
Bishop lowered her eyes.
“I believe Hart killed him.”
Roman turned away.
For the first time I saw the depth of the wound behind his controlled exterior.
His brother had died because he rescued my children.
Bishop opened a drawer.
“I kept evidence.”
Empty.
Her face went white.
“They found it.”
“What?”
“A flash drive.”
Roman frowned.
“Who?”
“Hart’s people.”
Donovan entered.
“No.”
He held up a small black device.
“They missed it.”
Bishop nearly collapsed with relief.
Roman took it.
“What’s on this?”
“Payment records. Medical correspondence. Names.”
“Enough to prosecute Hart?”
“Enough to destroy everyone involved.”
A gunshot shattered the window.
Roman tackled me.
Glass exploded across the floor.
Donovan fired toward the woods outside.
Another shot.
Bishop screamed.
Roman covered me with his body.
“Down!”
His security team moved instantly.
Engines roared outside.
Then silence.
Roman lifted himself.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
Bishop gasped.
We turned.
Blood spread across her shoulder.
“Karen!”
I crawled toward her.
Roman called for medical help.
Bishop grabbed my hand.
“Hart knows you found me.”
“We’ll get you help.”
“Listen.”
Her fingers tightened.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Richard.”
My father.
“What about him?”
Bishop’s breathing became shallow.
“He didn’t die.”
The entire room disappeared.
“What?”
“He’s alive.”
My lips went numb.
“Where?”
Bishop stared directly into my eyes.
“He has been hiding for seventeen years.”
“Why?”
“Because Hart has been looking for him.”
She coughed.
“And because Richard has the original ledger.”
Roman stared at her.
“Where is he?”
Bishop whispered an address.
Then she added something that made my blood freeze.
“But Pamela… your father isn’t hiding from Hart anymore.”
I leaned closer.
“What do you mean?”
She swallowed.
“He called me yesterday.”
“And?”
“He said Hart found him.”
A vehicle exploded somewhere outside.
The windows shook.
Roman grabbed me.
Donovan shouted from the hallway.
“We need to move!”
Bishop clung to my hand.
“Find Richard before Hart does.”
And as Roman pulled me toward the stairs, I realized the nightmare had begun long before my children were born.
It had begun with my father.
May you like
And if he was still alive, the man I had mourned since childhood might be the only person who could tell me why someone had spent seventeen years waiting for me to become a mother.
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