Chapter 12 - Prescott’s Impossible Confession
We did not go to St. Agnes immediately.
I took Prescott into a conference room beneath Mercer Tower.
Closed the door.
Elena stayed with me.
“What happened to Miriam’s husband?”
Prescott sat across from us.
“His name was Daniel Voss.”
“I know.”
“He was an attorney.”
“For Novagen?”
“For regulators.”
“What did he know?”
“He was investigating undisclosed fertility research.”
“Project Lark.”
“Yes.”
“And you were assigned to him.”
Prescott nodded.
“By Vane.”
“What happened?”
“I followed him for three weeks.”
“And then?”
“He discovered me.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Did Vane?”
“I don’t know.”
“Prescott.”
“I met Daniel in a parking garage. He told me he knew who I worked for. Then he offered me evidence.”
“Why?”
“He thought I could be turned.”
“Could you?”
Prescott looked at me.
“Eventually.”
“What happened that night?”
“Daniel gave me a drive. Said if anything happened to him, Miriam would know what to do.”
“And?”
“Two hours later his car was found abandoned.”
“Body?”
“Never recovered.”
“So Victor is right. You were the last person with him.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell Genevieve?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“After she found Miriam.”
“And she still didn’t trust you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the drive Daniel gave me disappeared from my safe.”
“Who stole it?”
“I assumed Vane.”
“Maybe Victor.”
“Maybe.”
There it was again.
Maybe.
I was sick of maybe.
“Where’s Daniel now?”
Prescott shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
I studied him.
For years, he had stood ten feet behind me in rooms where billions changed hands.
He knew every address I owned.
Every route my children traveled.
Every weakness in my security.
If he wanted us dead, we would already be dead.
That did not make him innocent.
But it mattered.
“You stay here,” I said.
“You need protection.”
“Elena and I will take another team.”
“Lawson—”
“You don’t get to argue.”
He stopped.
I left him under guard.
At St. Agnes House, a nurse led us toward Room 214.
“Mara Vale doesn’t receive visitors.”
“She does today.”
The nurse hesitated.
I showed identification.
She called a supervisor.
Five minutes later, we entered.
An elderly-looking woman sat beside the window.
Except she wasn’t elderly.
Maybe sixty.
Illness had aged her.
Her hair was silver.
Her hands thin.
Her eyes sharp.
“Miriam Voss?”
She looked at Elena first.
Then me.
“Which one of you is Claire’s daughter?”
Elena stepped forward.
“I am.”
Miriam closed her eyes.
“Then Claire really is gone.”
Elena’s expression crumpled.
“You knew my mother?”
“I recruited her.”
Silence.
“For Project Lark?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she was brilliant.”
“My mother was a lab technician.”
“She was a geneticist in everything except title. Poverty is very good at hiding talent.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
Miriam looked at me.
“You’re Conrad’s son.”
“Lawson.”
“I know.”
“Where are the reference cells?”
Direct.
No time for ceremony.
She smiled faintly.
“Genevieve said you would ask that before asking whether she was alive.”
My entire body went cold.
“Is she?”
Miriam studied me.
“You still love her.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Yes.”
One word.
The room disappeared around me.
Genevieve.
Alive.
Not two years ago.
Not eighteen months ago.
Now.
“You’re sure?”
“I spoke to her twelve days ago.”
Elena covered her mouth.
I sat because my legs stopped cooperating.
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You will.”
“She made me promise.”
“My children are dying.”
“I know.”
“Then promises are over.”
Miriam’s expression softened.
“Genevieve is trying to save them too.”
“Where are the cells?”
“Safe.”
“Here?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“First tell me: do you have GV-17?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“The cells.”
Miriam looked toward Elena.
“Claire hid them.”
“In the recipe book?”
“No. The book leads to me.”
“Then where?”
“She encoded the location in her daughter.”
Elena recoiled.
“What?”
“Not medically.”
Miriam almost smiled.
“Claire used a childhood rhyme.”
Elena stared at her.
Then whispered:
“Red door, white tree, three steps under where birds can’t see.”
Miriam nodded.
Elena’s face changed.
“I know that place.”
“Where?”
“My mother’s old house.”
It had been demolished twelve years earlier.
“Nothing is there.”
“The garden shed foundation remained.”
We drove.
The neighborhood had changed.
Apartments replaced most older homes.
But behind one building, a section of the original property remained undeveloped because of drainage easements.
We found the old foundation.
Red brick.
Dead white birch stump.
Three steps from it, Prescott’s substitute security team dug.
They found a steel container.
Inside were cryogenic vials.
Still preserved in a self-powered research unit.
Impossible.
Yet real.
Miriam verified the serial numbers by video.
“Those are the cells.”
I called Franklin.
“We have them.”
For the first time, his expression contained hope.
“Get them here.”
“We’re coming.”
Then Miriam spoke through the phone.
“Franklin?”
He froze.
“Miriam?”
“Hello, old friend.”
“You’re alive.”
“Apparently that surprises everyone.”
“Miriam, the twins—”
“I know.”
She instructed him on preparation.
Precise.
Technical.
Urgent.
Then she said:
“You have one chance. Use Genevieve’s protocol exactly.”
My pulse jumped.
“Genevieve’s?”
Miriam looked at me.
“She designed the final rescue protocol.”
“My wife wasn’t a doctor.”
“No.”
“What was she?”
“A mother who refused to accept that everyone around her knew more about her children’s blood than she did.”
As we drove back, Franklin began preparing the therapy.
Then Elena’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A woman’s voice spoke.
Soft.
Familiar.
Elena dropped the phone onto the seat.
I grabbed it.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then:
“Lawson.”
My world stopped.
Genevieve.
Not a recording.
Not a video.
Live.
“Genevieve?”
A sob came through the speaker.
“Oh God.”
I could not speak.
Neither could she.
Two years of grief collapsed into one impossible second.
Finally I said, “Where are you?”
“I can’t come home yet.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor knows where you are.”
I looked toward the vehicles behind us.
“What?”
“He was never trying to dismantle Lark.”
Her voice became urgent.
“He’s trying to own it.”
“And Lawson…”
“Yes?”
“The man driving the security vehicle behind you works for him.”
I looked in the mirror.
The black SUV accelerated.
May you like
Genevieve whispered:
“Do not let them take the cells.”
