Chapter 13 - The Treatment They Never Wanted Me to Find
“Turn left!” I shouted.
Elena gripped the dashboard as our vehicle cut across an intersection.
The SUV behind us followed.
I called Prescott.
“Where are you?”
“Mercer Tower.”
“Get out.”
“Why?”
“Victor compromised the replacement team.”
Prescott swore.
“Your location?”
I gave it.
“I’m coming.”
“You’re supposed to be under guard.”
“Apparently your guards need supervision.”
The SUV behind us drew closer.
Our driver glanced in the mirror.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get us to the medical apartment.”
The cryogenic unit rested between Elena and me.
A small silver case.
Nothing about it looked important.
Yet my children’s lives were inside.
Genevieve remained on the phone.
“Lawson?”
“I’m here.”
“You cannot go directly to the twins.”
“Why?”
“If Victor’s tracking you, you’ll lead him there.”
“He already knows the building.”
“He may not know the exact floor.”
I hated that she sounded calm.
I hated that part of me loved hearing her think.
Loved hearing her breathe.
Loved knowing she existed somewhere.
“Where are you?”
“Later.”
“You’ve been gone two years.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to say later.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence.
“Genevieve.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“You already did this once.”
Her breath caught.
I regretted the words instantly.
But they were true.
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
“You let our children believe you were dead.”
A sob.
“I know.”
“And now you call and expect me to follow instructions?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I expect you to save Jonah and Blythe first.”
That ended the argument.
She was right.
Damn her.
“Tell me what to do.”
“Take Lower Wacker.”
We followed her route.
The pursuing SUV stayed behind.
Then two Mercer security vehicles appeared from another street.
Prescott.
They boxed the hostile SUV away from us.
We disappeared into underground traffic.
At a secure parking facility, we changed vehicles.
The cells reached Franklin forty minutes later.
He began the treatment sequence.
GV-17 first.
Then cell preparation.
Then the corrective therapy.
“How long?” I asked.
“Hours before we know whether their bodies tolerate it.”
“And whether it works?”
“Days.”
“We may not have days.”
“I know.”
Genevieve’s call had ended.
No return number.
No location.
No promise except:
When the children are stable, I’ll tell you everything.
I sat between their beds.
Jonah slept.
Blythe drifted in and out.
Elena sat outside.
Prescott arrived.
His shirt was torn at the shoulder.
“What happened?”
“We detained the compromised driver.”
“Who does he work for?”
“Victor.”
“Proof?”
“Payment trail and messages.”
There it was.
No more maybe.
“What does Victor want?”
“The cells. The data. Control of the patents.”
“He has billions.”
“People like Victor don’t want money.”
“What do they want?”
“Ownership of what comes next.”
I thought about the hidden research.
A treatment capable of targeting rare genetic vulnerabilities.
If successful, it could be worth more than Mercer Holdings.
“Where is Victor?”
“Gone.”
“Vane?”
“Still at Novagen.”
“Are they working together?”
Prescott shook his head.
“Not anymore.”
“How do you know?”
“Victor’s man had instructions to eliminate Vane after retrieving the cells.”
The conspiracy was eating itself.
Good.
That made people careless.
At dawn, Franklin entered.
“First infusion is complete.”
“Reaction?”
“Minimal so far.”
“Good?”
“Very.”
Hope returned.
Small.
Dangerous.
I looked at Blythe.
Her breathing was steadier.
Jonah’s fever had dropped slightly.
“Franklin.”
“Yes?”
“Did Genevieve truly design this?”
He looked at me.
“She helped.”
“How?”
“She studied everything Miriam gave her. Spent months working with physicians overseas.”
“You knew?”
“Some.”
“Another person who lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she asked me to.”
“That excuse is becoming very popular.”
He nodded.
“I deserve that.”
I was too tired to remain angry at everyone.
“What else don’t I know?”
Franklin sat.
“Genevieve discovered Project Lark wasn’t simply a study.”
“What was it?”
“A business model.”
I stared at him.
“They identified vulnerable genetic profiles, monitored outcomes, then used the data to develop personalized treatments.”
“So they benefited when children became sick.”
“Yes.”
“Did they cause the illnesses?”
“There is no evidence they introduced leukemia.”
“But they knowingly selected high-risk embryos.”
“Yes.”
“Without parents’ informed consent.”
“Yes.”
That distinction mattered.
The truth was monstrous enough.
No need to invent a larger horror.
“What did Genevieve want?”
“To expose the program only after she secured treatment for every affected child.”
Not just ours.
All eleven.
Of course.
That was Genevieve.
She would never save her own children and leave others behind.
My phone vibrated.
A secure email.
From Genevieve.
One attachment.
Eleven names.
Eleven children.
Three currently ill.
Two critically.
A message:
IF JONAH AND BLYTHE RESPOND, THE PROTOCOL MUST GO TO ALL OF THEM.
NO PATENTS.
NO PAYWALL.
NO ONE OWNS THEIR SURVIVAL.
I read it twice.
Prescott stood behind me.
“What does she want?”
I handed him the phone.
He read it.
Then nodded.
“She’s right.”
“Yes.”
I called Mercer legal.
Then Mercer Capital.
“Freeze every Novagen-linked asset we control.”
My attorney said, “Lawson, that could trigger—”
“I know.”
“Potential losses are enormous.”
“I don’t care.”
“You could lose billions.”
I looked through the glass at my children.
“For the first time in my life, that sounds inexpensive.”
By afternoon, markets began reacting.
Mercer-linked funds halted cooperation with Novagen.
Regulators received anonymous evidence packages.
Three investigative journalists received Project Lark documentation.
Genevieve had prepared everything.
All she needed was the trigger.
The twins’ treatment.
Victor called at 4:32 p.m.
“You have no idea what you’re destroying.”
I answered from beside Blythe’s bed.
“I know exactly what I’m destroying.”
“Your father’s legacy.”
“No.”
I watched my daughter breathe.
“I’m finally deciding what his legacy won’t become.”
Victor’s voice hardened.
“If those files go public, the treatment dies with the company.”
“Wrong.”
“Who will fund it?”
“I will.”
“You cannot replace decades of research.”
“I don’t need to. I need to remove people who think suffering belongs to them.”
Silence.
Then he said, “Genevieve made you sentimental.”
“No.”
I looked at my children.
“She reminded me what power is for.”
I hung up.
Minutes later Franklin rushed into the room.
His expression terrified me.
“What?”
“Blythe’s blood pressure is dropping.”
The monitors changed.
Nurses moved.
I reached for her hand.
“Daddy…”
“I’m here.”
Her eyes barely opened.
“Did you find Mommy?”
I couldn’t lie anymore.
“Yes.”
A tiny smile.
“Knew it.”
Then the monitor alarm accelerated.
Franklin ordered everyone back.
I refused to release her hand until a nurse physically moved me.
The doors closed.
May you like
Through the glass, doctors surrounded my little girl.
And for the next six minutes, the entire world became one blinking line on a screen.
