Chapter 4 - The First Cole Heir
Owen lunged toward the elevator.
“Stop!”
The figure inside raised both hands.
It was a nurse.
And the infant carrier was empty.
Owen stopped.
“Where's my son?”
The nurse stared at him.
“What?”
Security arrived seconds later.
The missing baby had not left the floor.
Camera footage showed someone in scrubs removing him from the incubator, but every stairwell and elevator had locked automatically.
Rachel forced herself to think like a nurse.
“Unused rooms.”
Security searched them.
Seven minutes later, they found the baby in an empty examination room.
Alive.
Unhurt.
Wrapped carefully.
Owen held him for the first time.
Rachel watched from the doorway.
His hands shook.
The baby opened his eyes.
Owen broke.
He pressed his forehead against the child's blanket and cried silently.
Whatever the DNA said, Rachel understood something then.
Owen had already become that baby's father.
But someone wanted him frightened.
Someone wanted the family digging.
And someone had deliberately left the photograph.
Mercer examined it.
“This isn't from Westbridge.”
“How do you know?” Rachel asked.
“Too old.”
Owen looked up.
“How old?”
“Approximately thirty-five years.”
Judith sat down.
Rachel noticed.
“Judith?”
Judith stared at the photograph.
“Give it to me.”
Owen didn't.
“Who is that baby?”
Judith whispered, “I don't know.”
Rachel no longer believed her.
“Who is the first Cole heir?”
Judith stood.
“I said I don't know.”
Owen turned the photograph over again.
FIRST COLE HEIR. NOT OWEN.
“I'm not Dad's first child.”
Judith looked at him.
“Thomas had a life before me.”
“Did he have another child?”
“I never had proof.”
“But you suspected.”
“Yes.”
Owen's phone vibrated.
Another anonymous message.
THE BABY IS SAFE.
THE TRUTH ISN'T.
Then:
ASK YOUR MOTHER ABOUT DAVID.
Owen looked up.
“Who's David?”
Judith closed her eyes.
Rachel knew immediately.
“Judith.”
“My husband's older son.”
Owen stared.
“You knew his name?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Is he alive?”
“I don't know.”
“When was he born?”
“Thirty-six years ago.”
Owen looked at the photograph.
He was thirty-five.
The message was true.
There had been another heir.
“What happened to him?”
“His mother disappeared.”
“Dad abandoned them?”
Judith looked away.
Rachel understood.
“Thomas paid her.”
Judith nodded.
Owen laughed bitterly.
“Of course he did.”
But Rachel's mind was elsewhere.
“Why does David matter to Serena's baby?”
Nobody answered.
Mercer looked uncomfortable.
Rachel noticed.
“You know.”
Mercer shook his head.
“I know something that may be related.”
“Say it.”
“Thomas's obsession wasn't merely having grandchildren.”
Owen stared at him.
“He was obsessed with biological succession.”
Rachel frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“The Cole family trust.”
Judith looked at Mercer sharply.
Owen caught it.
“What trust?”
Judith sighed.
“Your grandfather created it.”
“For?”
“The controlling shares of Cole Biomedical.”
Owen's eyes narrowed.
“What does it say?”
“That control eventually passes through Thomas's eldest biological line.”
Owen looked at the photograph again.
“David.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Dad control the company?”
“Because David was legally declared missing and presumed dead.”
Owen went still.
“And if he's alive?”
Judith whispered, “His claim could supersede yours.”
Rachel looked toward the NICU.
“And his children?”
Judith did not answer.
Rachel's stomach dropped.
“Owen.”
He looked at her.
“The message isn't about you.”
He understood.
“The baby.”
They looked at Mercer.
Owen's voice became dangerous.
“What exactly was transferred into Serena?”
Mercer shook his head.
“I don't have the file.”
“But you have a theory.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
Mercer hesitated.
“If Thomas believed Owen might never father a child, and if maintaining the biological Cole line mattered more to him than anything else…”
Rachel finished.
“He could have preserved material from another Cole.”
Owen stared at her.
“David.”
Nobody spoke.
Serena began sobbing from her room.
Owen returned to her.
“Did you know the donor's name?”
“No.”
“Did your father?”
“Yes.”
“Was it David Cole?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you know the baby might not be mine?”
Serena looked at him through tears.
“Yes.”
Owen closed his eyes.
That answer hurt differently.
“You married me knowing that.”
“I loved you.”
“You married me knowing you might someday carry another man's child.”
“My father said the donor was connected to your family.”
“That wasn't his decision to make.”
“I know.”
“No, Serena. You knew enough to lie.”
She cried.
“I was afraid you'd leave.”
Owen looked toward the baby.
“I might have stayed if you'd told me.”
Serena covered her face.
Rachel quietly stepped away.
This was not hers to witness.
In the hallway, Judith stood alone.
“You owe me the truth,” Rachel said.
Judith looked tired.
“I owe everyone the truth.”
“Start with me.”
Judith nodded.
“Thomas asked me to convince you that the infertility was yours.”
“I know.”
“He also asked me to convince you to leave Owen.”
Rachel froze.
“What?”
“I didn't.”
“You absolutely did.”
“No. I mean I didn't do it only because of the fertility issue.”
Rachel stared.
Judith's voice softened.
“Thomas had become obsessed with fixing Owen's future. I was afraid he would use you.”
“Use me how?”
“Your genetics.”
Rachel felt cold.
“My what?”
“You were healthy. Your fertility tests were excellent. Thomas wanted you to participate in a procedure.”
“I never agreed.”
“I know.”
“What procedure?”
Judith looked toward the NICU.
“He wanted embryos created and stored.”
Rachel's breath stopped.
“With Owen?”
“Yes.”
Rachel almost laughed from shock.
“That never happened.”
Judith's silence terrified her.
“Judith.”
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean you don't know?”
“Thomas told me it had been handled.”
Rachel stepped back.
“No.”
“I assumed he was lying.”
“You let me walk away without telling me?”
“I was ashamed.”
Rachel's hands began shaking.
“Were my eggs ever retrieved?”
“No. Not to my knowledge.”
“Then embryos couldn't have been created.”
Mercer appeared behind them.
“Not traditionally.”
Rachel turned.
“What does that mean?”
Mercer looked deeply uncomfortable.
“Nothing. I shouldn't have said that.”
“You're going to finish.”
“Westbridge was involved in experimental reproductive research.”
Owen had returned and heard him.
“What kind?”
Mercer looked at Rachel.
“Research involving immature oocytes derived during other procedures.”
Rachel stared.
“I never had another procedure.”
Mercer frowned.
“You had ovarian surgery when you were twenty-three.”
Rachel stopped breathing.
A benign cyst.
Westbridge's affiliated surgical center.
She had forgotten the connection.
“Are you telling me tissue was retained?”
“I am telling you we need the original records.”
Rachel's knees weakened.
Owen caught her arm.
She pulled away.
“Don't.”
He released her immediately.
Rachel looked at Mercer.
“Find them.”
Mercer nodded.
“There may be another archive.”
“Where?”
“Westbridge's original building.”
“I thought it closed.”
“It did.”
Owen said, “We're going.”
An hour later they stood outside the abandoned clinic.
Mercer used an old mechanical key.
The basement smelled of dust.
They found rows of empty cabinets.
One cabinet remained locked.
Owen forced it open.
Inside was a ledger.
Mercer flipped through pages.
Then stopped.
Rachel saw her maiden name.
BENNETT, RACHEL.
Beside it was a specimen code.
Below that:
COLE, OWEN.
Then a third line.
DONOR SUBSTITUTE AUTHORIZATION.
Owen pointed.
“What's the donor code?”
Mercer read it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“This code doesn't belong to David.”
“Whose does it belong to?”
Mercer looked toward the final cabinet.
“There should be an index.”
Rachel opened it.
Inside was a single folder.
She reached for it.
The folder contained a photograph.
Rachel turned it over.
A name was written on the back.
She read it once.
Then again.
Owen moved beside her.
“Rachel?”
She couldn't speak.
Because the man in the photograph was not David Cole.
She knew him.
And according to everything Owen had been told, that man had been dead for five years.
Owen took the photograph from her.
His hand went completely still.
“Dad?”
Behind them, the basement door clicked shut.
Then a man's voice came from the darkness.
“Thomas Cole wasn't the donor.”
A light switched on.
May you like
The man stepped forward.
“But I was.”
