PART 4 — THE FATHER WHO NEVER DIED
Richard Voss stood in my hallway like a ghost who had finally grown tired of pretending to be dead.
Martin backed away from the door.
“No.”
Richard didn’t move.
“No?”
“You’re dead.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Richard looked at his son.
“That was the intention.”
Martin laughed.
It sounded broken.
“Fourteen years.”
“Martin—”
“FOURTEEN YEARS!”
His voice shook the walls.
“You had a funeral.”
“I know.”
“I carried your coffin.”
“I know.”
“I watched them lower you into the ground.”
Richard’s expression changed.
For the first time, I saw shame.
“You carried an empty coffin.”
Martin stared at him.
Then turned toward his mother.
“You knew?”
Margaret straightened her coat.
“Lower your voice.”
Martin’s face twisted.
“That is what you have to say?”
“Neighbors do not need to hear family business.”
“FAMILY BUSINESS?”
He stepped toward her.
I moved between them.
Not because Margaret deserved protection.
Because Martin looked like a man one sentence away from doing something irreversible.
Richard entered the apartment.
Margaret followed.
I closed the door.
Nobody sat.
The four of us stood around my living room while fourteen years of lies pressed against the walls.
I looked at Richard.
“Start talking.”
Margaret snapped, “Evelyn, this does not concern—”
I turned toward her.
“My eggs were taken from my body without my consent.”
She stopped.
“Two children may have been created from them.”
Silence.
“My fertility may have been deliberately damaged.”
Margaret’s face remained calm, but her left hand tightened around her handbag.
“And someone used your foundation to hide it.”
I stepped closer.
“So unless your next sentence is an apology followed by the truth, don’t tell me what concerns me.”
Richard almost smiled.
Margaret noticed.
“Don’t encourage her.”
Richard looked at his wife.
“She never needed encouragement.”
That sentence told me something.
He knew me.
Not simply as Martin’s wife.
He knew the woman I had been before.
The attorney.
The daughter.
Evelyn Marlowe.
I looked at him.
“You knew about Kessler.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Were you involved in taking my eggs?”
“No.”
Margaret immediately said, “Richard.”
He ignored her.
“I learned about the retrieval afterward.”
“How long afterward?”
“Three months.”
“And you said nothing?”
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
I laughed softly.
“Then don’t confuse not holding the knife with innocence.”
Richard took that without argument.
Martin couldn’t.
He pointed at his father.
“Forget Evelyn for one second.”
I turned toward him.
His expression changed.
“Bad wording,” he muttered.
“Very.”
He looked back at Richard.
“Why did you fake your death?”
Richard hesitated.
Margaret said, “Because he was a coward.”
Richard looked at her.
“You arranged it.”
“I solved the problem you created.”
“What problem?” Martin demanded.
Richard walked toward the window.
Outside, traffic moved along the river as if our family wasn’t collapsing twenty floors above it.
“In 2011, Voss Meridian was under investigation.”
Martin frowned.
“For what?”
“Foreign payments. Shell corporations. Acquisition kickbacks.”
“I’ve never heard of any investigation.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
Martin looked at Margaret.
She said nothing.
Richard continued.
“The company was smaller then. Vulnerable. One criminal indictment could have destroyed it.”
“So you ran?”
“No.”
Richard turned around.
“I agreed to cooperate.”
Margaret’s jaw tightened.
Martin stared.
“You were an informant?”
“For federal investigators.”
“What did you give them?”
“Names. Accounts. Contracts.”
“Whose names?”
Richard looked directly at Margaret.
My stomach dropped.
Martin followed his gaze.
“No.”
Margaret’s voice became icy.
“Be careful.”
Richard laughed.
“You’ve been saying that for thirty years.”
Martin stepped backward.
“You were investigating Mom?”
“No. Investigators were investigating people around the company.”
“Mom?”
Richard didn’t answer quickly enough.
Martin turned toward her.
“Mom.”
Margaret placed her handbag on my dining table.
“I protected this family.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the only answer that matters.”
“No.”
Martin’s voice suddenly became quiet.
“The only answer that matters is whether my father died because you needed him to disappear.”
Margaret stared at him.
Then Richard answered.
“I disappeared because your mother gave me a choice.”
Martin slowly turned.
Richard continued.
“Leave. Stay dead. Never contact you again.”
“Or?”
Richard looked toward me.
I knew before he said it.
“Or she would destroy Evelyn’s father.”
My skin went cold.
“What?”
Martin looked at me.
“Your father?”
Richard nodded.
My father had been a corporate prosecutor before retiring into private practice.
He had died in 2019 after what doctors called an aggressive neurological illness.
I stepped closer to Richard.
“What does my father have to do with your disappearance?”
“He was the attorney investigators trusted.”
The room tilted.
“My father represented you?”
“He protected me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He would have told me.”
“He couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because the agreement required secrecy.”
Margaret interrupted.
“This is irrelevant.”
I turned toward her.
“My father is dead.”
“Yes.”
Richard’s voice came quietly.
“And he died because he refused to stop looking.”
Margaret’s face changed.
Just slightly.
I saw it.
So did Martin.
“What did you say?” I whispered.
Richard walked toward me.
“Your father never believed my death.”
“Why?”
“Because he arranged it.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“He helped you disappear?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would he keep investigating?”
“Because after I vanished, he discovered the financial crimes went deeper than either of us understood.”
Martin looked at his mother.
“What crimes?”
Richard answered.
“Biotech acquisitions.”
The room went silent.
Kessler.
Again.
Richard continued.
“Margaret had begun investing company money into experimental reproductive technologies through private subsidiaries.”
Margaret scoffed.
“Research investments.”
“Unregulated human research.”
“Don’t dramatize.”
“Women were used without informed consent.”
I felt sick.
“How many?”
Richard looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
Margaret said, “He’s lying.”
Richard ignored her.
“Your father found evidence in 2017.”
My throat tightened.
“Two years before he died.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He contacted Daniel Hayes.”
Martin frowned.
“Why Daniel?”
“Because Daniel was already trying to expose Kessler.”
Everything began connecting.
Daniel’s supposed death.
Richard’s supposed death.
My father’s investigation.
Kessler.
Margaret.
I looked at Richard.
“Daniel faked his death too.”
“Yes.”
“Who helped him?”
“I did.”
Margaret laughed bitterly.
“My heroic husband. Collecting frightened men and hiding them like strays.”
Richard’s face hardened.
“They were frightened because people around you kept disappearing.”
Martin looked between them.
“People?”
Nobody answered.
His face changed.
“How many?”
Margaret picked up her handbag.
“This conversation is over.”
I stepped in front of the door.
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Move.”
“Not until you tell me whose sperm was used with my eggs.”
For the first time that night, Margaret looked afraid.
It lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
Richard did too.
He whispered, “Margaret.”
She turned.
“You promised.”
Richard stared at her.
“You told me the embryos were destroyed.”
Martin went completely still.
My pulse pounded.
“What embryos?”
Richard looked at me.
“After I discovered what had happened to you, Margaret told me the retrieved eggs were never used.”
I gestured toward my laptop.
“There are two children proving otherwise.”
He swallowed.
“I didn’t know.”
Martin suddenly said, “Who is the father?”
Margaret said nothing.
Richard stepped toward her.
“Who did you use?”
“Enough.”
“WHO?”
She looked at him.
Something passed between them.
Something old.
Richard’s face slowly lost its color.
“No.”
Margaret whispered, “Don’t.”
“No.”
Martin stared.
“What?”
Richard moved away from her as if she had become poisonous.
“You used the reserve samples.”
Margaret remained silent.
My heartbeat became painful.
“What reserve samples?”
Richard looked at me.
Then at Martin.
His voice barely worked.
“Mine.”
Nobody moved.
Martin blinked.
“What?”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Before my disappearance, I had genetic samples stored through a private fertility program.”
Martin stared at him.
“No.”
Margaret finally spoke.
“The material was legally controlled by the foundation.”
Richard exploded.
“THAT DIDN’T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO USE IT!”
My knees weakened.
I grabbed the back of a chair.
Martin looked at me.
Then Richard.
Then the photograph of Clara’s children on my phone.
“No.”
His voice was almost childlike.
“No, no, no.”
Richard turned toward him.
“Martin—”
“If those children came from Evelyn’s eggs…”
Nobody answered.
“And your sperm…”
His face twisted.
“They’re my brother and sister?”
The sentence hung in the room.
Biologically, yes.
If the records were real, the two children Martin had publicly claimed as his son and daughter were actually his half-siblings.
And genetically, they were my children.
Margaret said calmly, “Biology is not family.”
Martin laughed.
Then laughed again.
He looked as though he might collapse.
“You let me raise my father’s children as mine.”
“You barely raised them.”
That silenced him.
Cruel.
Accurate.
Margaret continued.
“Clara handled the children.”
“Because I was working.”
“Because you preferred photographs of fatherhood to the inconvenience of it.”
Martin stared at her.
For once, he had nothing to say.
I did.
“Why me?”
Margaret looked at me.
“What?”
“There were donor banks. Volunteers. Surrogates. Thousands of possible genetic sources.”
I stepped closer.
“Why steal my eggs?”
Margaret’s expression became unreadable.
“You had favorable markers.”
I almost slapped her.
Richard spoke first.
“Tell her the real reason.”
Margaret glared at him.
“What real reason?” I asked.
Richard’s eyes stayed on his wife.
“Evelyn’s father.”
My stomach tightened.
Margaret’s jaw clenched.
Richard continued.
“Her father discovered the program.”
“Yes.”
“And you wanted leverage.”
Margaret said nothing.
I whispered, “Leverage over my father?”
Richard nodded.
“You were leverage over him.”
I felt nauseated.
“He knew?”
“Eventually.”
“When?”
Richard looked miserable.
“After the retrieval.”
I stepped backward.
“My father knew someone stole my eggs?”
“Yes.”
“And he didn’t tell me?”
“He tried.”
“No.”
“He tried to get the samples destroyed first.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“Because he discovered they threatened you.”
Margaret snapped, “Richard.”
I turned toward her.
“What threat?”
She looked at me.
Not angry anymore.
Calculating.
I knew that look.
I had seen it across negotiation tables.
She was deciding whether the truth was more dangerous than the lie.
I stepped closer.
“What threat?”
Richard answered.
“They told your father that if he exposed Kessler, your medical records would be altered to make it appear you had voluntarily participated.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That wouldn’t have destroyed me.”
“No.”
Richard looked down.
“But the second threat might have.”
“What second threat?”
Silence.
Then Margaret said quietly, “Your miscarriage.”
My body went cold.
“Don’t.”
She continued.
“You always believed you lost the pregnancy naturally.”
“Margaret.”
Richard’s voice was warning now.
But she was looking directly at me.
“There were complications.”
“I know.”
“No, Evelyn.”
My hands began shaking.
“You don’t.”
Martin moved toward me.
I raised a hand.
“Stay away.”
Margaret spoke carefully.
“The pregnancy was healthy when you entered Kessler.”
Everything inside me stopped.
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Evelyn—”
“No.”
“The embryo was healthy.”
I couldn’t hear anything except blood rushing in my ears.
Richard said, “Margaret, stop.”
She ignored him.
“You didn’t miscarry before the procedure.”
I grabbed the chair.
Martin whispered, “Mom…”
Margaret finished the sentence.
“The pregnancy was terminated.”
The world disappeared.
For one second, I was back in 2019.
Hospital lights.
Cold sheets.
Martin standing near the door, impatient.
A nurse telling me to count backward.
Me asking where my husband was.
Then waking up empty.
Crying.
Martin telling me:
Maybe it was for the best.
I looked at him.
He had turned white.
“No.”
I stared.
“No what?”
“I didn’t know.”
Margaret said nothing.
I looked at her.
“Did Martin authorize it?”
“No.”
“Did my father?”
“No.”
“Did I?”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“Then who did?”
Margaret didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
Richard sat heavily on the sofa.
Martin stared at his mother as though seeing her for the first time.
“You?”
Margaret lifted her chin.
“The pregnancy complicated the retrieval.”
Martin gagged.
I don’t mean emotionally.
He physically stumbled toward the kitchen sink and vomited.
Richard covered his face.
I stood perfectly still.
Sometimes grief is loud.
Sometimes it screams.
Sometimes it destroys furniture.
Mine became very quiet.
I looked at Margaret.
“You terminated my child so you could harvest my eggs.”
Her eyes hardened.
“I preserved genetic material that would otherwise have been lost.”
I walked toward her.
Richard stood.
“Evelyn.”
I stopped inches from Margaret’s face.
“What was my baby?”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Boy or girl?”
Her expression flickered.
“You don’t need—”
“BOY OR GIRL?”
Martin turned from the sink.
Richard looked down.
Margaret finally answered.
“A boy.”
My knees almost failed.
A son.
I had lost a son.
No.
They had taken him.
There was a difference.
“Was he alive?”
Margaret remained silent.
I stepped closer.
“Was my son alive when the procedure started?”
Richard whispered, “Evelyn…”
“ANSWER ME.”
“Yes.”
That word broke something inside me that five years of humiliation had never reached.
Martin started crying.
I had seen him angry.
Drunk.
Arrogant.
Victorious.
I had never seen him cry.
He looked at his mother.
“You killed her baby.”
Margaret’s expression snapped.
“Our baby.”
Martin froze.
I froze.
Richard stood slowly.
“What did you say?”
Margaret realized too late.
Martin stared at her.
“Our baby?”
My heartbeat thundered.
The pregnancy I had lost in 2019 had been Martin’s.
At least, that was what we had always believed.
But Martin was permanently infertile.
He could never have fathered that pregnancy.
Richard whispered, “Margaret.”
She turned away.
I understood before anyone said it.
“If Martin couldn’t father children…”
Nobody moved.
I looked at Richard.
“Then whose baby was I carrying?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Richard’s face crumpled.
Martin looked between us.
“What is happening?”
I remembered that year.
2018.
Our marriage had already become distant.
Martin traveled constantly.
I had wanted a child desperately.
We had attended fertility clinics.
There had been injections.
Procedures.
Appointments Martin rarely attended.
I had been told they were using Martin’s preserved sample.
A sample allegedly frozen before his childhood surgery complications had been fully understood.
Except now I knew there had never been a viable sample from Martin.
I looked at Richard.
“You had stored sperm.”
“Yes.”
“Before you disappeared.”
“Yes.”
The room turned colder.
I whispered, “Did they use yours on me in 2018?”
Richard shook his head violently.
“I didn’t know.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I don’t know.”
Margaret moved toward the door.
I blocked her again.
“Was my pregnancy Richard’s?”
She said nothing.
Martin shouted, “ANSWER HER!”
Margaret’s composure finally shattered.
“Fine!”
She threw her handbag onto the table.
“No.”
I exhaled.
Then she said, “Richard was not the father.”
A new kind of dread entered the room.
Martin whispered, “Then who was?”
Margaret looked at me.
“The donor was selected by Kessler.”
“Name.”
“It was anonymous.”
“NAME.”
“I don’t know.”
Richard laughed bitterly.
“You know everything.”
“I don’t know that.”
“Margaret.”
“I SAID I DON’T KNOW.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Every person in the room stared at it.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
“Evelyn?”
I recognized the voice from the hallway earlier.
No.
Not Richard.
Another voice.
A voice I had heard on the video.
Daniel.
“Daniel Hayes?”
Margaret’s face went white.
Richard rushed toward the phone.
“Daniel?”
The man ignored him.
“Evelyn, listen carefully.”
My heart pounded.
“Where is Clara?”
“Safe.”
“And the children?”
“With her.”
“Are they mine?”
“Yes.”
My eyes closed.
It hurt.
It also didn’t.
Two children existed in the world carrying pieces of me.
Children I had watched from across rooms while believing they were symbols of my humiliation.
Children who had smiled at me.
Once, the older boy had handed me a toy car at a Christmas party.
Clara pulled him away.
I had gone upstairs and cried.
Now I understood why being near him had hurt in a way I couldn’t explain.
Daniel said, “There is something else.”
I looked at Margaret.
“There always is.”
“You need to get away from Margaret.”
Margaret snapped, “Hang up.”
Daniel continued.
“Your 2019 pregnancy wasn’t terminated because they needed the eggs.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“That was the excuse Margaret approved for the records.”
Margaret lunged toward my phone.
Martin blocked her.
“Don’t touch her.”
Daniel said, “The real reason was the fetal DNA screening.”
I gripped the phone.
“What did it show?”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
He inhaled.
“The father wasn’t an anonymous donor.”
Margaret began shaking her head.
“Stop.”
Richard stared at her.
“What did you do?”
Daniel continued.
“The father was someone connected to Voss Meridian.”
My pulse raced.
“Who?”
“The donor identification was replaced.”
“By whom?”
“Margaret.”
Richard stepped toward his wife.
“Who was it?”
Margaret said nothing.
Daniel’s voice became softer.
“Evelyn, your father found the original record.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course he did.
“What did it say?”
Daniel hesitated.
Then he said, “I can send it.”
My phone buzzed.
A PDF arrived.
I opened it.
The document was a genetic screening report.
MOTHER: EVELYN MARLOWE VOSS.
PATERNAL SAMPLE: VV-017.
I looked at Richard.
“Do you recognize VV-017?”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
Margaret whispered, “Richard.”
He looked horrified.
“That code belonged to my brother.”
Martin frowned.
“Uncle Victor?”
Richard nodded.
Victor Voss.
Martin’s uncle.
A man I had met only twice.
A man who had disappeared from family events shortly after my miscarriage.
According to Martin, Victor had moved to Argentina.
I looked at Daniel’s document.
Then at Margaret.
“You impregnated me with Victor’s genetic material?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“The report says—”
“No.”
For the first time, she sounded genuinely desperate.
Richard stared at her.
“What aren’t you saying?”
Margaret whispered, “That sample was mislabeled years earlier.”
Daniel heard her through the phone.
“No, Margaret.”
She shouted, “YOU WEREN’T THERE WHEN IT WAS CREATED.”
Daniel replied, “No. But Evelyn’s father found the source documents.”
I felt Martin’s hand grip the counter.
Daniel continued.
“VV-017 never belonged to Victor.”
Richard whispered, “Then whose was it?”
There was a long pause.
Daniel said, “That is why Margaret terminated the pregnancy.”
I could barely speak.
“Tell me.”
“The screening exposed the true donor.”
“WHO?”
Daniel’s answer came quietly.
“Martin.”
Nobody moved.
Martin laughed once.
“That’s impossible.”
Daniel said, “Not genetically impossible.”
Martin’s laughter stopped.
Richard whispered, “Explain.”
Daniel said, “Martin’s infertility wasn’t caused by his childhood surgery.”
I looked at Martin.
“What?”
“The surgery was blamed because it gave the family a believable explanation.”
Martin’s eyes widened.
Daniel continued.
“Martin was born infertile.”
“Why?”
“Because Martin Voss was not conceived naturally.”
Margaret’s knees seemed to weaken.
Richard gripped the sofa.
Daniel said, “He was part of an experimental embryo program.”
Martin stared at his mother.
“What is he talking about?”
Margaret said nothing.
“Mom.”
Nothing.
Daniel continued.
“Martin was Kessler’s first successful engineered embryo.”
The silence became unbearable.
Martin whispered, “Engineered?”
“Early-stage germline manipulation. Illegal. Hidden. Years before regulators knew what Kessler was attempting.”
Richard looked sick.
“You told me IVF.”
Margaret whispered, “It was IVF.”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice sharpened.
“It was an experiment.”
Martin backed away.
“So what?”
Daniel continued.
“Your infertility was one of the consequences.”
Martin swallowed.
“And the sample?”
Daniel paused.
“A viable reproductive sample was created from Martin’s stored cells years later.”
I understood.
My 2019 baby really had been genetically Martin’s.
Just not naturally.
Martin looked at me.
His face shattered.
“Our son.”
I couldn’t answer.
Daniel said, “The fetal screening revealed something Kessler didn’t expect.”
“What?”
“The child didn’t inherit Martin’s infertility.”
Margaret suddenly shouted, “Enough!”
Daniel ignored her.
“The treatment had worked.”
Martin whispered, “Treatment?”
“The embryo was the first evidence that Kessler had successfully repaired the defect through derived reproductive cells.”
Richard stared at Margaret.
“You killed that baby because he proved the program worked.”
Margaret’s eyes filled with tears.
For the first time.
“Yes.”
I stepped backward.
The admission hurt more than the accusation.
Martin screamed.
“You killed my son because he was evidence?”
Margaret shouted back.
“Because if that child had been born, everything would have been exposed!”
“GOOD!”
“You would have been studied your entire life!”
“So you killed him?”
“I protected you!”
Martin laughed hysterically.
“From my own child?”
Margaret’s voice cracked.
“You don’t understand what people do when billions of dollars are involved.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
My grief settled into something sharper.
“But I’m beginning to understand what you do.”
Daniel spoke again.
“Evelyn, there’s more.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
“Your son was not destroyed.”
The entire room stopped.
I gripped the phone.
“What did you say?”
Margaret whispered, “Daniel, don’t.”
My voice disappeared.
“What did you say?”
Daniel repeated it.
“The pregnancy was terminated, but the fetus survived the emergency extraction.”
Richard stared at Margaret.
Martin stopped breathing.
I couldn’t move.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice trembled now.
“He was premature. Extremely fragile. But alive.”
My knees buckled.
Martin caught me.
I didn’t push him away.
Not this time.
I whispered, “My son was alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Margaret turned toward the door.
Richard blocked her.
“Where is he?”
She said nothing.
I grabbed her arm.
“WHERE IS MY SON?”
Her face collapsed.
And suddenly Margaret Voss looked seventy-two.
Not powerful.
Not elegant.
Old.
Tired.
Terrified.
“He was supposed to die.”
I nearly stopped breathing.
“But he didn’t?”
“No.”
“WHERE IS HE?”
She began crying.
I had never seen Margaret cry.
Not at Richard’s fake funeral.
Not at her own mother’s burial.
Not once.
Then she whispered a name.
“Thomas.”
Martin frowned.
“Who is Thomas?”
Richard looked confused.
I wasn’t.
Because I knew exactly one Thomas connected to the Voss family.
Thomas Reed.
Twenty-four years old.
Margaret’s quiet personal assistant.
The young man who had worked beside her for five years.
The young man who always avoided family photographs.
The young man whose birthday was listed in company records as October 19, 2019.
One day after my hospital procedure.
My knees almost gave out again.
“No.”
Margaret looked at me.
Her tears fell.
“Yes.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Thomas.
I had spoken to him dozens of times.
He brought me tea at board meetings.
He once drove me home when Martin forgot our anniversary dinner.
Last Christmas, he had handed me my coat and said something strange.
“You’re kinder than people say.”
I had smiled.
“Who says I’m not?”
He looked toward Margaret.
Then said nothing.
My phone buzzed again.
A photograph from Daniel.
Thomas Reed.
Standing beside Clara.
And the two children.
Taken less than an hour ago.
I stared at his face.
My face.
My father’s chin.
Martin’s dark eyes.
Everything I had somehow never allowed myself to see.
Underneath the photograph, Daniel had written:
THOMAS KNOWS WHO YOU ARE.
Martin read it.
“He knows?”
Another message arrived.
HE HAS KNOWN FOR THREE YEARS.
Then:
HE IS THE ONE WHO SENT YOU THE FIRST WARNING.
My hands trembled.
The message telling me not to let Martin discover who was inside his office.
Thomas.
He had been inside Voss Meridian.
He had been deleting something.
But why?
Another message appeared.
THOMAS WAS NOT DESTROYING THE FILES.
HE WAS COPYING THEM BEFORE MARGARET’S PEOPLE COULD.
Margaret went pale.
Richard turned toward her.
“Your people?”
She said nothing.
Then Daniel called again.
I answered instantly.
“What’s happening?”
His voice sounded rushed.
“They found us.”
“Who?”
“Margaret’s security team.”
Margaret shouted, “I didn’t send anyone!”
Daniel ignored her.
“Clara is leaving with the children.”
“And Thomas?”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
“He stayed behind.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“To give them time.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone.”
“Daniel!”
Then I heard a crash.
Someone shouted.
The line crackled.
“Daniel?”
He came back breathless.
“Evelyn, listen.”
“Where is my son?”
“If anything happens, go to locker 317 at Central Station.”
“What?”
“Your father left something there.”
“DANIEL, WHERE IS THOMAS?”
A gunshot exploded through the phone.
I screamed.
Martin grabbed my arm.
The line stayed open.
Footsteps.
Another crash.
Then silence.
“Daniel?”
Nothing.
“Thomas?”
Nothing.
Then a young man’s voice came faintly through the phone.
A voice I knew.
“Mom?”
My entire body froze.
One word.
That was all it took.
Mom.
“Thomas?”
Heavy breathing.
Then he whispered, “I’m sorry I waited so long.”
My eyes filled.
“Where are you?”
Before he could answer, another gunshot sounded.
The call disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Martin whispered, “Evelyn.”
I grabbed my coat.
“Where are you going?”
“To get my son.”
Margaret stepped forward.
“You don’t know where he is.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
I held up my phone.
“But my father apparently knew this day might come.”
Richard understood first.
“Locker 317.”
I headed for the door.
Martin followed.
Margaret called after us.
“Evelyn!”
I stopped.
She stood in the middle of my apartment.
Terrified.
“Do not open that locker.”
I turned slowly.
“Why?”
Her lips trembled.
“Because your father didn’t only leave evidence.”
Richard stared at her.
“What did he leave?”
Margaret whispered, “A confession.”
“Whose confession?”
She looked directly at Martin.
“Mine.”
Martin froze.
But Margaret wasn’t finished.
“And if Evelyn hears it, she won’t just learn what happened to her son.”
My hand tightened around the doorknob.
“She’ll learn why Martin was created in the first place.”……………
TO BE CONTINUED IN LAST PART…
