Chapter 5 - THE CHILD THEY HID
I reached the upstairs hallway in seconds.
Chloe was standing beside an open bedroom door.
Her face was white.
"What happened?"
She pointed inside.
I entered.
The room was empty.
But the window was open.
A small backpack lay on the floor.
Inside was a child's jacket.
A school notebook.
And a photograph.
I picked it up.
A little boy stared back at me.
He had dark hair.
My eyes.
My jaw.
My smile.
I couldn't breathe.
"Who is this?"
Nobody answered.
I turned toward Natalie.
She was crying.
"I didn't know."
I looked at Diane.
"Who is he?"
She closed her eyes.
"His name is Lucas."
"Lucas what?"
She whispered my last name.
Everything inside me went cold.
"My son?"
Diane nodded.
I staggered backward.
"No."
Natalie shook her head.
"I would know if we had a child."
Diane whispered:
"You did."
I stared at her.
"When?"
"Seven years ago."
"That's impossible."
"You were told the baby died."
The room went silent.
I remembered.
Seven years earlier, Natalie had been pregnant.
We had lost the baby.
At least, that's what everyone told us.
The hospital had said there had been complications.
Natalie had nearly died.
I had buried myself in work afterward.
And Diane had told us to stop talking about it.
But now—
there was a seven-year-old boy.
Alive.
My son.
"Where is he?"
Diane began crying.
"Victor took him."
I grabbed the front of her robe.
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I swear."
"Where is my son?"
She screamed:
"Victor runs an underground adoption network!"
I released her.
Natalie covered her mouth.
Diane continued.
"He takes children whose parents are vulnerable."
"Why mine?"
"Because you were leaving."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"You were going overseas. You had money. You were grieving. You were easy to manipulate."
I felt sick.
"So you sold my child?"
"No."
"Then what did you do?"
"I gave him to Victor."
The room spun.
"You gave him to him."
"I thought he'd be safe."
"You thought?"
Diane collapsed.
"I needed money."
I stepped away.
"How much?"
"Fifty thousand."
I stared at her.
She sold my son for fifty thousand dollars.
Then spent five years helping herself to hundreds of thousands more.
I looked at Natalie.
Her face was destroyed.
"I thought our baby was dead."
"I know."
She looked at Diane.
"I mourned him."
Diane couldn't meet her eyes.
"Where is Lucas?"
"I don't know."
"You have forty-eight hours."
"I told you—I don't know."
I grabbed my phone.
"I'm calling the police."
Diane panicked.
"No!"
"Why?"
"Because Victor has people everywhere."
"I don't care."
"You should."
She looked at me.
"Because if Victor thinks you're talking, he'll kill Lucas."
I froze.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
YOU FOUND THE BOY.
Another.
NOW FIND OUT WHY HE LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE YOU.
Then a photograph appeared.
Lucas standing beside a man.
I zoomed in.
The man was Victor Hale.
And behind them was a building I recognized.
The cancer clinic.
I showed Natalie.
She whispered:
"That's where my treatments were supposed to happen."
I stared at the photo.
Then I noticed something on Lucas's wrist.
A hospital bracelet.
Seven years old.
The date was the day our son supposedly died.
I felt tears burn my eyes.
He hadn't died.
He had been transferred.
The entire story had been fabricated.
Then another message arrived.
COME TO THE CLINIC ALONE.
I looked at Natalie.
"I have to go."
"No."
"He has our son."
"And he wants you alone."
"I know."
"That's a trap."
"I know."
She grabbed my hand.
"Then don't go alone."
I looked at her.
For the first time in months, Natalie wasn't afraid.
She was furious.
"You're not the only one who's been lied to."
She wiped her tears.
"If Victor wants a war..."
Her voice hardened.
"Let's give him one."
I smiled.
Because my wife had just stopped being a victim.
And somewhere across the city, a seven-year-old boy was waiting for the parents who had spent seven years believing he was dead.
May you like
We had forty-eight hours.
But we weren't going to wait that long.
