Chapter 8 - MY MOTHER
My mother laughed when Detective Ortiz asked whether she wanted an attorney.
Not because she found anything funny.
Because Eleanor Sloane had spent sixty-four years believing rules were inconveniences designed for less powerful people.
“Detective, my daughter-in-law was nearly murdered and one of my grandchildren was kidnapped. If you're suggesting I'm responsible, at least have the courage to say it clearly.”
Ortiz didn't flinch.
“You hold a financial interest that could benefit if your son had no surviving heirs.”
My mother's eyes moved slowly toward me.
“Mason?”
“I didn't know.”
“You didn't know what?”
“That Uncle Richard transferred shares to you.”
She removed her gloves.
“Three years ago.”
“Why?”
“Estate planning.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“Mother.”
“Twenty-four percent.”
I stared at her.
Combined with certain institutional votes, twenty-four percent could change the company.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because they were Richard's shares.”
“And I’m the CEO.”
“You're my son before you're a CEO.”
“That didn't answer me.”
Claire sat upright in the hospital bed.
She was still pale, but anger gave color to her face.
“Eleanor, did you know about Blackridge?”
My mother turned.
For the first time, her confidence slipped.
“Yes.”
I felt as though the floor had moved.
Claire whispered, “Oh my God.”
“What did you know?” I asked.
“Not what you're thinking.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I invested in Blackridge.”
Silence.
My mother continued.
“Through Richard's fund.”
“You told Richard to invest?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Initially twenty million.”
“For what?”
“Longevity research.”
I stared at her.
“My family was poisoned because of longevity research?”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
She sat down.
For the first time in my life, Eleanor Sloane looked nervous in front of me.
“Five years ago, I was approached by Dr. Nathaniel Cross.”
Detective Ortiz wrote the name.
“Who is he?”
“Founder of Blackridge.”
“What did he offer you?”
“Advanced preventative medicine. Genetic screening. Early disease detection.”
“For our family?”
“For families like ours.”
“What does that mean?”
“Families with resources.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Rich people.”
“Yes.”
“Did you give them my medical records?”
“No.”
“Claire's?”
“No.”
“The babies'?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then how did they get them?”
“I don't know.”
I wanted to believe her.
But trust had become a luxury I couldn't afford.
Claire looked at my mother.
“You never liked me.”
“Claire.”
“You didn't.”
Eleanor's expression softened.
“I didn't think you understood Mason's world.”
“I understood him before he had a world.”
My mother flinched.
Claire continued.
“Did you tell Blackridge about my pregnancy?”
“No.”
“Did you tell them we were having triplets?”
“It was in the newspapers.”
“Prenatal blood work wasn't.”
“I did not give them medical data.”
Detective Ortiz interrupted.
“Did Blackridge ever discuss succession planning?”
My mother's eyes changed.
There.
Ortiz saw it too.
“Yes,” Eleanor said.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“What exactly?”
“They offered what they called generational health mapping.”
“Explain.”
“Predictive risk profiles for inherited disease.”
“Did Project Heir mean anything to you?”
My mother's face went white.
That was enough.
“Mother.”
She stood abruptly.
“I want my attorney.”
Ortiz nodded.
“That's your right.”
I stepped between her and the door.
“You know that name.”
“Mason.”
“Project Heir.”
“Move.”
“Tell me.”
Her eyes filled with something I had almost never seen.
Shame.
“I signed paperwork.”
Claire covered her mouth.
“What paperwork?”
“I thought it was medical research consent.”
“For whom?”
“Our family.”
“You included my children before they were born?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She looked at me.
“You.”
I stared.
“Me?”
“Blackridge has been collecting your health information for years.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“Because you refused regular executive physicals.”
“So you secretly had me monitored?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“By stealing my medical information?”
“Your father died at fifty-two!”
The room became silent.
My father had suffered a massive heart attack when I was twenty-seven.
It had terrified my mother.
I had spent years refusing to admit it terrified me too.
“You could have asked me.”
“You would have said no.”
“So you decided consent didn't matter?”
“I decided I didn't want to bury my son.”
Her voice broke.
For one terrible second, she was simply my mother.
Then Claire asked, “How did my pregnancy become involved?”
Eleanor sat again.
“I told Blackridge's director that you were expecting.”
“Why?”
“They said inherited health information becomes more accurate when multiple generations are included.”
“And you gave permission?”
“Only for public information.”
“Did they ask for samples from the babies?”
Silence.
“Eleanor.”
“Yes.”
I nearly lost control.
“You gave a private company permission to take biological samples from my newborn children?”
“Not secretly!”
“Did Claire agree?”
“No.”
“Did I?”
“No.”
“Then secretly.”
My mother looked at the floor.
“They told me it would be a standard cord-blood collection.”
Claire's voice sharpened.
“My babies are not research material.”
“I know.”
“You know now.”
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong?”
Claire began crying.
“I was poisoned. Grace was kidnapped. Someone tampered with my babies' medical records.”
“I never wanted that.”
“Intent doesn't undo it.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Detective Ortiz asked, “Who was your contact?”
“Dr. Cross.”
“Where can we find him?”
“I don't know.”
“When did you last speak?”
“Yesterday.”
Everyone turned.
“What time?”
“Late afternoon.”
“About?”
My mother swallowed.
“He said the research collection would happen after delivery.”
Claire gripped the blanket.
“What did you say?”
“I told him no.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard called me.”
My uncle looked confused.
“You called Eleanor?”
Richard nodded slowly.
“I had discovered the financial connections.”
Eleanor continued.
“Richard warned me Blackridge wasn't what they claimed.”
“What did Cross do when you withdrew permission?” Ortiz asked.
“He became angry.”
“Threatening?”
“He said the project had already cost millions.”
“What did you say?”
“That I didn't care.”
“Then?”
“He said the samples would be collected with or without my cooperation.”
My heart pounded.
“What did you do?”
“I called Daniel.”
“Why Daniel?”
“He handled corporate security.”
Daniel laughed bitterly from his chair.
“You called me after giving Blackridge years of access.”
Eleanor turned on him.
“And you were stealing from my son's company.”
Both were guilty.
Both wanted to blame the other.
Detective Ortiz stopped them.
“What did Daniel tell you?”
“That he'd handle it.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Is that why you tried to transfer the babies?”
He nodded.
“I knew Blackridge had people inside the hospital.”
“Why didn't you tell police?”
“Because explaining how I knew would expose everything.”
“You kidnapped Grace instead.”
“Marcus panicked.”
Marcus had apparently taken Grace under Daniel's orders after the fake transfer failed.
Daniel intended to use the baby to force me to surrender Claire's evidence.
He claimed he planned to return her.
I didn't care.
The man I once called brother had turned my daughter into leverage.
Nothing would erase that.
But one question remained.
Who poisoned Claire?
Blackridge wanted blood samples from the babies.
Killing their mother didn't make sense.
Unless Claire stood in the way.
Detective Ortiz's team finally entered Blackridge's encrypted systems that afternoon.
They found internal messages.
One thread contained Claire's name.
C. SLOANE HAS IDENTIFIED FINANCIAL LINKS.
Another:
SUBJECT MAY INTERFERE WITH HEIR COLLECTION.
Then:
REMOVE OBSTRUCTION BEFORE DELIVERY WINDOW CLOSES.
Claire read the line twice.
“Remove obstruction.”
My hand closed around hers.
We finally had it.
Not who administered the poison.
But who ordered it.
Dr. Nathaniel Cross.
Police obtained his photograph.
Sixty.
Thin.
Gray hair.
Distinguished.
He looked like a physician people would trust.
Dr. Bennett stared at the image.
“I've seen him.”
“Where?”
“At this hospital.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
My blood chilled.
“Before Claire delivered?”
“Yes.”
“He attended a research committee meeting.”
Ortiz stood.
“He's affiliated with St. Catherine's?”
“Not directly.”
“But he was here.”
“Yes.”
Security searched historical footage.
At 1:17 a.m., minutes before Dr. Bennett's badge was stolen, Nathaniel Cross entered a restricted corridor wearing physician credentials.
At 1:24, he disappeared from camera view.
At 1:28, Vanessa entered Claire's suite carrying the white box.
At 1:32, Claire drank from the silver container.
At 1:41, her vital signs began deteriorating.
Cross left the hospital at 1:48.
It fit.
Except for one thing.
“How did the silver container get into the box?” I asked.
Vanessa was brought back for another interview.
Her answer gave us the missing piece.
“I left the package unattended.”
“Where?”
“At the maternity reception desk.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe five minutes.”
“Why?”
“Daniel called me.”
I looked at Daniel.
He stared back.
“Did you know Cross would tamper with it?”
“No.”
“Then why call her?”
“Coincidence.”
Ortiz didn't believe in coincidence anymore.
Neither did I.
Then Vanessa remembered something.
“A man bumped into me.”
“When?”
“When I picked up the box.”
“Describe him.”
“Older. Doctor's coat. Gray hair.”
Cross.
He had been close enough to the package.
Close enough to switch a sealed container.
The case finally seemed to have a shape.
Then Ortiz's phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed immediately.
“When?”
She listened.
“Seal the area.”
She hung up.
“What happened?”
“Blackridge's lab caught fire.”
My stomach sank.
“Evidence?”
“Unknown.”
“Cross?”
“Missing.”
Of course.
Then another officer rushed into the room.
“Detective, we found something in the Blackridge server before it went offline.”
He handed her a printout.
She read it.
Then looked at me.
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Project Heir wasn't built around the babies.”
“What does that mean?”
“The project began eight years ago.”
Claire and I looked at each other.
We hadn't been trying to have children eight years ago.
Ortiz placed the document on the bed.
The original Project Heir subject wasn't Noah.
Lily.
Or Grace.
It was me.
PRIMARY SUBJECT: MASON SLOANE.
Below it:
GENETIC SUCCESSION VALUE: EXTREME.
And underneath that was something even stranger.
A second name.
Someone listed as a biological relative.
A name neither Claire nor I recognized.
SUBJECT 2: JONATHAN CROSS-SLOANE.
Relationship:
PATERNAL HALF-BROTHER.
I looked at my mother.
She stopped breathing.
“Who,” I asked quietly, “is Jonathan?”
May you like
My mother's face collapsed.
And before she said a word, I knew this secret had existed much longer than Blackridge.
