Chapter 3 - The Match No One Expected
Blythe’s heart stopped for eleven seconds.
I counted every one.
Later, Dr. Yates would tell me it technically wasn’t a full cardiac arrest. Her rhythm had deteriorated, her pressure collapsed, and for a few terrible moments the monitors struggled to detect meaningful circulation.
I didn’t care about technical language.
My daughter disappeared for eleven seconds.
And came back.
She opened her eyes twenty-three minutes later.
Her first word was Jonah’s name.
Her second was mine.
Her third surprised everybody.
“Addie.”
Adeline sat in a chair beside Jonah across the room.
Her head snapped up.
Blythe barely lifted her fingers.
“Come.”
Adeline looked at me for permission.
I hated that she needed it.
I nodded.
She approached carefully.
Blythe stared at her face.
“You’re not Mommy.”
“No.”
“But you look like her.”
“Yes.”
“Can you stay until I sleep?”
Adeline swallowed.
“If your dad says I can.”
Blythe looked at me.
I felt surrounded.
“Fine.”
My daughter immediately closed her eyes.
Adeline pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders.
She knew exactly how Genevieve used to tuck the edge under Blythe’s chin.
I noticed.
So did she.
Her hand stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I keep doing things she did.”
“You were twins.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Addie.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You aren’t insulting me by reminding me she existed.”
She looked away.
That was the first honest conversation we had.
The confirmatory results arrived at 6:12 the next morning.
Dr. Yates came into my office carrying coffee he never drank.
“You should sit.”
“I hate when doctors say that.”
“So do I.”
I sat anyway.
Adeline remained standing near the windows.
Prescott leaned against the wall.
Yates opened the report.
“The full HLA typing is complete.”
“And?”
“Adeline is not a perfect match.”
My stomach dropped.
He raised one hand.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t usable.”
“How usable?”
“For Jonah, excellent. For Blythe, also excellent.”
Adeline released a breath.
I stared at him.
“Both?”
“Yes.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“The children have to survive conditioning.”
“Explain.”
Yates sat across from me.
“A transplant requires us to suppress or destroy the diseased marrow enough for donor stem cells to take hold. Given their condition, standard conditioning could kill them.”
“So give them something else.”
“There is a reduced-intensity protocol.”
“Use it.”
“It carries risks.”
“Everything carries risks.”
“Lawson—”
“They’re dying without it.”
His silence answered.
Adeline walked closer.
“What do you need from me?”
“More tests today. If your cardiac evaluation is clear and your anemia improves, we can begin mobilizing stem cells.”
“How?”
“Medication stimulates your marrow to release stem cells into your bloodstream. Then we collect them through apheresis.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Bone pain is common.”
“I don’t care.”
“It may take hours.”
“I don’t care.”
“You may need multiple collections.”
“I don’t care.”
Yates finally stopped.
Adeline folded her arms.
“Is there any part of this conversation where you tell me something that makes me say no?”
“No.”
“Then stop trying.”
Prescott smiled.
I understood immediately why Genevieve had hidden this woman from me.
The two of them together would have made my life unbearable.
By afternoon, the mansion had become a hospital and a fortress.
Additional doctors arrived under security escort.
Prescott doubled guards.
Windows were covered.
Routes changed.
No staff member moved between wings without clearance.
And I learned something that terrified me.
Vane’s attack had not been improvised.
The men knew which corridor led toward the private medical suite.
That meant someone had given them information.
Someone inside my house.
Prescott and I reviewed access logs until midnight.
Thirty-eight employees.
Twelve medical workers.
Nine rotating guards.
Five private nurses.
Three drivers.
Odette.
Prescott.
Me.
Someone had betrayed us.
“Could be surveillance,” Prescott said.
“No.”
“They may have mapped the property years ago.”
“They knew the children were in the east suite.”
He didn’t argue.
I leaned back.
“Who knew Addie arrived?”
“You. Me. gate security. Odette.”
“And somehow Rourke had a team moving within an hour.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward him.
“You?”
Prescott raised one eyebrow.
“If I wanted you dead, Lawson, I wouldn’t wait until you were emotionally unstable and surrounded by doctors.”
“That’s almost comforting.”
“I try.”
“We lock every staff phone.”
“Already done.”
“Search vehicles.”
“Done.”
“Financial checks?”
“In progress.”
“I want everything. Gambling debts. Affairs. Sick relatives. Secret accounts.”
Prescott nodded.
Then my office door opened.
Adeline stood there wearing borrowed sweatpants and a white T-shirt.
She looked furious.
“Do you own food?”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Food. Things humans eat.”
“You’re in a mansion.”
“I’ve been looking for the kitchen for fifteen minutes.”
“Odette would bring you something.”
“I don’t need somebody bringing me food.”
“Yes, you do. Yates ordered you to eat.”
“I can feed myself.”
“Clearly not if you can’t find the kitchen.”
She glared at me.
Prescott covered his mouth.
I stood.
“I’ll show you.”
“You?”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
We walked downstairs.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
The kitchen was empty except for night staff.
I dismissed them.
Adeline opened the refrigerator and stared.
“This is ridiculous.”
“What?”
“You have six kinds of mustard.”
“Is that illegal?”
“It should be.”
She found eggs.
I watched her crack four into a bowl.
“You cook?”
“I’ve been poor most of my life.”
“I’m told rich people also eat.”
“Not the ones I cleaned for.”
Something about that sentence bothered me.
“You cleaned houses?”
“Yes.”
“Nursing homes.”
“Yes.”
“Restaurants.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why were you constantly moving?”
She didn’t answer.
“Vane?”
The fork stopped.
“Sometimes.”
“What does that mean?”
“I changed names twice.”
“Why?”
“Because men started asking questions.”
“How did you know?”
“A photograph left under my apartment door. My face scratched out.”
I felt anger rise.
“You should have gone to police.”
She laughed once.
“Our father had police officers in his ledger.”
“Then you should have come to me.”
“I didn’t know you.”
“You knew Genevieve married me.”
“I knew exactly who you were.”
“Then you knew I could protect you.”
She turned toward me.
“That’s precisely why I couldn’t come.”
I stared.
“If I had appeared, you would have protected me because of her. Then Crosby would know where I was. Genevieve believed keeping us separate kept everyone safer.”
“She was wrong.”
“Yes.”
I hadn’t expected agreement.
Adeline poured the eggs into a pan.
“Do you hate her for lying?”
The question struck deeper than it should have.
“No.”
“You’re angry.”
“I can be angry at someone I love.”
“She was afraid you’d look at her differently.”
“Why?”
“Because of our father.”
I frowned.
“What about him?”
“Silas wasn’t just a gambler doing errands for criminals.”
Her voice lowered.
“He was one.”
I knew pieces of Genevieve’s childhood.
An absent father.
A mother who died young.
Years of instability.
But she had told me Silas Rowan was a failed businessman who drank himself into an early grave.
Not this.
“What did he do?”
“He laundered money. Organized theft. Bribed officials.”
“For Vane?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
“He tried to leave.”
“That got him killed.”
Adeline nodded.
I leaned against the counter.
“You saw it?”
“I was hidden in a storage room.”
Her hands began shaking.
“He thought I was already gone. Genevieve was at college. I had come back because he called me.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to give me something.”
“The ledger.”
“Maybe.”
“What happened?”
“Crosby arrived before he could.”
She shut off the stove.
“He begged.”
I said nothing.
“He told Crosby his daughters knew nothing.”
Her voice became smaller.
“Crosby laughed and told him daughters always know more than fathers think.”
I saw a frightened twelve-year-old beneath the woman standing in my kitchen.
“What did you do?”
“I stayed hidden.”
“There was nothing else you could do.”
“I stayed hidden while my father died.”
“Addie.”
“I heard everything.”
Her eyes filled.
“Then after Crosby left, I came out.”
“What did Silas say?”
“He wasn’t dead yet.”
I straightened.
“He grabbed my hand.”
She looked down at her palm as if she could still feel him.
“He kept saying one word.”
“What?”
“Genevieve.”
“He wanted you to warn her.”
“I thought so for years.”
“And now?”
“Now I think he meant something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
A small voice interrupted us.
“Aunt Addie?”
Jonah stood in the kitchen doorway.
I almost shouted.
“You are supposed to be in bed.”
He ignored me.
“Can’t sleep.”
I crossed to him.
“Where’s your nurse?”
“I told her I needed the bathroom.”
“You lied?”
“I changed my mind.”
He looked toward the stove.
“Are those eggs?”
“Yes,” Adeline said.
“I’m hungry.”
My heart nearly cracked.
Jonah had not asked for food in three days.
Adeline’s expression changed too.
“You can have mine.”
He shook his head.
“Doctor says cooked all the way.”
She immediately returned the eggs to the pan.
“You heard the man.”
Jonah climbed onto a stool.
I helped him.
Adeline made fresh eggs.
My dying son ate three bites.
Then four.
Then five.
I watched as though he were performing a miracle.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Aunt Addie can make Blythe better?”
I froze.
Adeline stopped moving.
“We hope so.”
Jonah looked at her.
“If you only have enough good blood for one of us, give it to Blythe.”
“No,” I said immediately.
He frowned.
“She’s smaller.”
“No.”
“She gets scared.”
“Jonah—”
“She cries when I’m sleeping.”
My throat closed.
Adeline crouched before him.
“Hey.”
He looked at her.
“There’s enough for both.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m stubborn.”
He considered this.
“Dad says I’m stubborn.”
“You are.”
“Does that mean I have good blood?”
She smiled.
“It means you’re a Mercer.”
Jonah finished another bite.
My phone rang.
Prescott.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was cold.
“We found the leak.”
I looked toward the hallway.
“Who?”
“Come upstairs.”
“Name.”
Silence.
“Prescott.”
He exhaled.
“Dr. Franklin Yates.”
I stopped breathing.
The doctor who had treated my children for nineteen months.
The man I trusted with their lives.
“What did he do?”
“We found forty-seven thousand dollars routed into an account under his wife’s maiden name.”
“When?”
“Payments began three months after Genevieve died.”
“From Vane?”
“Shell company connected to Rourke.”
My eyes moved toward Jonah.
He was smiling at something Adeline had said.
Forty-seven thousand dollars.
My children were dying.
And the man controlling their treatment was being paid by my enemy.
“Prescott.”
May you like
“Yes?”
“Don’t let Yates leave.”
