Chapter 6 - R-17
The man survived surgery.
His name was Thomas Greeley.
Licensed mortuary technician.
Former laboratory assistant at Saint Catherine’s Clinic.
Federal agents discovered that he had changed identities twice in twenty years.
He refused to speak again.
Until Sarah entered the interrogation room.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Greeley said.
Sarah sat opposite him.
“People keep telling me that.”
He stared at her stomach.
“You should leave the country.”
“Why?”
“They won’t let the child be born free.”
Sarah’s jaw tightened.
“Who are they?”
Greeley laughed weakly.
“You still think Eleanor is the villain.”
“She tried to frame me for murder.”
“Eleanor is a frightened old woman.”
“She kidnapped her daughter.”
“She’s been afraid since before David was born.”
Sarah leaned forward.
“Afraid of whom?”
Greeley looked toward the camera.
“No recording.”
Sarah shook her head.
“No deal.”
He closed his eyes.
Then spoke.
“Saint Catherine’s wasn’t a fertility clinic.”
“What was it?”
“A selection program.”
“For babies?”
“For families.”
Sarah said nothing.
Greeley continued.
“Certain bloodlines had money. Others had traits.”
“What traits?”
“Intelligence. Health. military aptitude. longevity.”
Sarah almost laughed.
“This sounds insane.”
“It was.”
“Was?”
Greeley looked at her.
“It never stopped.”
A chill moved through her.
“R-17?”
“A genetic profile.”
“David?”
“David was a mistake.”
“Explain.”
“His biological mother carried twins. One was designated for placement. One was designated for disposal.”
Sarah’s stomach turned.
“Babies were murdered?”
“Sometimes.”
His voice was almost emotionless.
“Sometimes declared dead.”
Sarah thought of Jonathan Whitmore.
The baby supposedly dead, later living under another name.
“David was supposed to disappear.”
“Yes.”
“But Eleanor kept him.”
Greeley nodded.
“Why?”
“She panicked.”
“What happened to her own baby?”
Greeley looked away.
“I don’t know.”
Sarah knew he was lying.
“Thomas.”
“I don’t know.”
She stood.
He suddenly said, “Eleanor loved David.”
Sarah stopped.
That surprised her more than anything.
“In her way.”
Sarah turned.
“She tried to destroy his wife and child.”
“Because she believed it would keep you alive.”
Sarah stared.
Greeley continued.
“The false paternity test would remove you from the Whitmore line.”
“Why would that protect me?”
“Because R-17 inheritance only matters if the child is recognized.”
“Recognized by whom?”
Greeley smiled sadly.
“That’s the question David died asking.”
Sarah sat again.
“Was David murdered?”
“Yes.”
“By Eleanor?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Greeley leaned forward.
“Find his real cause of death.”
“We know. Digoxin.”
“No.”
Sarah froze.
“What?”
“The digoxin was planted.”
Her pulse climbed.
“What killed him?”
Greeley shook his head.
“I only saw the body.”
“What did you see?”
“Two marks.”
“Needles?”
“One needle.”
“And the other?”
Greeley touched the back of his neck.
Sarah remembered David’s body.
She had never examined that area.
“What kind of mark?”
“Small burn.”
“Electrical?”
“Maybe.”
Then Greeley said:
“Ask who was in your house before you found him.”
Sarah thought back.
That evening.
She had come home at six.
David was already there.
But earlier—
The alarm company had sent a notification.
Maintenance access.
She had ignored it because David said he had scheduled someone.
“Security technician,” Sarah whispered.
Greeley nodded.
“Name?”
“I don’t know.”
Federal records did.
The technician had signed in as Andrew Cole.
No employee by that name existed.
But the vehicle plate led to a shell company.
That company led to another.
And eventually—
Whitmore Strategic Holdings.
Specifically, a restricted internal program.
STERLING DIVISION.
Sarah looked at the report.
Then toward Sterling Brooks.
The attorney read the same page.
His face changed.
“No.”
Sarah’s voice became dangerously calm.
“Your name is on it.”
“I’ve never heard of Sterling Division.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Sarah.”
She backed away from him.
“David trusted you.”
“I know.”
“Did he?”
Sterling looked genuinely hurt.
But Sarah could no longer afford trust.
Hale entered holding another file.
“It gets worse.”
Sarah laughed bitterly.
“Of course it does.”
Hale placed a photograph on the table.
Security footage from Sarah and David’s house.
Timestamp: the afternoon of David’s death.
A man wearing a technician uniform entered through the side door.
His face was visible.
Sterling stared.
Sarah looked at him.
“Do you know him?”
Sterling did not answer.
“Sterling.”
His voice dropped.
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
Sterling’s face had lost all color.
“My brother.”
Sarah stared.
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
“What do you mean had?”
Sterling looked at the photograph.
“His name is Nathan Brooks.”
Hale frowned.
“Where is he?”
May you like
Sterling whispered:
“He died twelve years ago.”
