Chapter 8 - The Name Behind the Institute
The Arden Institute had been founded by Dr. Sebastian Arden in 1978.
Public biographies described him as a pioneering geneticist who had lost his wife and infant daughter in a house fire. After their deaths, he dedicated his career to preventing inherited childhood diseases.
Daniel told me the story was false.
“His daughter survived,” he said. “Her name was Evelyn.”
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
That made Daniel the founder’s grandson.
And our children possible heirs to a fortune worth billions.
But money alone did not explain the abductions.
We hid overnight in an apartment owned by my firm. No one outside the company knew it existed. Daniel covered the windows while I searched the documents photographed in the basement.
Candidate A-17 appeared repeatedly.
So did a phrase: Founder-line restoration protocol.
I found references to twelve babies born over twenty years. Each possessed genetic similarities to the original Arden line. Some were listed as transferred. Others were marked unsuitable.
Three were marked deceased.
“What does restoration mean?” I asked.
Daniel read over my shoulder.
“My grandfather believed his descendants carried a rare regenerative trait.”
“You said the institute studied immune responses.”
“The Arden family reportedly recovered from infections faster than normal. My mother claimed certain members had unusual bone marrow compatibility.”
“Enough to steal newborns?”
“Enough for people obsessed with extending life.”
A file named Founder Condition contained medical abbreviations neither of us understood. We forwarded the images to Dr. Shaw’s private email and hoped she was still alive.
At dawn, the DNA laboratory called.
The baby in our care was not biologically related to me.
She was also not biologically related to Daniel.
The technician asked whether we wanted the findings reported to authorities.
“Yes,” I said.
Daniel shook his head.
I ignored him.
Before the technician could continue, the line disconnected.
When I called back, the number was out of service.
Daniel searched the laboratory’s website.
It had disappeared.
“The results were real,” I said.
“I know.”
“We need to find her parents.”
“We will.”
“And Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“And then I’m taking both children away from you.”
Daniel looked as if I had struck him again.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You should leave me when this is over.”
The calmness of his acceptance made me angrier.
“You don’t get to become noble now.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then stop acting like losing us is punishment enough.”
He looked down.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth. All of it. Before I discover another secret in a basement.”
Daniel sat opposite me.
“My father’s name is Marcus Cross. He was Arden’s chief financial officer. He married my mother before learning what her father was doing.”
“What happened?”
“He gathered evidence and tried to expose the institute. My grandfather ruined him. He lost his license, his money and his reputation.”
“And then?”
“He began working with an investigative group called Lantern.”
“Journalists?”
“Former intelligence officers, attorneys and medical researchers.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know whether Lantern still exists.”
“You gave your father the drive six months ago.”
“Yes.”
“How did you contact him?”
“Through a dead-drop account.”
He wrote an email address on a sheet of paper.
I opened my laptop.
The account required a passphrase.
Daniel typed:
The lake keeps what fire cannot.
A single draft message appeared.
It contained no text, only coordinates and a date.
The coordinates pointed to the Mercer cabin.
The date was tomorrow.
“He wants to meet,” I said.
“Or someone wants us to think he does.”
A second message appeared while we watched.
BRING THE INFANT IDENTIFIED AS FALSE SOPHIE.
I closed the laptop.
“How do they know we have her?”
Daniel looked toward the baby sleeping in a portable crib.
“Because the message may not be from my father.”
A knock sounded at the apartment door.
Three slow taps.
Two fast ones.
Daniel’s expression changed.
“What?”
“That’s Lantern’s recognition pattern.”
He approached the door but did not open it.
“Who is there?”
A man answered.
“Someone who attended your mother’s funeral twice.”
Daniel unlocked the door.
An older man stepped inside.
He had gray hair, a weathered face and Daniel’s eyes.
Daniel whispered, “Dad.”
Marcus Cross looked at the newborn.
Then he looked at me.
“You must not take that baby to Mercer,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because she is not merely another stolen child.”
May you like
He reached into his coat and produced a photograph of the scarred woman.
“She is that woman’s daughter.”
