Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN AT THE GATE
I ordered the gate opened.
Marcus didn’t like it.
“Lawson.”
“Open it.”
“She hasn’t been searched.”
“Then search her.”
Two female security officers took Mara into the guard station while I stood outside gripping the report until the plastic folder bent beneath my fingers.
Five minutes later, Marcus returned.
“No weapons. No electronics except an old prepaid phone. Forty-three dollars cash. Bus tickets from St. Louis.”
“And the necklace?”
“Real, as far as we can tell.”
I looked toward the guard station window.
Mara sat inside with her hands wrapped around a paper cup.
“How does a penniless woman from St. Louis end up with my dead wife’s necklace?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
We brought her to the library instead of the main house.
I wanted walls between her and my children.
Mara looked around once but showed none of the awe people usually displayed when entering my estate.
Maybe desperation had cured her of being impressed by marble.
I placed the report on the table.
“Start talking.”
“My mother was a research nurse.”
“Where?”
“Northstar Pediatric Genetics.”
I recognized the name only because I had just read it.
“It closed in 2018,” she continued. “Officially because investors withdrew.”
“Unofficially?”
“My mother said someone made it disappear.”
I sat across from her.
“And Genevieve?”
“She volunteered there.”
I almost laughed.
“My wife never worked in medical research.”
“I didn’t say she worked there.”
“Then what did she do?”
Mara hesitated.
“She was trying to expose it.”
The room went cold.
Genevieve had been many things.
Brilliant.
Stubborn.
Compassionate.
And secretive when she thought secrecy protected someone.
But this sounded insane.
“My wife ran a literacy foundation.”
“That foundation funded children’s clinics.”
“Yes.”
“One of those clinics referred patients into Northstar studies.”
I stared at her.
Mara opened her backpack and removed a bundle of photocopies.
“Sixteen children entered what was described as an anemia study. My mother became suspicious because the consent forms didn’t match the medications being administered. She copied records.”
I didn’t touch them.
“What does this have to do with Jonah and Blythe?”
“She found a research file labeled M-17.”
“M for Mercer?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe somebody developed a disease for children who didn’t exist yet?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“I think they developed a treatment designed around genetic material from children who didn’t exist yet.”
That made even less sense.
Marcus spoke from behind me.
“How would they have the genetic material?”
Mara looked at me.
“Embryos.”
My stomach tightened.
Genevieve and I had struggled for years to have children.
Three rounds of IVF.
Four miscarriages.
Then Jonah and Blythe.
Very few people knew the details.
“Who told you?”
“My mother.”
I stood.
“Enough.”
“Mr. Mercer—”
“You’ve crossed from suspicious into absurd.”
“Ask yourself how I know.”
I stopped.
Mara’s eyes were steady.
“You and your wife had twelve viable embryos created at Halcyon Fertility Center in 2016.”
My chest went rigid.
“You implanted two in September 2017.”
Marcus shifted.
“Lawson?”
Nobody outside our family and clinic should have known that.
Mara continued.
“The remaining embryos were supposed to be cryopreserved.”
“They were.”
“No.”
She opened another folder.
“Not all of them.”
The paper shook slightly in my hands.
A transfer authorization bore the name HALCYON FERTILITY CENTER.
Receiving institution: Northstar Pediatric Genetics.
Material: four embryonic cell-line samples.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
I stared.
“I never signed this.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because neither did your wife.”
Her signature was beside mine.
Genevieve Mercer.
Perfect cursive.
Perfectly forged.
I pressed the intercom.
“Get my attorneys here. Now.”
Marcus was already calling.
Mara leaned forward.
“You don’t have time for attorneys.”
“My children have ten days, according to you. That makes paperwork extremely relevant.”
“My mother died trying to get these records out.”
That stopped me.
“How?”
“Hit-and-run.”
“When?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She wasn’t.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“She knew someone was following her. She left a box with a neighbor and told him to give it to me if anything happened.”
“What was inside?”
“Records. Your wife’s necklace. And a note.”
She removed a yellow envelope.
My name was written across it.
LAWSON MERCER.
The handwriting wasn’t Mara’s.
I knew that handwriting.
Genevieve.
My fingers went numb.
The envelope had been sealed with clear tape.
I opened it.
Lawson,
If this reaches you, then I failed to tell you myself.
Do not trust the diagnosis if both children develop the same marrow pattern.
Do not let them continue Protocol C.
Find Evelyn.
Trust the necklace.
Forgive me.
G.
My vision blurred.
I read it again.
Then again.
Protocol C.
Those words hit somewhere deep in my memory.
“What medications are the twins receiving?” Mara asked.
“I don’t memorize every drug.”
“Get the chart.”
I called the medical wing.
Dr. Yates arrived ten minutes later carrying a tablet, irritated until he saw my face.
“Lawson, what is this?”
“What is Protocol C?”
The color disappeared from his face.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
Mara saw it too.
Yates adjusted his glasses.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I pushed Genevieve’s letter across the table.
He read it.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then he placed the letter down.
“Where did you get this?”
“Answer me.”
“There is no treatment called Protocol C.”
Mara stepped forward.
“What about cyclophosphamide, temozolomide, and the experimental immunomodulator NX-41?”
Yates turned sharply.
“How do you know about NX-41?”
Silence.
Marcus moved closer to the door.
I stared at Yates.
“What did you just say?”
He realized his mistake.
“NX-41 is an investigational compound. Your children are not receiving it.”
Mara pointed toward his tablet.
“Then open their medication logs.”
Yates didn’t move.
“Open them,” I said.
“Lawson, medical records require—”
“They are my six-year-old children.”
His jaw tightened.
He unlocked the chart.
We searched.
Medication after medication.
Nothing.
Then Mara said, “Check compounded infusion additives.”
Yates froze.
I saw it.
He saw me see it.
Marcus stepped forward.
“Doctor.”
Yates opened another screen.
There it was.
NXR-41B.
Administered every forty-eight hours.
Mara closed her eyes.
“Oh God.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What is that?”
Yates began speaking quickly.
“It is not what she thinks. It’s part of a compassionate-use therapy developed specifically for refractory—”
“You said they weren’t receiving it.”
“I said NX-41.”
“This says NXR-41B.”
“A related compound.”
“Who authorized it?”
“The clinical board.”
“Which board?”
“The consortium overseeing—”
“What consortium?”
He stopped.
Mara whispered, “Northstar.”
Yates looked at her.
That was enough.
Marcus moved between Yates and the door.
The doctor’s composure finally cracked.
“You don’t understand what you’re interfering with.”
“My children are dying.”
“I’m trying to keep them alive.”
“Then why did my dead wife tell me not to let you use this protocol?”
Yates looked toward the windows.
Snow pressed against the glass.
When he spoke again, his voice was almost tired.
“Because Genevieve never understood what she found.”
“What did she find?”
He looked at me.
“The reason your twins were born at all.”
I stopped breathing.
Yates continued quietly.
“Lawson, Jonah and Blythe were not simply IVF babies.”
Mara’s face changed.
“What are you saying?”
Yates swallowed.
“The embryos that became your children were genetically repaired before implantation.”
I stared at him.
“Repaired from what?”
“A fatal hereditary mutation.”
“My family has no fatal hereditary mutation.”
“Not your family.”
His eyes moved toward Genevieve’s letter.
“Your wife’s.”
I could hear my heartbeat.
“What mutation?”
May you like
Yates answered.
“The same one that killed Genevieve.”
