Chapter 7
By one in the morning, a jet was preparing to carry blood samples to Boston.
By two, a specialist in Zurich had been pulled from a conference.
For the first time in weeks, there was movement.
Hope is dangerous when you're desperate.
It makes every sound feel like rescue.
I returned to the hospital with Elena just before dawn.
She stopped outside the twins' room.
"I don't know if I should go in."
"Why?"
"They look like her."
I studied her.
"You loved my wife."
Elena lowered her eyes.
"She was the first person who ever treated me like my life wasn't worth less because I was poor."
That sentence did something strange to me.
Genevieve had been surrounded by wealth from the day we married, but money had never impressed her.
When we hosted fundraisers, she spent more time talking to kitchen staff than donors.
When a reporter once described her as a socialite, she laughed for ten minutes.
I opened the door.
Blythe woke first.
She stared at Elena.
"Who are you?"
Elena's lips trembled.
"My name is Elena."
Blythe looked at the necklace.
Her eyes widened.
"That's Mommy's."
Nobody spoke.
Jonah opened his eyes.
"Mom's blue stone."
Elena touched the pendant.
"She gave it to me."
Blythe looked at me.
"Daddy?"
I had no idea how to explain any of it.
Elena knelt beside the bed instead.
"Your mommy helped my family a long time ago."
Blythe studied her carefully.
"Did she know you were coming?"
Elena began crying.
"Yes."
Blythe reached out and touched her hand.
"Then you can stay."
By morning, Prescott returned with preliminary results.
The necklace was authentic.
Microscopic wear patterns matched old photographs.
The medical records contained signatures from two Helixor scientists who had disappeared from public research shortly after Genevieve's death.
One had supposedly retired in Argentina.
The other was dead.
Prescott closed the office door behind him.
"There's another problem."
"Say it."
"Someone accessed the hospital's oncology server last night."
"When?"
"Twenty three minutes after Yates uploaded Elena's genetic profile."
"From where?"
"Internal network."
"Who has access?"
"Too many people."
I looked toward the hallway.
"Increase security around the twins."
"Already done."
"Elena too."
He hesitated.
"Lawson."
"What?"
"I checked Genevieve's crash again."
My body went still.
"The original investigating officer died eight months afterward.
Heart attack.
Forty six years old."
"Coincidence."
"Maybe."
"The coroner?"
"Retired six weeks after the crash."