Chapter 2 - The Man My Father Trusted
Luka locked the door to my hospital room.
I did not like that.
I liked even less that hospital security allowed him to do it.
“Who are you?”
He stood beside the window.
“My name really is Luka Moretti.”
“I already know your name.”
“My family owns Moretti Risk Management.”
I had heard of the company.
Everyone had.
They protected politicians, executives, celebrities, and international corporations.
“You’re security?”
“Among other things.”
“That still doesn’t explain my father.”
Luka became quiet.
My father, Thomas Bennett, had died six years earlier in what police called a highway accident.
He had been an accountant.
At least that was what I had always believed.
Luka reached inside his jacket.
He placed an old photograph on the table.
My father was standing in the picture.
Beside him was a much younger Luka.
Luka had fewer tattoos.
My father had his arm around Luka’s shoulder.
On the back, my father had written three words.
KEEP HER SAFE.
My knees weakened.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your father gave it to me.”
“You knew him?”
“He saved my life.”
I stared at Luka.
“My father was an accountant.”
“No.”
Luka shook his head.
“Your father audited medical companies.”
“He worked for Bennett Financial.”
“That was the public company.”
My daughter began to fuss.
I held her closer.
Luka continued.
“Twenty-six years ago, your father discovered financial transfers connected to a private fertility research program.”
I felt cold.
“What program?”
“M-17.”
There it was again.
That code.
“He started collecting evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Illegal genetic testing.”
My skin prickled.
“On babies?”
“On mothers.”
He looked at me.
“And on embryos.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“My father had nothing to do with fertility clinics.”
“Yes, Elena.”
My name sounded different in his voice.
“He did.”
I looked down at my newborn daughter.
Isla.
My beautiful little Isla.
“What does that have to do with her?”
Luka did not answer immediately.
Instead, he took out his phone.
He opened an encrypted image.
It showed an old hospital ledger.
Most names were blacked out.
One was not.
BENNETT, ELENA.
My own name.
Beside it was a handwritten code.
M-17.
My throat closed.
“That date…”
I could barely speak.
“That’s the year I was born.”
Luka nodded.
I stared at the old record.
Then at my sleeping daughter.
“You said this started twenty-five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to M-17?”
“Your father shut it down.”
“And now?”
Luka looked toward the locked door.
“Someone started it again.”
A knock sounded.
Three slow knocks.
Luka’s entire posture changed.
His hand moved beneath his jacket.
“Who is it?”
A woman answered from outside.
“Hospital records.”
Luka looked at me.
Then at the clock.
May you like
It was 2:17 in the morning.
Hospital records did not visit maternity rooms at 2:17 in the morning.
