Chapter 15 - THE LOWEST POINT
The raid should have felt like victory.
It didn’t.
Vale posted bail within twelve hours.
Cross’s attorneys claimed the facility belonged to an independent contractor.
Helix Crown denied knowing anything about the kidnapping.
Ryan’s confession exposed him to criminal charges.
Samuel was suspended pending investigation.
Evelyn disappeared into federal protective custody.
And I learned the most painful truth of all.
The three sequence strips were incomplete.
One portion was still missing.
Without it, neither Helix nor I could prove what M-17 actually was.
The missing portion was called the origin key.
According to Evelyn, my father had never stored it digitally.
He kept it in his memory.
Which meant if he was dead, the final piece died with him.
Unless he wasn’t dead.
We flew to Canada.
North Star Clinical Foundation had closed three years earlier.
The property had been converted into a rehabilitation center.
No one recognized the name Martin Cole.
Then an elderly nurse named Margaret saw my father’s photograph.
Her face changed.
“I knew him.”
My knees weakened.
“You knew Michael Carter?”
“We knew him as Martin.”
“Was he here?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Almost nine years.”
My heart stopped.
Nine years.
My father had been alive while I finished high school.
Alive when I went to college.
Alive when I got married.
Alive while I mourned him.
“Where is he now?”
Margaret looked sad.
“He left.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
The same year my mother discovered Ryan’s connection to Helix.
The same year my marriage began falling apart.
“Did he say where?”
“No.”
“But he left this.”
She walked into an office.
When she returned, she held an envelope.
ELENA.
My father’s handwriting.
My fingers shook so badly Luka opened it for me.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
Older.
A scar near his temple.
Standing in front of a lake.
Alive.
On the back he had written.
I wanted to come home every day.
But coming home would have led them to you.
Forgive me.
Below it was a date.
Three years earlier.
And coordinates.
Luka entered them into his phone.
“Maine.”
My mother stared at the map.
“Our old cabin.”
We drove through the night.
The cabin stood beside a frozen lake surrounded by pine trees.
I had spent summers there as a child.
The door was unlocked.
Dust covered the furniture.
No one had lived there recently.
But inside the fireplace was a metal box.
My father’s journals.
The final pages documented his recovery after the plane crash.
Antonio Moretti had rescued him.
Hidden him.
Protected him.
My father had suffered a brain injury and partial memory loss.
It took years for him to recover enough to reconstruct M-17.
Then he discovered Helix was monitoring me.
So he stayed away.
The final journal entry was dated two months earlier.
Grace will be born soon.
If Elena has a daughter, Helix will move immediately.
I can no longer remain hidden.
I have contacted Samuel.
I will return when it is safe.
I stared at the page.
Two months ago.
My father had planned to come back.
Then Luka found something tucked into the journal.
A boarding pass.
Boston to Chicago.
Dated three weeks ago.
My heart pounded.
“He came back.”
Ryan looked at me.
“Where is he?”
No one knew.
Then Luka noticed one final note in the margin.
Three letters.
S.G.H.
I recognized them instantly.
May you like
Saint Gabriel Hospital.
The hospital where Grace was born.
