Chapter 3 - M-17
The nurse insisted the number was probably an internal coding error.
Luka knew better.
I could see it.
He asked to examine Grace’s wristband without touching her.
His eyes moved over the printed letters.
M-17-2.
“What does it mean?”
I asked.
Luka looked at Ryan.
Ryan refused to meet his eyes.
“Ask him.”
I was beginning to hate those words.
“Ryan.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Elena, you need to rest.”
“No.”
“You’ve been through labor.”
“And you walked out with another woman.”
His mouth tightened.
“This isn’t about Vanessa.”
“Then tell me what it’s about.”
Silence.
I turned to Luka.
“You tell me.”
He glanced toward the open door.
“Not until we know who’s listening.”
He walked outside.
Thirty seconds later, he returned with a security guard and asked him to remain outside the room.
Then Luka closed the door.
“My father knew your father.”
I stared at him.
“How?”
“They worked together.”
“Your father was a scientist?”
“No.”
His answer was flat.
“My father financed people.”
Ryan laughed from across the room.
“That’s one way to describe it.”
Luka ignored him.
“Michael Carter was developing a genetic treatment.”
“For what?”
“A rare mitochondrial disorder.”
I had heard my father mention mitochondrial research when I was young.
But never in detail.
“He believed he found a way to prevent certain inherited mutations from being passed from mother to child.”
I looked down at Grace.
“And M-17?”
“The seventeenth research model.”
Ryan stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Luka did not stop.
“The first sixteen failed.”
My stomach twisted.
“Failed how?”
“Animal trials.”
I exhaled.
Then Luka added quietly.
“And later, human embryos.”
The room seemed colder.
I stared at him.
“My father would never—”
“Your father tried to stop it.”
That stopped me.
Luka continued.
“The project was supposed to end.”
“But someone kept it alive.”
“Who?”
Luka looked directly at Ryan.
“My father.”
Ryan gave a humorless smile.
“And several people on Carter Biomedical’s board.”
My throat tightened.
“Why would Ryan know any of this?”
Luka’s answer came slowly.
“Because Ryan’s father was their attorney.”
I looked at my husband.
He said nothing.
My mind raced backward through six years of marriage.
The charity gala where we met.
His convenient interest in my father’s work.
His eagerness to manage my trust.
His insistence on joining Carter Biomedical’s legal advisory team.
The memories rearranged themselves.
Suddenly nothing looked accidental.
“You married me because of my father.”
Ryan’s face shifted.
“No.”
“You knew who I was before we met.”
He hesitated.
That was enough.
I felt something inside me break.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
Cleanly.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
His voice was barely audible.
“How long?”
“Before the gala.”
I swallowed.
“Did Vanessa know?”
“No.”
Vanessa looked furious.
“Apparently I don’t know anything.”
Luka pulled a chair toward me.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
But I sat.
Grace slept peacefully against me.
Ryan looked at her.
“This is why I wanted the test.”
“What test?”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“When your prenatal screen showed an unusual mitochondrial sequence, the hospital system flagged it.”
My heart pounded.
“You had access to my medical records?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Luka answered.
“From discovering what your father did to save you.”
My eyes moved toward him.
“What are you talking about?”
Luka removed a photograph from his wallet.
It was old.
The colors had faded.
Two men stood outside a laboratory.
One was Luka’s father.
I recognized the other instantly.
My father.
But they were not alone.
A little girl stood between them.
She looked about three years old.
Dark hair.
Round cheeks.
A yellow sweater.
Me.
On the back, someone had written three words.
M-17 SURVIVOR.
My blood went cold.
Luka watched my face.
May you like
“You weren’t connected to M-17 because of your daughter, Elena.”
“You were M-17.”
