Part 6: The Man in the Photo
Part 6: The Man in the Photo
The text message felt like a physical blow. I stared at the screen, then at the man standing by the door—the man I had called 'Dad' my entire life. He was watching me, his eyes narrowing as he saw my expression change. 'Who is it, Elena?' he asked, his voice dropping an octave. I quickly tucked the phone into my pocket. 'Just Mark,' I lied, my heart racing. 'He's wondering where I am.' My father nodded slowly, but I could tell he didn't believe me. He told me to follow him out, that he’d have his driver take my car back so I could 'rest.'
I played along. I had to. I followed him to his car, but as he was distracted talking to his security on the radio, I managed to palm the silver key from the dirt. During the drive back, I sat in the backseat, my mind spinning. If Julian wasn't my father, then who was? And why would my mother go along with this? When we got back to the estate, my mother was still in the same position by the window, like a statue of grief. I realized she wasn't just cold; she was terrified.
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I waited until the house went quiet that night. I crept into my father’s study—the room from the photo. I began searching his private files, looking for anything related to the 'Switzerland' clinic. I found a folder marked 'Project Castor.' Inside was a document that made my blood run cold. It was a surrogacy contract, but it wasn't for a baby. It was for an 'Identity Transfer.' The contract stated that in the event of the 'Primary Subject's' failure, the 'Secondary Subject' would be harvested for all necessary biological components.
But at the bottom, there was a signature from the biological donor. It wasn't Julian's name. It was a man named Thomas Thorne—a man who had been my father’s chief rival in the judicial circuit twenty-seven years ago. A man who had 'disappeared' shortly after the twins were born. I looked at a photo of Thomas Thorne I found online, and the resemblance was undeniable. I wasn't a Judge's daughter. I was the stolen child of his enemy, kept as a medical insurance policy for a life he had stolen. I heard a soft sob from the doorway. My mother was standing there, her face tear-streaked. 'He killed Thomas, Elena,' she whispered. 'And he’ll kill you too if he finds out you know.' Before I could respond, the front door burst open, and I heard the heavy tread of boots on the hardwood. My father wasn't alone.
