Chapter 14 - THE SISTER’S BLOODMaren received Celeste’s letter at dawn.
She did not open it for three hours.
It sat on the tray beside her untouched breakfast, folded neatly, her name written in Celeste’s careful handwriting.
Vivian noticed it when she entered.
Maren noticed Vivian noticing.
“Don’t,” Maren said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
Despite herself, Maren almost smiled.
Almost.
Vivian placed fresh coffee on the table. “Nora is coming with updates. Also, the hospital director asked if you would consider moving to the secure wing.”
“No.”
“Maren.”
“I am done being moved like furniture because men are dangerous.”
Vivian sat.
“Security is not surrender.”
“I know.”
“But?”
Maren looked at Celeste’s letter.
“But every locked door feels like Reed winning a little.”
Vivian did not argue.
That helped.
Nora arrived ten minutes later with the expression of someone carrying bad news and worse news.
Maren leaned back.
“Start with the one that will make me angry.”
“They all will.”
“Then surprise me.”
Nora opened her tablet.
“Reed received a visitor posing as an attorney last night. Fake credentials. He got in and out before anyone realized.”
Gabriel, standing near the door, looked murderous.
“What did he give Reed?”
“A photograph and a message.”
Nora showed them the scanned image.
The daughter has the patents. The mother has the key. But the sister has the blood.
Vivian stood so quickly her chair scraped backward.
Maren looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
Vivian’s face had gone pale.
“Nothing good.”
“Mother.”
Vivian flinched slightly at the word. Maren had not called her that since her return.
She came closer.
“There is one part of your father’s research that never entered corporate records.”
Maren’s stomach tightened.
“Human trials?”
“No. Genetic authentication.”
Nora frowned. “For the technology?”
Vivian nodded. “Samuel feared the patents would be stolen, so he designed final access controls using family biological markers. Not just fingerprints or voice. Bloodline markers.”
Maren slowly turned toward Celeste’s unopened letter.
“The sister has the blood,” she said.
Vivian whispered, “Celeste can access something you can’t.”
Maren felt a bitter laugh rising.
Of course.
Even now, Celeste mattered.
Even now, the family wound had another lock inside it.
“What something?” Maren asked.
Vivian shook her head.
“I don’t know. Samuel never told me everything.”
Maren’s anger sharpened.
“That seems to be a family tradition.”
Vivian closed her eyes.
Nora interrupted gently. “We need to speak with Celeste.”
Maren picked up the letter.
Her fingers hovered over the fold.
Then she opened it.
Celeste had written three pages.
No excuses.
No sentimental childhood memories used as weapons.
Just facts.
Reed’s schedule.
Places he took calls.
The name of a private clinic where he had once brought her for “bloodwork” after she panicked about a pregnancy scare.
Maren stopped reading.
Bloodwork.
She looked at Nora.
“When?”
Nora scanned the page. “Two years ago.”
Vivian’s face hardened.
“Reed collected her genetic profile.”
Maren continued reading.
At the bottom, Celeste had written:
He said it was for my safety. I believed him because I wanted to be worth protecting.
Maren folded the letter again.
For the first time, she did not feel rage toward Celeste.
She felt tired.
Rage required the belief that someone had chosen freely.
Celeste had chosen, yes.
But Reed had laid the road, lit it, and praised her for walking.
That did not erase guilt.
It made the guilt uglier.
“Bring her,” Maren said.
Celeste arrived twenty minutes later, guarded and trembling.
She did not look at Vivian first.
She looked at Maren.
“Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t leave anything out.”
Maren studied her.
“You left out whether Reed took your blood.”
Celeste went still.
Vivian stepped closer.
Celeste’s hand moved to the inside of her elbow unconsciously.
“He said he wanted proof I wasn’t pregnant before giving me medication.”
“What medication?” Nora asked sharply.
Celeste looked ashamed.
“I wasn’t pregnant. I was scared. He said stress could confuse tests. He gave me something to calm down.”
Vivian muttered, “Animal.”
Maren’s voice stayed level.
“Did he take blood?”
Celeste nodded.
“How many vials?”
“Three.”
Nora swore.
Gabriel stepped out to make calls.
Celeste looked between them.
“What did he do?”
Maren handed her the photograph.
Celeste read the message.
All color left her face.
“No.”
Maren watched closely.
Celeste’s fear was real.
“I don’t know anything,” Celeste whispered.
“No,” Maren said. “But your blood might.”
By noon, they had the clinic records.
Forged names.
Cash payments.
Samples sent to a private lab connected to a company Reed had never disclosed.
The company name was printed at the bottom of the report.
Laurel BioSystems.
Vivian sat down slowly.
Maren looked at her.
“Laurel again.”
Vivian stared at the name.
“Laurel was our safe route. Samuel’s code. Someone turned it into a company.”
Nora searched corporate filings.
The registered owner appeared behind three layers of shell entities.
Then one name surfaced.
Dr. Helena Cross.
Gabriel, returning through the door, stopped dead.
Maren saw his face.
“Gabriel?”
He did not answer.
Vivian turned.
“Helena is dead.”
Gabriel’s jaw worked.
“No,” he said.
Nora looked up.
“Who is Helena Cross?”
Gabriel’s voice was low.
“My mother.”
The room fell silent.
Maren looked from Gabriel to Vivian.
Vivian seemed genuinely shocked.
Gabriel stepped back as if the floor had shifted beneath him.
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
Maren’s voice softened despite everything.
“So did mine.”
The words hit him.
Gabriel looked at Vivian.
“You knew my father. Did you know her?”
Vivian nodded slowly.
“Helena Cross was Samuel’s lead geneticist.”
Gabriel’s face changed from grief to fury.
“And nobody told me?”
Vivian’s silence was answer enough.
Nora whispered, “The dead keep coming back.”
Maren looked at the photograph again.
The daughter has the patents.
The mother has the key.
The sister has the blood.
And now, maybe, Gabriel’s mother had the laboratory.
At that exact moment, every screen in the hospital room went black.
The television.
Nora’s tablet.
Maren’s phone.
Then a single video feed appeared.
An older woman with silver-black hair sat in a laboratory surrounded by blue light.
Gabriel took one step forward.
His voice broke.
“Mom?”
The woman looked into the camera.
“My son,” she said. “I am sorry.”
Then her eyes shifted, as if reading from someone standing behind the camera.
“Maren Whitaker,” she continued, “you have forty-eight hours to give us Celeste.”
Vivian moved in front of Maren instinctively.
The woman’s voice shook.
“Or we release the treatment that could help you walk again… to the highest bidder.”
The screen went dark.
Nobody spoke.
Celeste covered her mouth.
Maren stared at her own reflection in the blank screen.
May you like
They had not just stolen her past.
They were holding her future hostage.
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