Chapter 9 - THE SECRET BEHIND HANNAH'S WALL
Patricia did not answer inside the warehouse.
She waited until they were in Luca's armored SUV, driving toward the small Edison house Hannah had considered the safest place in her life.
Daniel sat beside Patricia.
Gabriel sat opposite them.
Nobody looked comfortable.
Luca drove.
Hannah finally said, “Tell me.”
Patricia stared through the windshield.
“When I gave birth to you, you were healthy.”
“That isn't what Michael meant.”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“They tried to kill me.”
Daniel turned sharply.
“What?”
Patricia looked at him.
“I never told you.”
“Clearly.”
“The hemorrhage wasn't natural.”
Daniel went pale.
“You almost died.”
“Yes.”
“You said there had been complications.”
“There were.”
“Patty.”
Her voice broke.
“A nurse injected something into my IV.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“How do you know?”
“Because Rebecca stopped her.”
Luca looked in the mirror.
“Rebecca was there?”
“She was twenty-three. Training as a volunteer at the clinic while studying hospital administration.”
Hannah tried to imagine a younger Rebecca.
“She saved you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she saw your bassinet being moved into a restricted nursery.”
Patricia explained that newborn Hannah had been marked with a code used for “legacy children”—descendants of families the network tracked.
Michael's bloodline.
Elisabetta's line.
Carlo Rinaldi's line.
“When Rebecca challenged the nurse,” Patricia said, “they told her the baby had been transferred for testing.”
“What testing?”
“Compatibility.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
It never ended.
Rebecca had stolen Hannah back from the restricted nursery and placed her in Patricia's room.
For three days, they hid Hannah's identity beneath another infant's hospital number while Patricia recovered.
That was why Rebecca had been photographed holding her.
“That picture,” Hannah whispered.
“Rebecca was waiting for forged discharge documents.”
“And the note?”
KEEP HER AWAY FROM LUCA.
Patricia looked at Luca.
“Rebecca wrote it years later.”
“Why?”
“She discovered Luca's DNA had also been cataloged. If anyone noticed you were related, they could trace Michael.”
Luca nodded slowly.
“So the warning wasn't because I was dangerous.”
“No.”
“It was because my family was.”
Patricia whispered, “Yes.”
They reached Edison shortly before eight in the morning.
Hannah's childhood home looked painfully ordinary.
Blue siding.
Small porch.
Daniel's pickup in the driveway.
A ceramic bird Hannah had given him for Father's Day.
Luca stared at it.
“This is where you hid the most dangerous document in New Jersey?”
Patricia said, “Nobody searches ordinary houses.”
Daniel muttered, “Apparently including me.”
They entered.
Hannah walked upstairs.
Her childhood bedroom was now a sewing room.
The pale yellow wall remained.
Patricia pointed toward the closet.
“Behind the baseboard.”
Daniel stared.
“I replaced that baseboard.”
Patricia grimaced.
“When?”
“2019.”
Everyone froze.
“Did you find anything?”
“No.”
Luca went to the wall.
“Then someone moved it.”
Daniel thought.
“When I pulled the trim, there was a metal box.”
Patricia's breath caught.
“What did you do with it?”
“I thought it was old electrical housing. I left it.”
Luca removed the baseboard.
A rectangular outline remained.
Empty.
Hannah closed her eyes.
“Someone got here first.”
Daniel suddenly said, “No.”
He left the room.
They followed him to the garage.
He moved a cabinet.
Behind it sat an old red metal toolbox.
Daniel opened it.
“I found something inside the wall after I removed the box.”
He lifted a ledger wrapped in plastic.
Patricia almost collapsed.
“You had it?”
“For seven years.”
“You never opened it?”
“I did.”
Everyone stared.
Daniel shrugged.
“It was names and numbers. I assumed it was one of Patricia's old nursing logs.”
Hannah laughed from disbelief.
“You kept it because?”
“Your mother kept everything.”
Patricia glared.
“That is not true.”
Daniel looked at the forty boxes stacked behind her.
Nobody said anything.
For one ridiculous moment, Hannah almost laughed.
Then Luca opened the ledger.
The first pages contained dates.
Births.
Deaths.
Transfers.
Payments.
The names became more recognizable.
Judges.
Business executives.
Doctors.
Politicians.
Crime families.
Some marked RECEIVED.
Some TRANSFERRED.
Some DECEASED.
Others REASSIGNED.
Hannah felt ill.
Luca turned pages.
Then stopped.
OWEN DELUCA.
BENJAMIN DELUCA.
SOPHIA DELUCA.
Beside each name were codes.
He photographed the pages.
Further back:
HANNAH BROOKS.
Status:
LEGACY HEIR.
HOLD UNTIL AGE 30.
Daniel swore.
Gabriel leaned closer.
Below that:
MICHAEL DELUCA/RUSSO.
Status:
RECOVERED.
NONCOMPLIANT.
REMOVE IF NECESSARY.
Gabriel stared.
“So they tried to kill me too.”
Patricia touched his arm.
He pulled away gently.
Not angrily.
Just not ready.
Luca turned another page.
Then stopped completely.
“Rebecca.”
Hannah looked.
REBECCA MARIE HALSTON DELUCA.
Status:
MATERNAL ASSET.
RETAIN.
Luca's fingers tightened.
Another note had been added three years ago.
SUBJECT REFUSED FOURTH IMPLANTATION.
STAGE DEATH.
Hannah whispered, “Fourth?”
Luca turned the page.
Three children were listed.
Sophie.
Owen.
Ben.
Then a fourth entry.
INFANT FEMALE C.
Born nine years ago.
Luca stared.
“That would have been after the twins.”
Patricia read the status.
TRANSFERRED.
LOCATION SEA-17.
Rebecca had another daughter.
A fourth child.
Alive, at least when the record was written.
Hannah whispered, “Does Rebecca know?”
Luca's face said she did not.
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
Everyone froze.
Luca closed the ledger.
“Daniel, back door.”
Gabriel drew his gun.
Hannah heard another creak.
Then a voice from the kitchen.
“Please don't shoot.”
Celeste.
Luca stormed downstairs.
She stood near the table.
Alone.
“You disappeared.”
“I had to.”
“No more of that.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked at the ledger.
“You found it.”
“Yes.”
“Then you found the fourth child.”
Luca went still.
“You knew.”
Celeste cried.
“I found out yesterday.”
“Where is she?”
“SEA-17 isn't a place.”
“What is it?”
“A patient code.”
“For who?”
Celeste looked at Hannah.
“Margaret.”
Hannah frowned.
“The child is Margaret?”
“No.”
Celeste shook her head.
“SEA means Seattle.”
Luca's patience vanished.
“Celeste.”
“Rebecca's fourth child was transferred to a Bellini-affiliated family in Seattle.”
“Name.”
“I only found the adopted name this morning.”
She pulled out her phone.
A school photograph appeared.
A nine-year-old girl with dark hair.
Gray eyes.
Her name:
EMILY WARD.
Luca stared.
“Where is she?”
Celeste swallowed.
“That’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
“The family reported her missing four days ago.”
Hannah felt cold.
“Bellini took her?”
Celeste shook her head.
“No.”
“Michael?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Celeste looked toward the window.
A black SUV had stopped outside Daniel's house.
The driver's door opened.
Rebecca stepped out.
Alone.
Barefoot.
Still wearing hospital clothing beneath Luca's coat.
Luca rushed outside.
“Rebecca?”
She looked exhausted.
But conscious.
“How did you get here?”
Rebecca stared past him.
At the ledger in Hannah's hands.
“You found it.”
Luca touched her face.
“There was another baby.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
A tear escaped.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“I remembered this morning.”
“What happened?”
“They took her before I woke up.”
“We'll find her.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
Luca stared.
“What?”
Rebecca looked toward the black SUV.
The rear door opened.
A little girl climbed out.
Emily.
Nine years old.
Alive.
Rebecca smiled through tears.
“I already did.”
Luca couldn't move.
Emily looked at him.
“Are you my dad?”
Before Luca could answer, another vehicle turned onto the street.
Then another.
Then six more.
Black SUVs blocked both ends of the road.
Gabriel stepped outside with his gun.
His face darkened.
“Michael.”
Rebecca grabbed Emily.
Luca moved everyone toward the house.
But a loudspeaker came from the lead vehicle.
Michael Rinaldi's voice.
“Give me the ledger, Hannah.”
She held it tighter.
Michael continued.
“And I will tell all four DeLuca children why their grandfather is still alive.”
Luca stopped.
Rebecca stared at him.
Hannah whispered, “Vittorio?”
The loudspeaker clicked again.
Then came a voice Luca had not heard in twenty-two years.
May you like
His father's.
“Hello, son.”
