Chapter 45: The Genetic Marker

The woods were dark, a tangled maze of pines and briars that snagged our clothes as we ran. The moon was a sliver, barely cutting through the canopy, but I followed the sound of crashing branches ahead. Edith wasn't running quietly. She was running like a cornered animal.

"The boat house is on the north shore," Mark said, breathless. "It's old. Dilapidated. She keeps a speedboat there."

"If she gets on that lake," Ben said, "she can cross to Canada. Or just disappear into the deep water."

We burst out of the trees onto a small, rocky beach. The boathouse loomed ahead, a hulking shadow against the water. The door was open, swinging in the wind.

Inside, we heard the roar of an engine starting.

"She's already there!" I yelled.

We sprinted across the sand. The boathouse was a rotting wooden structure, half-sunk into the mud. Inside, a sleek black speedboat was idling in the slip. Edith was at the wheel, frantically untying the ropes.

"Stop!" Mark shouted.

He jumped onto the dock, grabbing the stern line. Edith saw him. She revved the engine, the prop churning the water into white foam. The boat lurched forward, pulling the rope taut.

Mark stumbled, nearly falling into the water.

"Let go!" Edith screamed over the noise. "Or I'll drag you under!"

"You're not going anywhere!" I yelled, running to the other side of the dock. I grabbed a boat hook from the wall and swung it at the windshield.

*Crack.*

The glass shattered. Edith flinched, shielding her face.

"You ungrateful little—"

"The ledger!" I shouted. "Give me the ledger!"

"Come and get it," she snarled.

She gunned the engine again. The rope snapped with a sound like a whip crack. Mark fell backward onto the dock. The boat shot forward, tearing out of the slip.

"No!" I screamed.

But Ben was already moving. He ran to the end of the dock and leaped.

He hit the back of the boat, his fingers scrabbling for a hold on the slippery fiberglass. He hung there for a terrifying second, his legs dragging in the wake.

"Ben!" I yelled.

He pulled himself up, tumbling over the transom into the cockpit. Edith screamed as he grabbed her. The boat swerved violently, carving a wide arc across the dark water.

I watched, helpless, as they struggled for the wheel. The boat was spinning in circles, the engine whining.

Then, the boat hit something. A submerged log? A rock?

There was a sickening crunch. The boat leaped into the air, then slammed back down, capsizing.

Silence.

The engine died. The water settled. The boat was upside down, bobbing in the moonlight.

"Ben!" I screamed, running to the edge of the water.

Nothing.

Then, a head broke the surface. Ben. He was gasping, coughing up water. He was dragging something with him.

Not a person. A bag. A waterproof dry bag.

"I got it!" he choked out.

I waded into the freezing water, pulling him toward the shore. He collapsed on the sand, shivering.

"Where is she?" Mark asked, scanning the lake.

We waited. Ten seconds. Twenty.

Then, another splash.

Edith surfaced near the overturned hull. She wasn't swimming. She was flailing.

"Help me!" she screamed. "I can't swim!"

I looked at her. The woman who had stolen my life. Who had killed my mother. Who had tried to kill my son.

"Let her drown," Mark whispered.

It would be easy. Just stand here. Just watch.

But then I thought of Leo. My brother. The man who had refused to let hate consume him, even after thirty years in a cage.

"No," I said. "We're not her."

I grabbed the boat hook again and waded back out. I extended it toward her.

"Grab it!"

She thrashed, panic in her eyes. She grabbed the hook. I pulled. It was heavy, dead weight, but I hauled her in, inch by inch, until she was in the shallows.

She crawled onto the sand, retching, her silk gown ruined, her hair a mat of weeds. She looked small. Pathetic.

Ben opened the dry bag. Inside was a thick, leather-bound book.

He opened it.

Rows of numbers. Account names. Routing codes.

"It's all here," he said. "The Cayman accounts. The shell companies. Everything."

Edith looked up at the book. She didn't lunge for it. She didn't scream. She just slumped, defeated.

"It was for the family," she whispered. "It was all for the family."

"No," I said, looking down at her. "It was for you."

Sirens wailed in the distance. The police were coming. For real this time.

I looked at the ledger. Then I looked at my phone. I had a missed call.

From the hospital.

I dialed Dr. Patel back.

"Sarah?" she said, her voice urgent. "Where are you?"

"I'm safe," I said. "Is Leo okay?"

"He's stable," she said. "But Sarah... the test results came back."

My heart stopped. "And?"

"You were right," she said. "He has Von Willebrand's Type 2N. The leukemia diagnosis was wrong. The chemotherapy was poisoning him."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "So he'll live?"

"Yes," she said. "He'll need treatment, but he'll recover. But Sarah... there's something else."

"What?"

"We ran a full genetic panel," she said. "To confirm the donor match. And... we found a marker."

"A marker?"

"A rare antigen," she said. "It's almost unique. It doesn't appear in the general population. It's specific to a very small, very isolated genetic group."

I looked at Edith, shivering on the sand.

"What group?" I asked.

"It's not a group, Sarah," Dr. Patel said. "It's a family. A specific family line."

She paused.

"The marker isn't from the Sterlings. And it's not from Dr. Thorne."

"Then where is it from?"

"It's from the egg donor," Dr. Patel said. "The woman who provided the egg for Leo."

"Clara," I said.

"No," Dr. Patel said. "Not Clara."

I froze.

"But... the diary. The padding."

"Sarah," Dr. Patel said gently. "The marker matches a sample in our cold case database. From a Jane Doe found in 1988."

"Who?"

"We don't know her name," Dr. Patel said. "But we know she had a sister. A sister who disappeared around the same time."

I looked at Ben. He was watching me, concern etched on his face.

"Ben," I whispered. "Did Alice have a sister?"

Ben frowned. "No. Just me."

"Then who is the Jane Doe?"

I looked at Edith. She was watching me, a strange, twisted smile on her lips.

"You think you solved the puzzle," she whispered. "But you're missing the corner piece."

"Who is Leo's mother?" I demanded.

Edith laughed. It was a wet, gurgling sound.

"You are," she said.

"That's impossible," I said. "I was a baby in 1988."

"Not that Leo," Edith said. "The other one."

She pointed a shaking finger at the man standing by the car. My brother. The man I had rescued from the basement.

"He's not Clara's son," Edith said.

"Then who is he?"

"He's mine," she whispered.

I stared at her. "You said you were sterile."

"I lied," she said. "I had a son. In 1988. But he was... wrong. He was like his father."

"Who was his father?"

Edith looked at the moon.

"Archibald," she said.

My stomach heaved. "Archibald? Your father?"

"My adoptive father," she said. "He wasn't a good man, Sarah. He didn't just want a legacy. He wanted to keep it pure."

She looked at Leo.

"He's my son," she said. "And my brother."

The horror of it washed over me. The sickness at the heart of the Sterling name wasn't greed. It was incest.

"And Clara?" I asked.

"Clara found out," Edith said. "That's why I locked her away. She wasn't crazy. She was disgusted."

I looked at Leo. He was watching us, his face blank. He didn't know. He couldn't know.

"And me?" I asked. "Where do I fit in?"

"You," Edith said, "were the cleanup. The distraction. The perfect, pretty lie to cover the ugly truth."

She closed her eyes.

"And now," she said, "you know everything."

The police cars burst through the trees, lights flashing.

It was over.

But as they cuffed Edith and led her away, I looked at Leo. My brother. My uncle. The victim of a crime so heinous it defied words.

And I knew one thing.

The Sterling name ended here.

I walked over to Ben. I took the ledger from his hands.

"Burn it," I said.

"What?" Ben asked. "But the money..."

"The money is poison," I said. "Burn it."

Ben looked at me. Then he pulled out his lighter.

He lit the corner of the book. We watched it burn, the pages curling into ash, the secrets of the Sterling fortune turning to smoke.

"It's done," I said.

But as the fire died down, I saw something in the embers. A piece of paper that hadn't burned completely.

It was a photo. Tucked into the back cover of the ledger.

I picked it up. The edges were singed, but the image was clear.

It was a picture of a baby. A girl.

And on the back, in Edith's handwriting:

*Project Gemini. Subject 2. Location: Unknown.*

Subject 2.

I wasn't the only one.

There was another sister.

And she was out there. Somewhere.