Chapter 68: The Housekeeper's Story

The tires squealed as I whipped the car around, the force pinning Lucia against the door. Ben grabbed the dash, his knuckles white.

"What do you mean, Martha Sterling?" I shouted into the phone. "My grandmother is dead. She's buried in the family plot."

"I'm looking at her ID right now," Dr. Patel said, her voice strained. "And the court order is signed by a federal judge. She has temporary custody pending a DNA hearing."

"Don't let her take him," I said. "Stall her. Call security. Call the police."

"The police are with her," Dr. Patel said. "They're escorting her."

I hung up, the phone sliding from my sweaty palm.

"She's not dead," I whispered. "Archibald's wife. She's alive."

"It's a fake," Mark said from the passenger seat. "Edith set it up. It's another layer of the con."

"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe it's the truth we missed."

I thought about the marriage certificate. *Maria Elena Rodriguez.* If Archibald had two wives... if he never divorced the first one...

"We need to get to the hospital," Ben said. "Before they move him."

I floored the accelerator. We wove through the morning traffic, ignoring red lights and honking horns. The city was waking up, oblivious to the war being fought in its streets.

We reached Mount Sinai in record time. I didn't bother parking. I left the car in the ambulance bay, keys in the ignition.

We ran through the lobby, past the startled security guards, and hit the elevators.

"Fourth floor," I said, jamming the button.

The doors opened onto a chaotic scene. Nurses were clustered at the nurses' station, whispering. Two police officers stood guard outside Leo's room.

And standing in front of them, arguing with Dr. Patel, was a woman.

She was old. Ancient. Her hair was white, pulled back in a severe bun. She wore a tweed suit that looked like it belonged in a museum. But her posture was steel.

She turned as we approached.

Her eyes were blue. My eyes.

"Sarah," she said. Her voice was raspy, like dry leaves.

"Who are you?" I demanded, stepping between her and the door.

"I am your grandmother," she said. "I am Martha Sterling."

"Martha Sterling died in 1990," I said. "I went to the funeral."

"You went to a funeral for an empty casket," the woman said. "Edith staged it. To get me out of the way."

She looked at Mark. Then at Lucia.

"I see she didn't manage to kill all of you."

"Why are you here?" Ben asked. "Why now?"

"Because Edith is gone," Martha said. "And the Trust reverts to the original beneficiary if the executor is incapacitated or removed."

"You?" I asked.

"Me," she said. "And as the legal guardian of the estate, I am taking custody of my great-grandson."

"He's not going anywhere with you," I said.

"He is sick," Martha said. "He needs care. Care that I can provide. I have specialists in Zurich. In Tokyo."

"He has specialists here," Dr. Patel interjected. "He is stable."

"He is stable because you are treating the symptoms," Martha snapped. "I can cure the disease."

She looked at me.

"Edith poisoned him," she said. "But the poison wasn't chemical. It was genetic. She tampered with the embryos. She tried to edit out the weakness."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Because I was there," Martha said. "In the beginning. Before she pushed me out. Before she turned my husband against me."

She stepped closer.

"I can save him, Sarah. But you have to let me take him."

I looked at her. She looked frail, but her eyes were hard. Calculating.

"Where is Edith?" I asked.

"Edith is running," Martha said. "But she won't get far. I have people looking for her."

"People?"

"The old guard," she said. "The ones who were loyal to Archibald. Not to his bastard daughter."

She reached into her purse. The cops tensed, hands moving to their belts.

But she only pulled out a photo. An old, black and white photo.

It showed Archibald Sterling standing on a dock. Next to him was a woman—Martha, young and beautiful.

And in her arms, she held a baby.

"That's my son," she said. "Michael."

Mark made a choking sound. "My father."

"Yes," Martha said. "Your father. Edith killed him. Did you know that?"

"She said it was an accident," Mark whispered.

"It was no accident," Martha said. "She cut the brake lines. Because he was going to leave her. He was going to take the money and leave."

She looked at me.

"I lost my son to that woman. I won't lose my grandson."

I looked at the photo. Then at Martha.

"If you take him," I said, "where will you go?"

"To safety," she said.

"No," I said. "We're done running. We're done hiding."

I pulled the file from my jacket. The one from the basement.

"We have the proof," I said. "We have the DNA. We have the witness testimony. We don't need to run."

I held up the file.

"But we do need answers."

"What answers?" Martha asked.

"About the padding," I said.

Martha frowned. "What padding?"

"Elise told me," I said. "The maid. She said Edith wore pregnancy padding in 1988."

Martha's face went blank.

"Edith was never pregnant," she said. "She was sterile. That's why she stole the babies."

"Then why did she wear padding?" I asked.

"To fake it," Martha said. "To make the world think the heir was hers."

"No," I said. "That's what she wanted us to think. That's the easy answer."

I looked at the date on the file. June 1988.

"She wasn't faking a pregnancy for the public," I said. "She was faking it for Archibald."

Martha stiffened.

"Archibald was dying," I said. "He wanted an heir. A blood heir. If Edith couldn't give him one... she would lose the estate."

"So she stole one," Martha said.

"No," I said. "She didn't just steal one. She tried to *become* one."

I opened the file to the last page. A medical chart I hadn't noticed before.

*Patient: Edith Sterling.*
*Procedure: Hysterectomy.*
*Date: 1975.*

I looked at Martha.

"She didn't have a uterus," I said. "She couldn't carry a child. Not even a stolen one."

"I know," Martha said. "I signed the consent form."

"Then who carried the baby?" I asked. "Who carried Leo? Who carried Mark? Who carried us?"

Martha looked away.

"There was no padding," she whispered.

"Elise saw it," I said. "She saw the pillow."

"Elise saw what she wanted to see," Martha said. "What she was paid to see."

She looked back at me. Her eyes were filled with a terrible, ancient guilt.

"There was no pillow," she said. "Because there was no pregnancy. Edith didn't fake it."

"Then where did we come from?" Lucia asked.

Martha took a deep breath.

"You came from the tank," she said.

I froze.

"The tank?"

"The artificial womb," Martha said. "Thorne's masterpiece. The Genesis Chamber."

She pointed to the photo of Archibald.

"He didn't just want an heir," she said. "He wanted immortality. He wanted to create a perfect lineage, untouched by human frailty. Untouched by... women."

She looked at me.

"You weren't born, Sarah. You were decanted."