Chapter 69: The Deposition

I looked at Martha, really looked at her, for the first time. The tweed suit. The sensible shoes. The face that had aged but not softened. She wasn't just a grandmother. She was an architect.

"Decanted?" Lucia repeated, the word hanging in the sterile hospital air like a pollutant. "You mean... test tubes?"

"I mean tanks," Martha said, her voice steady, devoid of shame. "Artificial wombs. Thorne developed the technology for livestock. Archibald saw the potential for... legacy."

"You made us in a lab," I said, the nausea rising in my throat. "Like science experiments."

"We made you perfect," Martha corrected. "We edited out the weakness. The addiction. The mental illness. The flaws that plagued the Sterling line for generations."

"You didn't edit out anything," I said. "Leo is sick. Clara was broken. And Edith... Edith is a monster."

"Edith was a mistake," Martha said, her face tightening. "A control variable. She wasn't decanted. She was natural born. And look how she turned out."

She gestured to the police officers.

"Now, step aside. I am taking my grandson."

"No," I said.

I moved to block the door. Ben and Mark stepped up beside me. Lucia, still holding her taser, moved to the flank.

"You have no rights here," Martha said. "I am the executor."

"Not anymore," I said.

I pulled the file from my jacket—the one I had taken from the basement. But I didn't open it to the medical records. I opened it to the legal section.

The section I had scanned in the car.

"This is an affidavit," I said, holding up a document. "Signed by Dr. Aris Thorne. Dated yesterday."

Martha's eyes flickered.

"Thorne is a liar," she said.

"He's a witness," I said. "And in this affidavit, he admits to falsifying the death certificates of Maria Elena Rodriguez and... Martha Sterling."

The police officers shifted, their hands moving away from their belts.

"He admits that you faked your death in 1990 to avoid prosecution for illegal human experimentation," I continued. "And that you have been living under the alias 'Martha Graves' in Switzerland, funding Edith's operations from afar."

Martha's face went pale.

"That's absurd," she said.

"Is it?" I asked. "Because he also provided the account numbers. The wire transfers. The emails between you and Edith."

I looked at the officers.

"This woman is not Martha Sterling," I said. "She is a fugitive. Wanted by the Hague for crimes against humanity."

The lead officer stepped forward. "Ma'am? I'm going to need to see that ID again."

Martha didn't move. She stared at me, her blue eyes—my eyes—filled with a cold, calculating rage.

"You are just like him," she whispered. "Just like Archibald. Stubborn. Arrogant."

"I'm nothing like him," I said. "I'm Sarah. Just Sarah."

Martha lunged.

Not at me. At the officer.

She was fast for an eighty-year-old woman. She grabbed the officer's taser from his belt and fired.

The prongs hit Ben in the chest.

He went down, convulsing.

"Ben!" I screamed.

Martha didn't stop. She spun around, aiming the taser at me. But she didn't fire. She threw it.

It hit me in the face, hard. I stumbled back, blood filling my mouth.

Martha ran.

She shoved past Dr. Patel, knocking her into a cart of medical supplies. She bolted down the hallway toward the emergency exit.

"Get her!" the officer yelled.

Mark and the cops took off after her.

I dropped to my knees beside Ben. He was gasping, his eyes rolling back.

"Ben," I said, grabbing his hand. "Stay with me."

"I'm... okay," he wheezed. "Just... stings."

Lucia was helping Dr. Patel up. "Is Leo safe?"

"He's locked in," Dr. Patel said, straightening her coat. "The door is mag-locked. Only I have the code."

I looked down the hall. The stairwell door was swinging shut.

"She's going to the roof," I said. "The helipad."

"She has a chopper?" Lucia asked.

"She has money," I said. "She has everything."

I helped Ben sit up. "Can you move?"

"Go," he said. "Get her."

I ran.

My face throbbed, my lungs burned, but I didn't stop. I hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. Fifth floor. Sixth floor. Roof access.

I burst out onto the roof.

The wind was whipping across the helipad, carrying the sound of approaching rotors. A black helicopter was descending, its lights cutting through the morning gray.

Martha was standing in the center of the pad, her hair whipping around her face. She was waving to the pilot.

"Martha!" I screamed.

She turned. She smiled.

"You're too late, Sarah," she shouted over the noise. "The legacy survives. It always survives."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, silver canister.

Cryogenic.

"I have the samples," she yelled. "I have the future."

I stared at the canister. The eggs. The sperm. The potential for a thousand more broken lives.

"No," I whispered.

I didn't have a weapon. I didn't have a plan.

But I had the truth.

"Archibald didn't love you!" I screamed.

Martha froze.

"He didn't do it for the legacy!" I yelled, walking toward her. "He did it because he hated you! He hated what you became! That's why he married Maria! That's why he had a real family!"

"Liar!" Martha shrieked. "He worshipped me! We were gods!"

"He was a man," I said. "A sad, lonely man who wanted a wife, not a scientist. He didn't decant us to save the line. He decanted us to replace you."

Martha stared at me. The helicopter touched down, the downdraft nearly knocking us over. The door opened. A hand reached out for her.

She looked at the hand. Then she looked at the canister.

"He loved me," she whispered.

"He left you," I said. "And now you're leaving us. Forever."

I lunged.

I didn't tackle her. I didn't try to hurt her.

I grabbed the canister.

We wrestled for it, slipping on the slick surface of the helipad. Martha was strong, stronger than she looked, fueled by decades of delusion.

"It's mine!" she screamed.

"It's nobody's!" I yelled.

I wrenched the canister free.

And I threw it.

I threw it as hard as I could, over the edge of the roof, into the abyss of the city below.

Martha screamed. A sound of pure, unadulterated loss.

She ran to the edge, reaching out as if she could catch it.

"No!"

She leaned too far.

The wind caught her coat.

She slipped.

She didn't fall. She caught the railing. She hung there, dangling over the street, fifty stories down.

"Help me!" she begged, looking up at me. "Sarah, please! I'm your grandmother!"

I looked at her. The woman who had created me. The woman who had destroyed me.

I walked to the railing. I looked down at her hand, white-knuckled on the cold steel.

The helicopter lifted off, abandoning its passenger. The pilot knew a lost cause when he saw one.

"You're not my grandmother," I said.

"I am the architect," she hissed.

"Then you should have built a better railing," I said.

I didn't push her. I didn't touch her.

I just watched.

Her grip slipped. One finger. Two.

And then she was gone.

I stood there for a long time, listening to the sirens below, listening to the silence in my head.

The canister was gone. Edith was gone. Martha was gone.

The legacy was dead.

My phone buzzed.

I pulled it out.

A text from Vance.

*The judge granted the emergency motion. The court date is set for tomorrow.*

*Subject: Custody of Leo Sterling.*

I looked at the sky.

It was over.

But then, another text came through.

Unknown number.

*Did you really think I was the only one?*

*Project Gemini wasn't just two babies, Sarah.*

*It was twelve.*

I stared at the screen.

Twelve.

There were ten more of us out there.

Ten more Sterlings.

And someone else was waking them up.