Chapter 3 - The Shadow of the BioTech Empire-3
The silence in DA Sterling’s office was heavy enough to crush bone. The steady, rhythmic hum of the air conditioner felt like ice water trickling down my spine.
"Viktor Vance..." I repeated, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.
I knew Viktor. He was my late father’s former business partner—a tall, immaculate man with hair white as snow, sharp gray eyes, and a reputation for being an unyielding corporate titan. When my parents died sixteen years ago, Viktor had given a glowing, tears-filled eulogy at their funeral. He had hugged my six-year-old self, promising that he would always keep an eye on his partner’s little girl.
Then he had handed me over to Marlene and never visited me again.
"Why would Viktor fund a secret genetic project?" I demanded, my hands clenching into tight fists against my knees. "And why would Dr. Mercer abandon her own child outside a clinic instead of going to the police?"
"Because Dr. Mercer realized what Viktor intended to do with the child," Elena answered, her voice dripping with deep, familial shame. "Viktor has been suffering from an untreatable, late-stage neurodegenerative disease for the past five years. He has spent over a hundred million dollars trying to find a genetic cure—a way to engineer custom stem cells that could repair his dying brain tissue."
I turned my head toward Noah. His tiny chest rose and fell softly. His small, delicate pink fingers were curled tightly around the edge of his blue blanket.
"Noah isn't just a baby to Viktor," I whispered, horror rising like a tide in my throat. "He’s a biological resource."
"He is a living donor," DA Sterling confirmed grimly. "Under the synthetic patent filings we uncovered on Caleb’s drive, Viktor registered Noah’s genetic code as proprietary corporate property belonging to Hayes-Vance BioTech. The moment Viktor discovers where Noah is, his legal team will file an emergency petition for custody, claiming that the child is a manufactured biological asset rather than a human being."
"That’s insane!" I shouted, standing up from the sofa. Noah stirred at my sudden movement, letting out a soft, tiny whimpering sound. I instantly dropped back to my knees, gently rocking his bassinet until his breathing stabilized. "No court in this country would grant custody of a baby to a company to be harvested for stem cells!"
"Normally, no," Sterling admitted. "But Viktor Vance doesn't operate within normal legal frameworks. He owns three federal judges in this district. He funds forty percent of the governor’s political action committee. And under the temporary foster guardianship agreement you signed three weeks ago, you only have temporary administrative custody. You do not have permanent parental rights."
"Then give me permanent rights!" I pleaded, looking between Sterling and Elena. "I have the estate money now! I have my degree! I am foster-certified!"
"It’s not that simple, Clara," Elena said gently, reaching into her bag and pulling out a satellite tracking map. "The moment Marlene was arrested today, an automated alert was triggered on Hayes-Vance corporate servers. Caleb Thorne was Viktor’s internal mole inside the university—he was paid to monitor Marlene and make sure your father’s trust money kept flowing through those shell accounts into Viktor’s offshore clinical trials."
"So Viktor knows," I said, cold dread paralyzing my limbs.
"Viktor knows that Marlene failed," Sterling said. "He knows that you broke the encryption on Caleb’s drive. And most importantly, he knows that the infant Dr. Mercer hid three weeks ago... is currently in your arms."
Before I could respond, the landline telephone on DA Sterling’s mahogany desk began to ring.
The sharp, shrill sound pierced the room like a siren. Sterling looked down at the caller ID display. His face turned ashen.
He hit the speakerphone button.
"Richard," a smooth, cultured, deep voice echoed through the office speaker. "I assume you have my little ward in your office?"
It was Viktor Vance.
"Viktor," Sterling said, keeping his tone professional and flat. "You shouldn't be calling this line. I am currently conducting an active financial fraud investigation involving your former associate, Marlene Hayes."
A soft, mocking chuckle echoed from the speaker. "Marlene was a petty thief, Richard. An arrogant, greedy woman who thought she could play games with my capital. You are welcome to keep her in a cage for the rest of her useless life. But the child Miss Hayes is currently holding... belongs to Hayes-Vance BioTech."
I stepped up to the desk, my eyes burning with white-hot rage. "He doesn't belong to you, Viktor!" I shouted into the microphone. "He is a human child! He is not a patent!"
A long pause followed on the line. When Viktor spoke again, his tone was dangerously cold, completely stripped of its cultured warmth.
"Ah, little Clara," Viktor murmured softly. "You sound so much like your father. So full of righteous indignation. So wonderfully, foolishly idealistic. But Arthur made the same mistake sixteen years ago, didn't he? He thought morality could stop progress."
My breath caught in my throat. "What did you say?"
"Your father believed that certain scientific thresholds shouldn't be crossed," Viktor continued softly. "He threatened to pull his funding, destroy our research, and hand our files over to the federal government. And twenty-four hours later... his car suffered a tragic mechanical failure on the mountain pass."
The world seemed to spin on its axis. The walls of the office tilted around me.
It hadn't been an accident. Sixteen years ago, my parents hadn't died because of rain or slick roads.
Viktor Vance had murdered them.
"You killed them," I choked out, tears finally breaking free and running hot down my cheeks.
"I removed an obstacle, Clara," Viktor corrected smoothly. "And I would deeply hate to repeat history with Arthur’s daughter. You have twenty-four hours to bring baby Noah to my private medical facility in Oakridge. If you hand him over quietly, I will allow you to keep your father’s forty-two million dollar trust. You can live a long, comfortable, wealthy life."
"And if I don't?" I asked, my voice dropping into a register of cold, unyielding iron.
May you like
"If you don't," Viktor said softly, "you will quickly learn that forty-two million dollars cannot buy protection from a man who owns the air you breathe. Twenty-four hours, Clara. Choose wisely."
The line went dead with a hollow click.
