I spent the night reading copies of Eric's records.
Harris had warned me that much of the material was technical and that investigators were still verifying it, but I needed to see it myself.
The first pages were clinical.
Weight.
Height.
Blood pressure.
Hormone levels.
Symptoms.
Then the language changed.
Subject demonstrates unusually rapid response.*
Dose adjusted.*
Observe for continued elevation.*
Subject.
Not Sophie.
Not my daughter.
Subject.
I closed the folder.
I couldn't breathe.
Harris sat across from me.
“Take a break.”
“No.”
“You've been awake for almost twenty-four hours.”
“I want to understand.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
He waited.
I opened the folder again.
“What was the goal?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Everything keeps coming back to that.”
“Because we're still building the case.”
“Then tell me what you suspect.”
“I can tell you what the records show.”
“Fine.”
He pointed to a page.
“The study appears to involve hormonal development.”
“Why a child?”
“We're trying to determine that.”
“Why Sophie?”
Another page.
“That's where it gets interesting.”
I leaned forward.
A notation had been highlighted.
Baseline characteristics make subject particularly suitable.*
I stared at it.
“Suitable for what?”
“We don't know.”
Then I saw a second phrase.
Family history advantageous.*
I looked at Harris.
“What family history?”
“We're checking.”
I thought of my own family.
There were no serious endocrine disorders.
No childhood cancers.
Nothing that explained why Sophie would be considered suitable for a study.
Then I remembered something.
“Her biological father.”
Harris looked up.
“What about him?”
“Sophie’s biological father died before she was born.”
“I know.”
“His medical records.”
“We've already requested them.”
“What did they show?”
Harris hesitated.
“Nothing conclusive.”
“But?”
“He had an unusual hormonal condition.”
I felt cold.
“What kind?”
“We're still waiting for the complete records.”
“Could Eric have known?”
“Yes.”
“He had access to the custody paperwork.”
“And to Sophie's medical history.”
I stood.
“Then maybe this wasn't about Eric being obsessed with her.”
Harris said nothing.
“Maybe he thought she inherited something.”
“That is one possibility.”
“From her biological father.”
“Yes.”
“And Rachel Mercer knew.”
“We have evidence they discussed family history.”
I sat down again.
For months I had believed Eric's involvement came from jealousy.
Maybe he had wanted to control Sophie because he was angry about losing me.
But this was different.
He had been collecting information.
Testing her.
Watching her body change.
The motive was still unclear, but the pattern was unmistakable.
Sophie was not an accident.
She had been selected.
I went to her room.
She was awake, eating applesauce.
“Mom.”
“Hi.”
She smiled.
“I'm hungry.”
I laughed softly.
It was the first normal thing she had said in days.
I sat beside her.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Do you remember your dad talking about your biological father?”
Sophie frowned.
“He said he was sick.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“He said he had something wrong with his hormones.”
My heart stopped.
“When did he tell you that?”
“A long time ago.”
“Did he say what was wrong?”
“No.”
“Did Rachel ever talk about him?”
Sophie nodded.
“She asked me if I knew what happened to him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said he died.”
“What did she say?”
“She said that was unfortunate.”
The clinical coldness of those words made my skin crawl.
“Anything else?”
Sophie shook her head.
Then she looked at me.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I want to understand.”
“Did Dad do something bad?”
I looked at her.
“Yes,” I said.
It was the first time I had admitted it aloud.
Sophie lowered her eyes.
“He said he was helping me.”
“I know.”
“He said I could make doctors understand something.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he ever use a word like study?”
She thought.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I was part of something important.”
I closed my eyes.
A child should never have been told that.
Especially not by her father.
That afternoon, Harris obtained another warrant.
This time for Rachel Mercer's clinic.
He told me they had found evidence of a private research archive.
The search lasted hours.
When he finally called, his voice was different.
“What did you find?”
“A video.”
My stomach tightened.
“Of Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“From when?”
“October seventeenth.”
I sat down.
“Can I see it?”
“You may not want to.”
“I need to.”
“It may become evidence.”
“I don't care.”
There was a pause.
Then Harris said, “We'll arrange it.”
The video was short.
Sophie sat in a medical chair.
Rachel stood beside her.
Eric was behind the camera.
Sophie looked nervous.
Rachel asked her questions.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay.”
“Any dizziness?”
“A little.”
“Any nausea?”
“No.”
Rachel smiled.
“Good.”
Then Eric spoke.
“Tell her what you told me.”
Sophie looked toward him.
“My stomach hurts sometimes.”
Rachel made a note.
“Anything else?”
“My head.”
“How often?”
“I don't know.”
Rachel looked at Eric.
He nodded.
The video ended.
I sat in silence.
“That doesn't prove intent,” Harris said.
“No.”
“But it shows they were monitoring her.”
“I know.”
He handed me another document.
“There's more.”
The research proposal contained a section describing expected hormonal changes.
One sentence had been underlined.
The objective is to observe whether controlled endocrine stimulation produces predictable biological markers.*
I stared at it.
“Controlled stimulation.”
“Yes.”
“They were trying to change her hormones.”
“That appears to be the case.”
“Why?”
Harris pointed to the next section.
“That's where the biological father's history becomes relevant.”
The study wasn't simply about hormone development.
It concerned a rare inherited endocrine pattern.
Sophie had been considered a possible carrier.
Rachel and Eric wanted to observe whether that trait could be triggered under controlled conditions.
My hands trembled.
“They caused this.”
“We don't know whether they caused the tumor.”
“But they were deliberately changing her hormones.”
“Yes.”
“And then she developed a tumor that produced hormones.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“That's not a coincidence.”
“Maybe not.”
For the first time, Harris sounded angry.
Not emotional.
Just very quiet.
“There is enough here to justify serious charges.”
“What charges?”
“We're consulting prosecutors.”
“Against Eric?”
“Against Eric and Rachel.”
I thought about the years I had known Eric.
The ordinary moments.
The birthday cake.
The school runs.
The camping trips.
All the times he had called himself her father.
He had looked at my daughter and seen a medical possibility.
I couldn't reconcile the two men.
Maybe they had always been the same man.
Maybe I had only seen the part he wanted me to see.
That evening, Eric requested to speak with me.
Harris said I didn't have to.
I said yes.
He was in an interview room.
His wrists weren't cuffed.
He looked tired.
Older.
When I entered, he stood.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“You asked for me.”
“I wanted to explain.”
“You've had eleven months.”
His face tightened.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand that you gave my daughter an experimental hormone compound.”
“I never wanted her harmed.”
“She had cancer.”
“I didn't cause that.”
“You don't know that.”
“I didn't.”
“Then why did you keep records?”
“Because Rachel needed data.”
“Why was Sophie the subject?”
He looked at me.
“She wasn't supposed to be.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
Eric swallowed.
“The study was supposed to involve adults.”
“Then why Sophie?”
“I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
He rubbed his face.
“I thought the treatment would help.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“You let a doctor experiment on your child.”
His eyes filled.
“I thought I was saving her.”
“From what?”
He didn't answer.
“Eric.”
He looked up.
“From the disease her biological father had.”
I felt the room go silent.
“What disease?”
Eric stared at the table.
Then he whispered the words that changed everything.
“He wasn't supposed to die.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Eric Finally Named the Secret He Had Been Chasing, and His Confession Revealed Why Rachel Mercer Had Been So Interested in Sophie
The Test That Should Have Been Impossible Left Me With a Terrifying Question About the Man I Trusted Most
Part 6 of 12
