‘Liam?’ My mother’s voice was soft, refined, and laced with venom. ‘Where are you? The senator is asking for you.’
‘I’m at the gate, Mother,’ I said. My voice sounded calm. It sounded like a stranger’s voice. ‘The code isn’t working.’
‘Oh, dear. We closed it early. There was… an incident.’ Her tone changed, becoming conspiratorial. ‘Have you seen a stray dog on the road? Or perhaps… Miu?’
‘Miu?’ I asked. ‘Is she missing?’
‘The child is ill, Liam,’ my father’s voice boomed in the background. ‘She had a psychotic episode. Attacked your mother. Broke the Ming vase. She ran out into the storm. She’s a pathological liar, son. Dangerous. If you see her, don’t engage. Just take her to the service entrance. We have doctors waiting to restrain her.’
I glanced at Mia in the rear-view mirror. She was crying silently, pressing the fan against her frozen face.
‘I see her,’ I lied. ‘She’s at the gate. She looks… crazy.’
‘Understand her,’ my father ordered. ‘Bring her to us. Don’t let the guests see her.’
‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘She’s resisting. She’s screaming. If I drag her out now, everyone will hear. The senator will see.’
Silence on the line. The Sterlings feared nothing but public disgrace.
‘What do you suggest?’ my mother asked sharply.
‘I’ll take her to my flat,’ I said. ‘It’s ten minutes from here. I’ll warm her up, calm her down. I’ll give her a sleeping pill. As soon as the guests leave, I’ll quietly bring her back. That way, the evening won’t be ruined.’
Pause. I held my breath.
‘Good boy,’ my father said. ‘We knew we could count on your loyalty. You’ve always been the most grateful. Keep her quiet, Liam. Or we’ll have to deal with you too.’
The line went dead.
‘Grateful,’ I muttered, tossing the phone onto the front seat. ‘I’m grateful you just confessed.’
I put the car in reverse. I didn’t drive to my flat right away. I slowly drove around the perimeter of the estate wall. My phone, still connected to the car’s Bluetooth, picked up a WiFi signal called ‘Sterling_Guest.’
I’m not just a son. I’m the head of cybersecurity at a Fortune 500 company. A career my parents ironically paid for to ensure their own protection.
I opened my laptop. I didn’t hack the firewall; I created it myself. I created a backdoor years ago, just in case.
I ran the script. Keylogger_Install.exe.
Within seconds, information began flowing onto the screen. Every keystroke my father made on his office computer was now reflected back to me.
I watched as the text appeared in real time.
From: Arthur Sterling
To: J. Miller (Legal)
Subject: Asset
Liam has the package. He’s holding it for today. Prepare the paperwork for the tragic accident tomorrow morning. And prepare the next shipment at the adoption agency. We need a boy now. Higher payout for behavioural issues.
‘Cargo,’ I whispered.
They weren’t parents. They were child traffickers.
Part 3: The Room of Nightmares
My flat was a fortress of solitude — minimalist, cold, and safe. But today it felt like a bunker.
I carried Mia inside, wrapped her in blankets, and made her hot chocolate. She drank it with trembling hands, her eyes darting around the room as if she expected the walls to attack her.
‘You’re safe here,’ I told her. ‘I promise.’
‘They’ll come,’ she whispered. ‘The doctors always come.’
While she finally drifted into a restless sleep, I sat down to work.
I settled in front of my multi-screen computer and opened the Sterling family’s private cloud. I bypassed the encryption using my father’s password, Legacy1990, which the keylogger had thoughtfully provided.
What I found made me sick.
There were folders. Dozens of them. Each with a name.
Project: Sarah (2010-2012) – terminated.
Project: David (2014-2015) – returned (defective).
Project: Mia (2020-2024) – reached age.
And then I saw it.
Project: Liam (1999-present).
My hand hovered over the mouse. I clicked.
Photos of me as a child filled the screen. Me at ten, winning a spelling bee. Me at sixteen, receiving a scholarship. Me at twenty, graduating from college.
But the notes beneath them were not proud parental observations. They were clinical assessments.
Subjects show high intellectual ability. Exceptional manipulative ability. Keep to maintain image. Do not eliminate. Useful for managing future assets. Emotional attachment: low. Return on investment: high.
I wasn’t a son. I was an advertising platform. A billboard they used to show their benevolence to the world. ‘Look at the poor orphan we saved. Look how successful he is.’
I was their shield. And Mia… Mia was their cheque.
I dug deeper. I found financial records. The Sterlings specialised in adopting ‘high-need’ children. The state paid them huge subsidies — up to £5,000 a month per child. They also took out specialised insurance policies on each child, claiming they had ‘fragile health.’