Chapter 19 The Madness of Inheritance

# Chapter 19: The Madness of Inheritance

In the weeks following the revelation of my true parentage, I buried myself in work—restructuring departments, reviewing acquisitions, reshaping the Monette empire according to my vision. If I was truly Vincent's daughter, truly a Monette by blood, then this legacy was mine by birthright as much as by Callum's design.

The knowledge changed me in subtle ways. I found myself examining my own thoughts and behaviors with new scrutiny, searching for signs of the "Monette brilliance" Callum so revered—or the instability that had destroyed Vincent and threatened Silas.

Callum's condition deteriorated more rapidly than the doctors had predicted. The cancer spread aggressively, forcing him to work from home most days. I moved into the penthouse with him, telling myself it was practical—we needed to finalize the transition plans, to ensure the company's stability after his death.

But in the quiet hours of night, as I lay beside his sleeping form, I admitted the truth to myself: despite everything, I couldn't bear to let him face death alone.

One evening, I returned from the office to find him in his study, surrounded by old photographs and documents—a lifetime of memories and machinations spread across his desk.

"What are you doing?" I asked, setting down my briefcase.

He looked up, his face gaunt but his eyes still sharp. "Making peace with the past, I suppose. Come see."

I moved to his side, looking down at the collection of images. Many featured a younger Callum with a man who could only be Vincent—similar in build and coloring, but with a wilder energy evident even in still photographs.

"He was extraordinary," Callum said softly, touching one image of his brother. "Brilliant beyond measure, but unstable. Like a star burning too brightly to last."

"Is that what you expect of me?" I asked, picking up a photo. "To burn brilliantly and then self-destruct?"

"No." He caught my hand, his grip surprisingly strong despite his illness. "You have his brilliance but my control. The perfect synthesis."

I set the photo down carefully. "That's what Silas said—that I was the culmination of your grand experiment."

"Not an experiment. An evolution." His eyes held mine with that magnetic intensity that still affected me physically. "What I couldn't achieve through genetics alone, I achieved through you. Nature and nurture in perfect balance."

"Is that why you pursued me? Because I represented the success of your life's work?"

He was quiet for a moment, considering. "Initially, perhaps. But then..." He shook his head slightly. "You challenged me in ways no one ever had. You saw through my strategies, anticipated my moves. You became not just the product of my work, but its equal. Its completion."

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"And that's what you call love?" I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice.

"It's the only kind I know how to give." His hand moved from mine to my face, cupping my cheek with surprising tenderness. "Obsessive. Consuming. Absolute."

Despite myself, I leaned into his touch. This was our pattern—revulsion and attraction in constant tension, neither ever fully conquering the other.

"I found something today," I said, changing the subject. "In the archives at the Monette Foundation. Records of payments to a research facility upstate—significant amounts, spanning decades."

His expression didn't change, but I felt the slight tension in his body. "And?"

"The facility specializes in behavioral genetics—specifically, the heritability of personality traits and cognitive abilities." I held his gaze steadily. "Project Monarch wasn't just about selective breeding, was it? You were researching how to identify and enhance the traits you wanted."

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "The breeding program was only one component. We needed to understand which traits were truly heritable, which could be cultivated through environment."

"Human experimentation," I said flatly.

"Research," he corrected. "Ethical, legal research into human potential."

"And the subjects? Where did they come from?"

His silence was answer enough.

"My God," I whispered, pulling away from his touch. "You used children from Monette-funded orphanages, didn't you? Tested them, tracked them, treated them like lab rats."

"We gave them opportunities," he countered, his voice hardening. "Education, resources, guidance—more than they would have had otherwise."

"While monitoring their development like specimens in a petri dish." I felt sick, thinking of the children who had unknowingly participated in Callum's grand design. "Was I one of them? After my mother fled, did you track me through your network of researchers?"

"No," he said firmly. "Valencia hid you too well for that. You were the control group—the Monette descendant raised outside our influence. When you appeared and showed the same traits we'd been cultivating... it confirmed decades of research."

I turned away, needing distance from him, from the casual way he discussed treating human beings as experimental subjects. At the window, I stared out at the city lights, trying to process this latest revelation.

"The research facility," I said finally. "Is it still active?"

"Yes."

"And the current subjects?"

"Children with exceptional potential, receiving the finest education money can buy." He moved to stand behind me, his reflection appearing beside mine in the window glass. "Nothing sinister, Clarette. Nothing cruel."

"Except that they're being shaped according to your design, without their knowledge or consent." I turned to face him. "Like I was. Like Gideon was. Like every Monette has been for generations."

"To what end?" he asked, his voice soft but intense. "To create individuals capable of extraordinary achievement. To push the boundaries of human potential."

"To play God," I corrected.

"To transcend ordinary limitations," he countered. "Isn't that what you've done? Haven't you always known you were different—capable of seeing patterns others miss, of thinking in ways others can't follow?"

I couldn't deny it. Throughout my life, I'd recognized my own exceptionalism—my ability to process information faster, to anticipate outcomes others couldn't foresee, to manipulate situations with an almost supernatural precision.

"That doesn't justify treating people like breeding stock," I insisted.

"No," he agreed unexpectedly. "Perhaps it doesn't. But the results..." He gestured between us. "Can you honestly say you would prefer to be ordinary? To think like everyone else? To see the world through their limited perspective?"

The question struck at the heart of my conflict. For all my moral outrage, I couldn't imagine being different than I was—couldn't envision a life without the mental advantages I'd always taken for granted.

"The program ends," I said finally. "The research facility, the tracking, all of it. If I'm going to lead this company, it will be on my terms."

"And what are your terms, Clarette?" He moved closer, into my personal space, the familiar electricity crackling between us. "What kind of legacy will you build from the ashes of mine?"

"A transparent one," I replied. "Ethical. Humane."

He smiled faintly. "Noble aspirations. But the world isn't built on noble aspirations. It's built on power—who has it, who wields it, who submits to it."

"Then I'll change the world," I said simply.

His smile widened, genuine admiration in his eyes. "If anyone could, it would be you." His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face. "My greatest creation."

"I'm not your creation," I said, but didn't move away from his touch. "I'm your reckoning."

"Perhaps you're both." His fingers trailed down my neck, leaving fire in their wake. "The instrument of my perpetuation and my destruction. Isn't that the ultimate purpose of children—to surpass their parents, to render them obsolete?"

His lips found mine, the kiss deep and consuming. Despite everything—the manipulation, the lies, the unethical experiments—I responded with equal hunger. This was our curse, our sickness: we recognized ourselves in each other, darkness calling to darkness.

Later, as we lay tangled together in the darkness of the bedroom, his hand rested on the slight swell of my stomach where our child grew—the next generation of the Monette legacy.

"You'll be a magnificent mother," he murmured, his voice heavy with approaching sleep. "Shaping the future long after I'm gone."

I said nothing, watching the rise and fall of his chest, wondering how much longer his heart would continue to beat. In the shadowed room, I made my decision: I would dismantle Callum's unethical empire piece by piece, but preserve what was valuable. Transform, not destroy.

And our child would inherit not a dynasty built on manipulation and control, but one rebuilt on transparency and choice.

As Callum drifted into sleep beside me, I placed my hand over his on my stomach, a silent promise to the life growing within me: You will be the first truly free Monette.