I heard the door close as I went back to my screens, reading article after article about Sylvia St. James. I found information aboutDivision, a group created to seek out the best and brightest minds in the world. They dealt with everything from scientific discoveries to medicine.
In 1990, the same year Henry Craven died, Sylvia started a charity called Sunshine Child that helped orphan kids. It was her sub-charity, Sunshine Kids, that was different. It was linked to several hospitals as well as adoption agencies. Their purpose was to locate remarkable children. The higher IQ, the better, and the more vulnerable the children were.
Then she created the Poseidon Innovation whose function was two-fold. One department dealt with the military and federal government. Specializing in modern urban warfare.
The other department was pharmaceutical. Together with three other pharmaceutical companies, they won the bid to create the vaccine for the pandemic five years ago.
The company was still active and worth trillions.
Sylvia St. James had two other children after marrying Franklin Montague. Donna St. James, who was only three yearsyounger than I was. From what I found, Donna left the area with her husband after Sylvia framed him for the murders of 9/11 first responders. Donna and David Campbell were killed in a fire in 2011, leaving their daughter, Delany, an orphan. A quick search for Delany told me she’d married Jason Calloway, aka Storm from the Soulless Sinners MC. I was relieved to know she and her daughter, Harlow, were safe and protected.
No doubt Sylvia had something to do with Donna and David’s deaths.
I had a niece who was a year older than my daughter.
Sylvia’s third child was a son.
Gideon St. James.
A quick cursory search showed he went by the Guardian. I’d heard of the Guardian. He was a man who fought for good. But he’d disappeared. No one had seen or heard from him in years.
I would be lying if I said seeing she’d had a son didn’t affect me. A son she kept. A son she raised herself.
It was a feeling I wasn’t comfortable with. I loved my parents. I’d never thought about the people who gave birth to me. Until now, and a small part inside me felt the rejection of being thrown away. The part of me that loved my parents and wouldn’t trade them for anything was so big, yet somehow it was overshadowed knowing that I wasn’t good enough to keep.
I knew enough about theSocietyto know that it had been run by women. But looking back, that wasn’t always the case. From what I read, Henry Craven’s death and the creation of Sunshine Kids coincided. Was it a coincidence? Or something planned?
My computer pinged, letting me know I had an email. It was from Navigator, King’s club brother. Opening the file, I started digging through the countless names.
Sylvia St. James took children born at the Trick Pony or kidnapped off the streets, specifically targeting those who had no one to look after them, and sent them to distribution centers.Theremarkableones were sent to New York and enrolled in her gifted program. The others were shipped off to God knows where.
She used those intelligent kids to better theSociety’sagenda, which, from what I was seeing, looked like world domination. The kids who didn’t live up to her expectations were sold to Bianchi’s and Valentinetti’s breeding farms. In the hope of creating more children with higher-than-average IQs.
I leaned back in my chair as I stared at what I found. At what I’d come from. What happened to this woman to make her who she was? Was being raped by Henry the catalyst that created the monster that was Sylvia St. James?
Or had she always been a monster?
I spent hours digging through the information I’d found. And there was one thing that was missing.
Her death.
There was nothing, not a whisper, not an arrogant confession by some nobody who took down the infamous Sylvia St. James. Not even rumors of sightings.
Was she still alive?
Was she hiding?
With both of her children gone, what was left for her?
Me.
If Sylvia St. James were alive, what did that mean for Maddie?
“What’s that look on your face?”
I peered around my computer and found Mac sitting on the couch. “I told you to get the fuck out of my office.”
“You tell me a lot of things, except that you were fuckin’ adopted.”
