"When can we expect you to submit a story or a book about it?"

Elena was taken aback, and glanced over at Doris, who looked equally startled. "Probably never," she replied. "It's too personal and I haven't learned that much yet." She gently released her hand from his and sat down again. He took a seat near her, and Doris sat beside her.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I believe it could have the makings of a best seller. Your readers want to know about you and your life. Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

Elena paused. "I don't know yet what the outcome will be," she said slowly, "but a story based on my search might come out of it. However, it wouldn't be about me; it would use my experiences in getting the information, but nothing else. I prefer to keep my personal life private."

"As long as you think about it, I won't ask for more. Have you had a chance to write anything since you arrived in New York?"

"Not really. My personal research has taken up most of my time. Sorry."

"Edward, she has been here less than a week," Doris said. "Give her time to settle in and get used to the city. It can be pretty overwhelming, you know, unless you grew up here. Can I offer you some coffee?"

"Thank you, no. I have to get going. I just wanted to stop by and meet Miss Kingston. I hope to see you at the publishing house; I understand you'll be visiting there next week. Perhaps I'll be able to take you on a tour." He stood up and both women did the same.

"That sounds like a good idea. I look forward to it." She shook his hand again.

He left almost immediately, and an hour later the car that would take Elena home arrived. She hugged both Doris and Patrick, promising to visit often, and have them over soon. The driver took her back to her apartment building without hitting any traffic jams, and she thanked him as she got out. As she unlocked her door, fatigue set in. So she headed straight to bed and a good night's sleep.

The next morning was spent writing down her thoughts and straightening up the apartment. Then she began considering how she would persuade the officers at Richland Industries to tell her what she needed to know. There could be problems along the way, should they become convinced she was the daughter of the Stewarts. They might know what caused her to be the way she was, and Vincent to be what he was.But what would they do,if she had to explain the reason for her need to know?

One thing she knew – she wouldn't bring Vincent into it. She shuddered to think what would happen. They might hunt him down and imprison him, so they could run "tests". Or they might even kill him, so they could do the same. Of course, she thought bitterly, they would say it was all for science. There's no way I'll let that happen.

She wrestled with the problem, wishing she had time to talk to her brother about it, but knew that it wasn't feasible. She looked at the clock – for the tenth time – then suddenly felt reassured. She smiled as she realized that Vincent was sensing her feelings, and trying to help. And it seems to be working, she thought. I feel more confident about this.

She called for a cab, and twenty minutes later was on her way to Richland Industries.

Vincent was in the library with Father; both were reading. Father looked up to see his 'son' looking off into the distance, his eyes unfocused. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sensing Elena; she seems to be uncertain."

"Uncertain about what?"

"She told me that she'd be going today back to the company where George Stewart worked to try to get more answers. But I believe she is worried about what she might have to tell them in order to get those answers, and what they might try to do."

"Would she tell them about you?"

Vincent looked at him with a mixture of emotions. "I'm sure she wouldn't do that, Father. I thought you would have realized that by now."

"Vincent, you've known her only a few days. Whether or not she is your sister, you don't really know what kind of person she is. But right now, all we can do is wait."

Father went back to his reading, and after a few moments, Vincent did, too. Twenty minutes later, he raised his head again, sensing his sister.

"She is on her way."