Chapter 9 - The Hospital Records
“Come alone.”
The words remained on my phone.
I read them again.
Then the photograph.
Emily.
My mother.
Elena.
All three women inside my father's private estate.
I looked at Ryan.
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“I’m not going alone.”
“The message says—”
“I don't care what the message says.”
I put the phone in my pocket.
“They want me isolated.”
Ryan wiped the blood from his forehead.
“Then what do we do?”
“We call the police.”
“I already tried.”
He handed me his phone.
“No signal.”
I looked at mine.
One bar.
Then none.
The hospital's communications network had been deliberately disabled.
Someone had planned this.
Not for hours.
For days.
Maybe weeks.
I looked toward the hallway.
“Get me a landline.”
Ryan nodded.
We ran downstairs.
The emergency department was chaos.
Patients were being moved.
Doctors shouted orders.
Security officers rushed between corridors.
But nobody seemed to know why the power had failed.
I found a maintenance room.
Inside was an old telephone.
I dialed the police.
This time the call went through.
“Emergency services.”
“This is Daniel Carter.”
“Mr. Carter?”
“My wife has been abducted from the hospital.”
The operator went silent for half a second.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who took her?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
I heard typing.
“Do you have proof?”
“My wife's hospital room has surveillance.”
“We'll send officers.”
“Don't.”
The operator paused.
“Why?”
“Because whoever took her controls the hospital security system.”
Another pause.
“Where are you now?”
“I can't say.”
“Mr. Carter—”
“I need a secure team.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the receiver.
Ryan looked at me.
“What happened?”
“Someone cut the line.”
He looked toward the door.
“Then we move.”
We left through the service entrance.
A black sedan was waiting.
I stopped.
Ryan whispered:
“Don't.”
The driver's door opened.
A woman stepped out.
She was in her sixties.
Gray hair.
Dark coat.
No weapon.
She looked at me.
“Daniel Carter?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Eleanor Shaw.”
I recognized the name.
She was one of the attorneys listed in my grandfather's original trust records.
“How do you know where I am?”
“Because your grandfather prepared for this.”
She handed me a sealed envelope.
I didn't take it.
“Where is my wife?”
“I don't know.”
“Then you're useless to me.”
She didn't react.
“I know where your wife is going.”
I stared.
“Where?”
“To the place where your father keeps everything he doesn't want the world to see.”
“His estate?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“The old maternity clinic.”
My stomach dropped.
“What maternity clinic?”
“St. Agnes.”
I stared at her.
“That place closed twenty-three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why would Emily be there?”
Eleanor looked at Ryan.
Then back at me.
“Because that is where Elena disappeared.”
We drove through the city.
Neither of us spoke.
The old St. Agnes clinic had been abandoned for years.
It stood behind a chain-link fence surrounded by overgrown trees.
The sign was barely readable.
ST. AGNES MATERNITY & FAMILY CENTER
I looked at Eleanor.
“Why would my father take Emily there?”
She shook her head.
“He didn't.”
I frowned.
“Then who?”
“Alexander Vane.”
Ryan looked at me.
“Vane?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Your father is not the person controlling this operation anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your father started it.”
She looked through the windshield.
“But Vane finished it.”
We entered the building through a side door.
The air smelled of dust and mold.
Old examination rooms lined the hallway.
Eleanor led us downstairs.
“Where are we going?”
“The records archive.”
We reached a steel door.
Eleanor produced a key.
Inside were shelves.
Hundreds of boxes.
She walked to one marked:
2003 — MATERNITY
She pulled it down.
Then another.
PRIVATE ADMISSIONS.
Then another.
ELENA VALE.
Emily's sister.
I opened it.
Inside were medical records.
Photographs.
A newborn bracelet.
And a birth certificate.
I stared.
The name on it wasn't Elena.
It was:
ELENA MARIE CARTER.
I looked at Eleanor.
“Why does this say Carter?”
“Because that was her real name.”
“Then why did she become Vale?”
“Your grandfather changed her identity.”
“Why?”
“To protect her.”
I opened another document.
It was a medical report.
Patient:
ELENA CARTER
Age:
18
Condition:
Pregnancy.
I stopped breathing.
Ryan stared over my shoulder.
“She was pregnant.”
I couldn't speak.
Eleanor nodded.
“Yes.”
“Whose child?”
She looked at me.
“We don't know.”
“Where is the baby?”
Silence.
“Eleanor.”
She didn't answer.
“Where is the baby?”
She whispered:
“The baby disappeared.”
I felt sick.
“When?”
“The same night Elena disappeared.”
I stared at the records.
Then something caught my eye.
A second medical bracelet.
It had a name.
BABY BOY — CARTER.
My hands started shaking.
“Was this child alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where was he taken?”
“We don't know.”
“Who signed the release?”
Eleanor pointed.
I read the name.
RICHARD CARTER.
My father.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“My father took Elena's baby?”
“We don't know.”
“His signature is here.”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“The records were altered.”
“How?”
“Pages were removed.”
I looked at the empty section.
“By whom?”
She handed me a photocopy.
“Your father.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because he wanted the baby erased.”
My heart hammered.
“Why would my father care about Elena's baby?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Because that child was the true heir.”
I felt dizzy.
“To Carter Holdings?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the name on the bracelet.
Baby Boy — Carter.
Then a terrible thought entered my mind.
“Where is that child now?”
Eleanor's eyes filled with sadness.
“We don't know.”
I looked at Ryan.
He was staring at the bracelet.
Then he whispered:
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“There was another record.”
He picked up a folded sheet.
It was a DNA report.
The date was twenty-three years old.
The father had never been identified.
But the mother was:
ELENA MARIE CARTER.
The child was:
MALE.
And the final line said:
PLACED UNDER PROTECTIVE CUSTODY.
I looked at Eleanor.
“Who took him?”
She didn't answer.
“Who?”
She finally whispered:
“Your grandfather.”
I froze.
“My grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep him away from your father.”
I stared at the records.
My grandfather had taken Elena's baby.
Protected him.
Hidden him.
Then created the second trust.
I suddenly understood.
The second trust wasn't merely for Elena.
It was for her child.
The original heir.
But Elena had been alive.
Her child had been alive.
And somehow, twenty-three years later, my unborn son had become part of the same chain.
I looked at Eleanor.
“Where is Elena's son now?”
She closed her eyes.
“We don't know.”
“Someone must know.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Your mother.”
We returned to the hospital before dawn.
My mother was still there.
Two officers stood beside her.
I walked toward her.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
“You found the records.”
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
“You know.”
“I know about Elena.”
She started crying.
“I know about her baby.”
Her hands trembled.
“Daniel…”
“Tell me where he is.”
She couldn't answer.
“Where is Elena's son?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie.”
“I don't.”
“You knew he existed.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my grandfather protected him.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father tried to erase him.”
“Yes.”
“Then where is he?”
She whispered:
“Your grandfather gave him a new identity.”
“What identity?”
“I don't know.”
“Who does?”
She looked toward Ryan.
“Thomas.”
Ryan froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Thomas knew where the child was?”
“He helped your grandfather move him.”
Ryan looked stunned.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father made me promise.”
Ryan's voice shook.
“Is my father alive?”
My mother stared at him.
“I don't know.”
Ryan stepped backward.
“My father disappeared twenty-three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew too much.”
Ryan turned toward me.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“I need to find him.”
A voice came from behind us.
“You won't have to.”
We turned.
James Whitaker stood at the end of the corridor.
Alive.
Again.
May you like
He looked at Ryan.
“Your father has been waiting for you.”
