Chapter 3 - THE DEAD CHILD’S NAME
Damian read the label twice.
Then a third time.
JULIAN SINCLAIR.
The surname landed first.
Sinclair.
Victoria’s surname.
Emma stood near the study door holding Noah while the family physician examined his shoulder.
Victoria sat across the room.
Her face had become perfectly still.
Damian placed the bottle on the desk.
“Who is Julian?”
Victoria crossed her legs.
“My nephew.”
Vincent answered before Damian could.
“No.”
Victoria’s eyes flashed toward him.
Vincent had a tablet in his hand.
“Julian Sinclair was your younger brother.”
Silence.
Damian looked at Victoria.
“He died?”
“Three years ago.”
“How?”
Victoria’s jaw flexed.
“An accident.”
“What kind?”
“Why does that matter?”
Damian leaned back.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“My brother died. I don’t enjoy discussing it.”
“And yet his prescription medication was hidden inside my son’s nursery.”
Victoria finally lost control.
“I did not put it there.”
Emma felt Noah shift against her chest.
Damian noticed.
His voice softened when he addressed the doctor.
“Dr. Mercer?”
The older physician finished checking Noah’s arm.
“No fracture.”
Emma released a breath.
“But I want blood work.”
Damian looked at him.
“Why?”
The doctor glanced toward the bottle.
“Because if that contains what the label says it contains, a child Noah’s size should never be receiving it without very specific medical supervision.”
“What is it?”
“A strong sedating antihistamine combined with another prescription compound.”
Damian’s fingers tightened against the desk.
“Could it make him sleep?”
“Yes.”
“For hours?”
“Yes.”
Victoria laughed once.
A brittle sound.
“This is absurd.”
Dr. Mercer looked at her.
“I didn’t accuse anyone.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Damian stood.
Victoria immediately did the same.
“Where are you going?”
“To have my son tested.”
“Damian, our rehearsal dinner is tomorrow.”
Nobody spoke.
Even Vincent looked at her differently.
Damian stared at Victoria as though he had never seen her before.
“You think I care about the rehearsal dinner?”
“I think you’re overreacting because this woman has manipulated you.”
She pointed toward Emma.
Emma said nothing.
Victoria continued.
“She has been obsessed with Noah since she arrived.”
Damian’s expression remained unreadable.
“She sleeps outside his door when he’s sick.”
“Because he was sick.”
“She tells him she loves him.”
“Because he’s a child.”
“She acts like she’s his mother.”
That hit.
Emma’s face drained.
Damian’s eyes moved toward her.
Victoria saw it.
And attacked.
“She wants my place in this family.”
Emma stared at her.
“That is not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
Victoria stepped closer.
“You think no one sees the way you look at Damian?”
Emma’s cheeks burned.
Not because the accusation was true.
Because Victoria knew exactly how to weaponize embarrassment.
Damian’s voice cut through the room.
“Enough.”
Victoria smiled bitterly.
“You want truth? There it is.”
“No.”
Damian stepped between them.
“That is noise.”
He pointed toward the evidence bag.
“This is truth.”
Victoria’s smile disappeared.
Damian turned to Emma.
“Take Noah to the car.”
She nodded.
As Emma passed Victoria, Victoria whispered—
“You have no idea what you’ve started.”
Emma stopped.
She looked at her.
For the first time, she did not lower her eyes.
“I think you’re the one who doesn’t.”
Then she walked away.
Two hours later, the pediatric floor of St. Matthew’s Hospital was nearly empty.
Noah slept against Emma while Damian stood beside the window waiting for the laboratory results.
He had refused the private family suite.
Too many controlled entrances.
Too many familiar staff.
He wanted a neutral floor.
Emma noticed everything.
Two Hawthorne guards outside.
One near the elevator.
Vincent speaking quietly into his phone.
Damian’s attention never leaving Noah for longer than a few seconds.
“Mr. Hawthorne?”
Dr. Mercer entered carrying a folder.
Damian stood.
The doctor closed the door.
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“There are traces in his blood.”
Damian said nothing.
“The levels are low,” Mercer continued, “which suggests it wasn’t administered today.”
“How recently?”
“Possibly within forty-eight hours.”
Emma remembered.
Tuesday morning.
Noah had slept until almost noon.
Victoria had dismissed it as exhaustion after swimming lessons.
Damian looked at Emma.
She knew he had reached the same conclusion.
“Could repeated doses hurt him?”
Mercer hesitated.
“Yes.”
The room changed.
Damian’s face didn’t.
But Emma had learned that his stillness was not calm.
It was containment.
“Long-term?”
“Potentially. Especially if dosage was inconsistent.”
Damian walked toward the door.
Emma stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To find out who prescribed it.”
Dr. Mercer spoke.
“You may not need to.”
Damian stopped.
Mercer opened the folder.
“There’s something else.”
He removed a photocopy of an old prescription record.
“Vincent asked our pharmacy liaison to trace the number.”
Damian took it.
The original prescription had been written three years earlier.
For Julian Sinclair.
The prescribing physician was Dr. Elliot Crane.
Damian knew the name.
Everyone in the Hawthorne organization did.
May you like
Because Dr. Crane had signed another medical document three years ago.
Sofia Hawthorne’s death certificate.
