Chapter 7 - A Hospital Record That Shouldn’t Exist
We returned to Chicago after dark.
The Cross estate looked unchanged from the outside.
Inside, chaos.
Two security doors damaged.
A server room emptied.
Three employees being questioned.
Fern sat in Mrs. Thornbury’s arms in the library.
The moment she saw me, she began kicking excitedly.
“Momma.”
It wasn’t a full word.
Not really.
I didn’t care.
I ran to her.
Mrs. Thornbury handed her over.
Fern grabbed my hair and pressed her forehead against my chin.
I cried into her little pink dress.
Stellan stood several feet away.
Fern noticed him.
Immediately she reached out.
His expression softened.
I almost handed her over automatically.
Then stopped.
For all the strange trust growing between us, one thing remained unchanged.
Fern was mine.
Stellan seemed to understand.
He simply touched two fingers lightly to her hand.
She grabbed them.
“You’re safe,” he whispered.
I couldn’t tell whether he meant Fern or himself.
Julian Vale had disappeared thirty-six minutes before we returned.
His office was empty.
His apartment had been cleared.
Bank accounts drained.
Passport records indicated nothing.
“He planned this,” Darius said.
Stellan stood inside the security room watching footage.
“Obviously.”
The cameras showed Julian walking calmly through the west entrance.
No panic.
No disguise.
A trusted executive leaving work.
Ten minutes later, outside men entered using security codes assigned to Julian.
They stole the Adrian files.
But they did not go near Fern.
That bothered Stellan.
“It wasn’t a kidnapping attempt,” he said.
“Isn’t that good?” I asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Marcus knows Fern exists, the files are less valuable than she is.”
My stomach tightened.
“You think Julian hasn’t told him.”
“I think Julian may be working for himself.”
Darius nodded.
“Possible.”
I looked at them.
“So we have Marcus Vale hunting Adrian’s evidence, his son betraying you, and no idea whether they are cooperating.”
“Correct.”
“Great.”
Stellan glanced toward me.
“You’re becoming sarcastic.”
“I’ve had a stressful week.”
“It’s Tuesday.”
That almost made me laugh.
Then Darius found something.
The flash drive had backed up one file before Julian erased the servers.
A medical record.
Patient name:
ALAN REED.
Hospital:
St. Catherine’s Medical Center.
Toronto.
Admission date:
Three days after Adrian’s supposed death.
Male.
Age thirty-two.
Severe burns.
Multiple fractures.
No identification.
One detail made my breath catch.
A surgical note mentioned an old fracture in the left wrist.
Adrian had broken his left wrist skiing when he was nineteen.
Stellan stared at the screen.
“It could be him.”
I couldn’t speak.
The record ended eleven days later.
TRANSFERRED TO PRIVATE CARE.
Destination blank.
“Who paid?” Stellan asked.
Darius searched.
“Anonymous foundation.”
“Name?”
“Mercy Bridge.”
Helena entered behind us.
A glass fell from her hand.
It shattered.
Everyone turned.
She stared at the screen.
“What?”
Stellan’s voice became quiet.
“You recognize the name.”
Helena didn’t answer.
“Mother.”
Her face had lost all color.
“Mercy Bridge was mine.”
My heart hammered.
“You transferred him?”
“No.”
Stellan stepped toward her.
“Then who had authority?”
Helena whispered one name.
“Your father.”
Stellan stared at her.
“Our father had been dead four years.”
Helena looked terrified.
“Yes.”
Nobody moved.
Darius checked the foundation records.
Mercy Bridge remained legally active.
Payments continued after Vincent Cross’s death.
Authorized through a private trust.
Someone had been using a dead man’s financial network.
Stellan looked toward the computer.
“Trace every payment.”
“I’m trying.”
Helena sat down slowly.
“I closed that foundation.”
“Apparently you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Then someone reopened it.”
I looked at the hospital record.
“What happened to Alan Reed?”
Darius typed.
“No further record.”
“Could he have been Adrian?”
“Yes.”
“Could he still be alive?”
“Yes.”
Hope returned.
More dangerous than before.
That evening, Stellan arranged transportation to Toronto.
He wanted to leave immediately.
I wanted to go.
He refused.
Again.
This time we argued in his office.
“I’m his partner.”
“You were his partner.”
“He is Fern’s father.”
“Possibly.”
“You don’t get to investigate whether he’s alive while I sit here.”
“I get to decide whether you enter another country while Marcus Vale is watching airports.”
“You really enjoy ordering people around.”
“It has proven efficient.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And alive.”
“So am I.”
“For now.”
The words landed harder than he intended.
Silence.
Stellan’s expression changed.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
I turned away.
He lowered his voice.
“I promised Adrian.”
“What?”
“In the video.”
He looked at Fern’s photograph sitting beside his laptop.
“He asked me to protect you.”
“That doesn’t mean lock me in a mansion.”
“I’m learning that.”
“Slowly.”
His mouth twitched.
Then he sighed.
“You can come.”
I turned.
“Really?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I said you can come so you would stop arguing. I immediately regretted it.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
He stared at me like the sound surprised him.
The tension broke.
We traveled to Toronto the following morning using Stellan’s private aircraft.
At St. Catherine’s, official records told us nothing.
The physician who treated Alan Reed had retired.
Nurse files were archived.
Transfer company no longer existed.
Then an elderly records clerk examined Adrian’s photograph.
She went still.
“I remember him.”
My pulse exploded.
“You do?”
“He didn’t speak for several days.”
“Was this the man?”
She stared longer.
“I think so.”
Stellan leaned forward.
“Who removed him from the hospital?”
The clerk looked around nervously.
“A woman.”
“Name?”
“She signed as Eleanor Reed.”
“Description?”
“Late fifties. Blonde.”
Helena?
I showed her a photograph.
The clerk shook her head.
“No.”
Stellan showed another photo from his phone.
The clerk’s eyes widened.
“Yes.”
I looked.
Mrs. Thornbury.
My stomach dropped.
“The housekeeper?”
Stellan’s expression became unreadable.
The woman who had hired me.
The woman who had cared for Fern during the estate breach.
The woman who seemed terrified the first day Fern cried near Stellan’s office.
Mrs. Thornbury had removed Adrian from a Canadian hospital three days after he supposedly died.
And she had never told anyone.
Stellan immediately called the estate.
No answer from Mrs. Thornbury.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Darius called security.
Two minutes later, he looked at us.
“She’s gone.”
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“With what?”
Darius swallowed.
“One suitcase.”
“Fern?”
My body went cold.
“No. Fern is with Helena.”
I exhaled.
Then Darius added something else.
“Mrs. Thornbury left an envelope on Stellan’s desk.”
We had it photographed and sent electronically.
Three words were written across the front.
FOR ADRIAN’S BROTHER.
Inside was a single page.
Stellan,
I kept him alive.
I also kept him hidden from you.
I had reasons.
If you want the rest of the truth, come to St. Augustine Cemetery tomorrow at noon.
Come with Selene.
No guards.
If anyone follows you, I disappear.
Stellan read it twice.
“What cemetery?” I asked.
His eyes remained on the message.
“The cemetery where Evan is buried.”
The next clue waited beside the grave of the brother whose name Adrian had stolen.
May you like
And Mrs. Thornbury had finally decided to tell us why.
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