For several seconds, nobody moved.
The frozen image on Aaron Blake’s computer showed Margaret Whitmore at a kitchen table twenty-five years earlier. Only part of the man opposite her was visible: one shoulder, a forearm, the edge of a hand.
But his voice remained unmistakable to Rebecca.
“Our uncle,” she whispered again.
Mara stared at her.
“Dr. Nathan Vale?”
“Yes.”
“How are you related?”
“Mom’s younger brother.”
Sarah looked from Rebecca to the screen.
“I don’t remember him.”
“You did when we were children.”
“Then why don’t I now?”
Rebecca lowered her eyes.
“Because after Daniel died, Mom stopped mentioning him.”
“That doesn’t erase a person.”
“No.”
“What else happened?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Sarah’s patience vanished.
“You always know something.”
“I remember pieces.”
“Then give me the pieces.”
Rebecca sat again.
“Nathan went to medical school when you were young. He came home for holidays. You liked him.”
“How much younger than Mom?”
“Eight years.”
“Was he close to Dad?”
“No.”
“Thomas?”
“Not particularly.”
“Daniel?”
Rebecca looked toward the frozen video.
“They hated each other.”
“Why?”
“I thought it was because Nathan treated Daniel like a delinquent.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m wondering whether Daniel knew something.”
Mara moved toward the phone.
“I need to notify hospital security.”
Sarah caught her wrist.
“Wait.”
Mara looked surprised.
“If Nathan altered my records, won’t warning the hospital warn him?”
“We can’t leave a potential threat wandering the building.”
“Can he access this floor?”
Mara hesitated.
“Yes.”
My chair scraped backward.
“Then call security.”
Mara stepped into the hallway.
Sarah reached for her phone.
I stopped her.
“Who are you calling?”
“Nathan.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if he’s dangerous, telling him we know exactly where we are would be foolish.”
“He already knows where I am.”
That was worse.
Lily stood beside the door.
“We should move Mom.”
Dr. Patel entered before we could decide.
Mara followed her with two security officers.
Dr. Patel’s expression was different now.
Professional calm remained, but underneath it was alarm.
“Sarah, we’re transferring you.”
“Where?”
“A secure room on another floor.”
“Does Nathan have access?”
“Not once security restricts his badge.”
“Has anyone found him?”
“One officer is checking.”
I looked at Mara.
“What was his schedule?”
“He wasn’t scheduled clinically today.”
“But?”
“He badged into the building at 5:42 this morning.”
The room went silent.
“What time is it?”
“12:16.”
Nathan had been inside for more than six hours.
“Where did he badge last?”
Mara checked her phone.
“Research wing.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed.
“My records?”
“Stored electronically.”
“Can he delete audit logs?”
“Not easily.”
“Not easily isn’t no.”
Dr. Patel touched Sarah’s shoulder.
“We move first. Investigate second.”
For once, Sarah did not argue.
Security escorted us through a staff corridor.
The hospital suddenly looked different.
Every white coat became a possibility.
Every elevator opening tightened my chest.
Sarah walked slowly with a nurse beside her, refusing the wheelchair until halfway down the corridor.
Then pain folded her slightly.
I caught her.
“That’s enough.”
“I can walk.”
“You can also be stubborn while sitting.”
“You remember me being stubborn?”
“For twenty-five years.”
She looked at me.
Something softened.
“Then maybe I haven’t changed completely.”
“No.”
I helped her into the chair.
We reached the secure room without seeing Nathan.
Rebecca and Lily were allowed inside after security checked their identification.
I remained with Sarah.
Mara returned twenty minutes later.
“They found his office empty.”
“What about the research wing?”
“Security is searching.”
“Car?”
“Still in the physician garage.”
Sarah looked at me.
“So he’s here.”
“Unless he left another way.”
Mara nodded.
The compliance officer arrived with preliminary audit data.
She carried a laptop.
“We found alterations.”
Sarah’s hand tightened around mine.
“How many?”
“At least nine.”
“What kind?”
“Medication dosage fields.”
Mara read the screen.
Her expression hardened.
“Chemotherapy?”
“Yes.”
Sarah looked between them.
“Explain it normally.”
Mara pulled a chair closer.
“During chemotherapy, dosage is often calculated using several factors. Weight, kidney function, liver function, blood counts, treatment protocol.”
“I know that much.”
“Someone changed your recorded weight twice and altered a liver-function value.”
“Would that increase my dose?”
“One change could have.”
“How much?”
“Approximately twelve percent.”
I felt anger rise.
“Could twelve percent kill her?”
Mara answered carefully.
“In a medically fragile patient, an inappropriate increase could cause serious toxicity.”
Sarah stared at the screen.
“Did it?”
“We need to compare your symptoms and original lab data.”
The compliance officer scrolled.
“Another alteration delayed a scan.”
“How?”
“The order status was changed from urgent to routine.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Sarah looked at me.
Around the time she had divorced me.
“What scan?”
“Abdominal imaging.”
“Did that delay treatment?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“How long?”
“Six weeks.”
Rebecca whispered, “Nathan.”
The compliance officer raised a hand.
“We haven’t established who made the alterations.”
“Whose login?”
“Several accounts.”
“His?”
“No.”
That surprised everyone.
“Whose?”
“Two nurses, one resident, and a pharmacy technician.”
Mara frowned.
“All still employed?”
“Two are.”
“Could Nathan have used their credentials?”
“Possibly.”
“Or someone else.”
“Yes.”
Sarah leaned back.
“Claire found this.”
“Likely.”
“And that’s why she copied my records.”
“Yes.”
I thought about Claire’s letter.
I thought Joseph was the danger. I was wrong.
Maybe Claire had discovered Nathan.
Maybe Nathan discovered her first.
Lily asked, “Did Claire report him?”
The compliance officer checked.
“She filed an anonymous safety complaint sixteen months ago.”
“Against Nathan?”
“The complaint didn’t name anyone.”
“What did it say?”
“That a senior physician was manipulating patient data and retaliating against employees who noticed.”
“Why wasn’t it investigated?”
“It was.”
“And?”
“They found insufficient evidence.”
Sarah laughed bitterly.
“Then you fired the person gathering evidence.”
The officer looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
Mara suddenly asked, “Who supervised that investigation?”
The compliance officer froze.
She checked the file.
Nobody spoke.
Then she read the name.
“Dr. Nathan Vale.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“He investigated himself.”
“Apparently.”
The door opened.
A security officer entered.
“We located Dr. Vale.”
Everyone turned.
“Where?”
“Parking garage.”
My muscles tightened.
“Trying to leave?”
“No.”
“What was he doing?”
The officer hesitated.
“He was unconscious.”
Sarah stared.
“What?”
“Inside his vehicle.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. Emergency team is bringing him up.”
“What happened?”
“Unknown.”
Rebecca stood.
“I want to see him.”
“No,” the officer said.
“He’s my uncle.”
“He’s also part of an active security investigation.”
Sarah asked, “Was anyone else in the car?”
“No.”
“Anything found?”
The officer looked at me.
“An envelope.”
“For whom?”
“Ethan Caldwell.”
Every eye turned toward me.
“Where is it?”
“Security has it.”
“I want it.”
“Police need to clear it first.”
Sarah’s expression tightened.
“What if he was trying to give Ethan something?”
The officer did not answer.
Twenty minutes later, a detective arrived.
Detective Laura Chen introduced herself, asked enough questions to realize she had inherited twenty-five years of family history, and stopped trying to understand everything at once.
She handed me the envelope wearing gloves.
“Open it carefully.”
My name was written in shaky handwriting.
Inside were six pages.
The first line was enough.
Ethan,
If Sarah remembers me, she will believe I killed Daniel.
Sarah read over my shoulder.
Nathan admitted being at the Whitmore house the night before Daniel died.
He admitted threatening Daniel.
He admitted helping Margaret hide Sarah’s pregnancy.
But he denied cutting the second brake line.
The video, he wrote, had been edited.
I stopped.
“Edited?”
Aaron spoke through the laptop.
“I can check.”
I continued.
Nathan claimed Margaret had recorded several family conversations on a camcorder because she wanted leverage over Thomas.
Years later, someone transferred the tapes to digital.
According to Nathan, the conversation Claire possessed was incomplete.
His actual statement had been:
You cut the second line too deep.
Not as confession.
As accusation.
Nathan claimed he had been speaking to Margaret.
Sarah looked at Rebecca.
“Then why does the video show Mom answering him?”
“Because the order may have been rearranged,” Aaron said.
“Can you prove that?”
“Maybe.”
Nathan’s letter continued.
He said he discovered Margaret near Daniel’s motorcycle after dark.
He confronted her.
She admitted damaging one brake line.
Nathan believed Thomas would find it because the leak was obvious.
He did.
But after Daniel died, Nathan inspected the wreck.
There was another cut.
Smaller.
Hidden.
Nathan believed Margaret had made both.
Until years later.
Until Joseph contacted him.
Sarah leaned closer.
“What did Dad say?”
Nathan wrote that Joseph confessed to being at the house.
He had watched Margaret damage the motorcycle.
Then, after she left, Joseph approached the bike.
But Joseph claimed he did not cut anything.
He claimed someone else was already there.
A young woman.
Rebecca.
All eyes turned toward her.
Rebecca shook her head.
“I told you. I tried to fix it.”
Nathan’s letter agreed.
He wrote that Joseph watched Rebecca attempt a repair.
Then Thomas arrived.
Joseph hid.
Thomas replaced the obvious damaged hose.
After Thomas left, Joseph remained.
Then a fourth person entered the garage.
Sarah whispered, “Fourth?”
Nathan wrote that Joseph never gave him the name.
Only a description.
Male.
Young.
Approximately twenty.
Someone Daniel knew.
Someone who arrived in a pickup truck.
Someone who crouched beside the motorcycle for less than a minute.
Then left.
Lily looked at me.
“Who?”
I kept reading.
Nathan had spent years trying to identify him.
Recently, he believed he had.
The next line was underlined.
Ask Sarah who drove the green Ford.
Sarah went completely still.
I turned toward her.
“Green Ford?”
Her eyes widened.
“I know that truck.”
“Whose?”
She shook her head.
“I can’t—”
Then pain crossed her face.
Not physical.
Memory.
“Sarah.”
“A boy from school.”
“What boy?”
She pressed both hands against her temples.
“Michael.”
Rebecca stood abruptly.
“No.”
Sarah looked at her.
“Michael Trent.”
Rebecca’s face had emptied.
Lily asked, “Who is Michael Trent?”
Sarah stared at the wall.
“My boyfriend.”
I felt something inside me tighten.
“Before Daniel?”
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“At the same time.”
Rebecca whispered, “Sarah, that isn’t right.”
Sarah looked at her.
“I remember him.”
“What do you remember?”
Sarah’s voice dropped.
“Daniel thought Lily was his.”
Lily froze.
Sarah looked at her daughter.
“But there was another possibility.”
The room became unbearably quiet.
Lily’s mouth opened.
“No.”
Sarah started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
“You said Daniel named me.”
“He did.”
“You said he knew I was his.”
“He believed you were.”
Lily stepped backward.
“And Michael?”
“I don’t remember everything.”
Rebecca grabbed the chair.
“Sarah, Michael Trent didn’t just go to school with us.”
Sarah looked at her.
“What?”
Rebecca’s answer changed the room again.
“He worked for Nathan.”
Nathan’s unconscious body was being treated two floors below.
Claire had vanished.
Joseph was somewhere alive.
And now a fourth man had entered a story that had already survived too many lies.
I looked down at Nathan’s final page.
There was one last sentence.
Michael Trent is the reason Claire disappeared.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Sarah Remembered Michael Trent and the Night Before Daniel Died, but Lily’s DNA Result Revealed a Secret No One Expected
Three Years After Our Quiet Divorce, Sarah Came Home for One Night and Left Her Wedding Ring Behind
Part 13 of 50
