Chapter 7 - THE FILE WITH MY NAME ON IT
The old clinic had been closed for years.
Officially.
Unofficially, according to Diane, Victor still used the lower levels.
Marcus arranged surveillance.
I went inside with two investigators.
Natalie stayed somewhere safe.
I hated leaving her behind.
But this time, she insisted.
"You need to find the truth."
"What if something happens?"
She smiled sadly.
"Something already happened."
She touched her shaved head.
"To both of us."
Then she kissed me.
"Come back."
"I will."
We entered through the rear service entrance just after midnight.
The basement smelled like dust and disinfectant.
There were old examination rooms.
Empty beds.
Broken equipment.
Then we found the archive.
Rows of metal cabinets.
Marcus opened the first drawer.
Medical files.
Hundreds.
Children.
Adults.
Families.
Each file contained medical records, financial records, insurance information, and legal documents.
It was a database.
Not a clinic.
A database of vulnerable people.
Then Marcus stopped.
"Look."
I walked over.
He held a file.
My name was printed on the label.
[MY NAME] — FAMILY TRANSFER
My hands shook.
Inside was a photograph of Natalie pregnant.
I turned the page.
There was another photograph.
A newborn baby.
Lucas.
I stared.
The next document was dated seven years earlier.
TRANSFER OF MINOR — LUCAS [LAST NAME].
Underneath was my forged signature.
But there was something worse.
A second signature.
Diane's.
And below that—
a hospital administrator.
The same administrator who had signed our original death certificate.
I felt my stomach turn.
Marcus found another document.
"There's a payment."
"How much?"
"$50,000."
"To Diane?"
"No."
"Who?"
He showed me.
Hospital administrator.
I closed my eyes.
They had sold our son.
Then they created a false death record.
Seven years later, they had used Natalie again.
But why?
Marcus kept searching.
Then he found a document dated three months ago.
His face changed.
"What?"
He handed it to me.
It was Natalie's medical diagnosis.
But the diagnosis wasn't what shocked me.
The test result was.
Marcus whispered:
"These numbers don't make sense."
"What?"
"This isn't the original pathology report."
I stared.
"Meaning?"
"Someone altered it."
I felt dizzy.
"Are you saying Natalie doesn't have cancer?"
Marcus looked at me.
"I'm saying we need a second pathology review."
I couldn't speak.
For months, Natalie had believed she was dying.
She had sold her hair.
She had lived in a storage room.
She had prepared herself to leave me behind.
And now—
the diagnosis itself might have been manipulated.
We found another file.
Inside was a letter.
PATIENT MUST REMAIN ISOLATED UNTIL ASSET TRANSFER IS COMPLETE.
My hands went cold.
Isolation wasn't medical treatment.
It was part of the plan.
They wanted Natalie weak.
Afraid.
Alone.
And desperate.
Because a frightened wife would never challenge Diane.
A grieving husband would sign anything to protect her.
Marcus looked at me.
"There's one more thing."
He pointed to the bottom of the document.
The authorization had been signed by—
Victor Hale.
But Victor wasn't a doctor.
He was the owner of the clinic.
I photographed everything.
Then we heard footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Marcus whispered:
"Lights off."
We hid behind the cabinets.
Two men entered.
One carried a folder.
The other said:
"Victor wants the records moved tonight."
The first man answered:
"What about the boy?"
"He's being transferred tomorrow."
My heart stopped.
"Where?"
"Another facility."
"Which one?"
"North Ridge."
I looked at Marcus.
We both knew.
North Ridge was a private residential school outside the city.
If Lucas disappeared again, finding him could take years.
We waited until the men left.
Then we ran.
I called Natalie.
She answered immediately.
"Did you find him?"
"Not yet."
"What did you find?"
I hesitated.
Then said:
"They may have lied about your diagnosis."
Silence.
"What?"
"We need another test."
Her voice broke.
"Are you saying I don't have cancer?"
"I'm saying we don't know yet."
She began crying.
Not because she was afraid of dying.
Because for the first time, she was allowed to hope.
Then I heard another voice behind her.
Diane.
"He's here."
My blood froze.
"Who?"
Diane whispered:
"Victor."
The call ended.
I ran toward the car.
But before I reached it, my phone buzzed.
A photograph.
Natalie sitting in a chair.
Victor standing behind her.
And underneath it:
YOU SHOULD HAVE COME ALONE.
Then another message.
May you like
NOW WE TAKE YOUR WIFE.
:::
