Chapter 2 - THE DEATH CERTIFICATE
The emergency department was chaos.
Doctors rushed Vivienne through double doors while I stood outside with Gemma.
My daughter's hands were covered in dirt from the cemetery.
She kept staring at them.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Mom wasn't dead.”
“No.”
“But everyone told us she was.”
“Yes.”
“Then somebody lied.”
I couldn't answer.
Because she was right.
A nurse eventually came out.
“Family of Vivienne Pendelton?”
I stood.
“Yes.”
“The doctors are stabilizing her.”
“Will she survive?”
“We don't know yet.”
Gemma grabbed my arm.
“Please tell us something.”
The nurse softened.
“She has severe hypothermia and signs of prolonged oxygen deprivation. But she is responding.”
“How long?”
“We need more tests.”
She disappeared.
I sat down.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice said, “Don't trust the certificate.”
I stood immediately.
“Who is this?”
“Look at the time.”
“What?”
“The time on the death certificate.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Gemma looked at me.
“Dad?”
I opened the digital copy of the certificate.
The document had been emailed to me the night before by Brenda.
I zoomed in.
Date of death.
December 18.
Time of death.
7:42 p.m.
I checked my messages.
At 8:03 p.m., Brenda had texted me:
I'm so sorry. Dr. Albright confirmed everything. I'll handle the funeral arrangements.
Twenty-one minutes.
She had arranged transportation, the funeral home, the coffin, flowers, and cemetery details within minutes.
I had thought she was helping.
Now it looked like she had been waiting.
I called the hospital.
“Where is Dr. Albright?”
The receptionist transferred me.
No answer.
I called again.
This time, a nurse answered.
“He isn't here.”
“When will he return?”
“He's not scheduled today.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
I hung up.
Gemma was staring at me.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Look.”
She showed me her phone.
A message had appeared from an unknown number.
Your mother trusted the wrong people.
Gemma looked frightened.
I took the phone.
“Did you give anyone your number?”
“No.”
Another message arrived.
Check the blue room.
I frowned.
“What blue room?”
Gemma looked at me.
“Mom's study.”
I felt cold.
Vivienne's study had been locked since the night she supposedly died.
I called my security director.
“Elias, I need you at the house.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“My wife is alive.”
Silence.
Then:
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“I'll be there in ten minutes.”
I ended the call.
Gemma whispered, “Dad, do you think Mom knew this was going to happen?”
“I don't know.”
“But she found her biological mother.”
“Yes.”
“And she was afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe Mom left something behind.”
We drove home.
The Pendelton house felt different.
Every room looked familiar.
But I suddenly saw it as a stranger would.
Too many locked doors.
Too many private conversations.
Too many family members with keys.
Vivienne's study was at the end of the upstairs hall.
I unlocked it.
The room smelled faintly of her perfume.
Gemma walked in behind me.
“Mom always kept this place organized.”
I looked around.
Books.
Family photographs.
Financial files.
A large blue cabinet.
“The blue room,” Gemma whispered.
“What?”
She pointed.
The walls of Vivienne's study were painted pale blue.
I remembered the message.
Check the blue room.
We searched.
Drawers.
Desk.
Closet.
Nothing.
Then Gemma noticed something.
“Dad.”
She pointed toward the fireplace.
A brick was slightly crooked.
I pulled it.
It moved.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside sat a metal box.
No lock.
Just a handwritten label.
CONRAD.
My heart stopped.
I opened it.
Inside was a flash drive.
A photograph.
And a letter.
The photograph showed Vivienne standing beside Maeve Higgins.
But the picture was not two years old.
It looked recent.
On the back was a date.
December 12.
Six days before Vivienne's supposed death.
I unfolded the letter.
Only one sentence was written.
If you're reading this, then they succeeded in making you believe I was dead.
Gemma covered her mouth.
I kept reading.
Do not trust the doctor.
My hands started shaking.
Then I saw the final line.
And above all, Conrad, do not trust your mother.
The room went silent.
Behind us, the door suddenly slammed shut.
Gemma screamed.
I turned.
Nobody was there.
But the handle was moving.
Someone was standing on the other side.
I reached for it.
The handle stopped.
Then footsteps hurried away down the hallway.
I ran after them.
At the staircase, I saw a woman disappearing around the corner.
Brenda.
I shouted her name.
She stopped.
Slowly turned.
May you like
And said:
“You weren't supposed to find that.”
