Grandfather looked at Mr. Han.
“Give it to her.”
The attorney hesitated.
“Sir—”
“She has a right to see it.”
He handed me the phone.
An email was open.
Sent three days before my emergency delivery.
Subject line:
A.V. MATERNAL TRANSFER
I stared.
The sender used an encrypted address.
The recipient appeared to be Dominic.
There were only four lines.
Condition progressing as discussed.
Transfer may occur before 30 weeks.
Records will reflect spontaneous deterioration.
Remaining balance due upon confirmation.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Natalie whispered, “What does that mean?”
Nobody answered.
I read it again.
Then again.
Condition progressing as discussed.
My hand began to shake.
Grandfather took the phone before I dropped it.
“I want hospital legal here now,” he said.
The administrator was already dialing.
“And suspend access credentials for any employee who viewed Audrey’s obstetric file without clinical justification during the last sixty days.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do not alert them until the audit is preserved.”
“Yes.”
Natalie backed toward the wall.
“Oh my God.”
I looked at my babies.
Liam slept beneath the lights.
Chloe’s fingers curled near her cheek.
They were alive.
Twenty-nine weeks.
Fragile lungs.
Tiny bodies.
Machines breathing beside them.
I had spent days telling myself it was bad luck.
A medical catastrophe.
One of those terrifying things that happened without warning.
But Dominic had known I might deliver early.
Before I had.
Grandfather crouched beside my chair.
His voice softened.
“Audrey.”
I looked at him.
“I drank something he gave me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“The night before.”
“What?”
“Tea.”
Natalie suddenly covered her mouth.
We looked at her.
She had gone white.
“What?” I demanded.
She shook her head.
“What, Natalie?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Two months ago…”
She pressed a hand to her stomach.
“Dominic started bringing me vitamins.”
No one moved.
“He said they were specially compounded prenatal supplements. Said they were expensive. Better than the regular kind.”
I felt cold.
“Did you take them?”
“Every day.”
Grandfather stood.
“Where are they?”
“My apartment.”
Mr. Han was already typing.
Natalie stared at him.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“We don’t know that anything is,” he replied. “Do not take another dose.”
She began crying.
Not delicately.
Not beautifully.
She slid into the chair opposite me, both hands over her belly.
I watched her.
A few hours earlier, I had thought Natalie was the worst thing Dominic could have done to me.
Now I understood.
She might not have been his partner.
She might have been his next victim.
My phone vibrated.
Everyone looked at it.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
For several seconds, I could not understand what I was seeing.
It was a photograph.
Dominic.
Standing in what looked like a private medical office.
Beside him was a man in surgical scrubs.
A date stamp showed it had been taken six weeks earlier.
Below the image was one sentence.
ASK YOUR GRANDFATHER WHY HE ALREADY KNOWS THE DOCTOR.
My blood turned cold.
I looked up.
“Grandfather.”
Alistair saw my face.
“What is it?”
I handed him the phone.
He read the message.
Then looked at the photograph.
And for the first time in my entire life, I watched fear enter my grandfather’s eyes.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
His hand tightened around his cane.
“Who is he?” I whispered.
Grandfather did not answer.
“Who is the doctor?”
Natalie stopped crying.
Mr. Han moved closer.
The hospital administrator stared at the photograph.
Grandfather’s lips pressed together.
“His name is Dr. Julian Mercer.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He looked through the incubator glass toward Liam and Chloe.
Then back at me.
And I knew, before he said another word, that whatever Dominic had done was not where this story began.
Grandfather lowered his voice.
“Twenty-eight years ago, Julian Mercer was the physician who signed your mother’s death certificate.”
My chest tightened.
“My mother died in a car accident.”
Grandfather looked at me.
“No, Audrey.”
The room seemed to tilt.
He took my hand.
“That is what I told you.”
Before I could speak, the private phone in Grandfather’s jacket rang.
He answered.
His expression hardened almost immediately.
“When?”
A pause.
“Lock the building down.”
Another pause.
Then his eyes found mine.
“What happened?” I asked.
He ended the call.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Finally, he looked at the hospital administrator.
“Dominic never left the hospital.”
My heart began pounding.
“What?”
“He disappeared between the neonatal floor and the security office.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It should be.”
Grandfather looked toward the incubators.
Then toward the double doors.
His face went pale.
The monitor beside Liam suddenly sounded an alarm.
A nurse spun around.
The lights above the NICU flickered once.
Twice.
Then every electronic lock in the corridor clicked open at the same time.
And from somewhere beyond the doors came the sound of a man running.
…If you want to know what happened next, please type “YES” and like for more.
