Chapter 12 - The Woman Wearing My Face
The footage looked real.
That was what frightened me most.
A woman in Navy scrubs entered the hospital records office at 11:43 p.m.
She wore my identification badge.
She had my height, my dark hair and my walk.
The camera never captured her face clearly.
But anyone watching casually would believe she was me.
“I was on duty in the trauma ward that night,” I told investigators.
“The schedule confirms that,” Commander Elise Grant said.
She served as the hospital’s legal officer.
“But there is a fourteen-minute period when you are not visible on ward cameras.”
“I was inside a patient room.”
“The patient was sedated.”
“The patient’s wife was there.”
“She says she does not remember.”
Nathaniel sat beside me.
He had been allowed to attend because our cases were now formally linked.
“Who had access to Anna’s spare identification?” he asked.
“No one,” I said.
Then I remembered.
My mother.
Six months earlier, during a family dinner, I left my handbag in the guest room. My badge remained inside.
She could have photographed it.
But she could not duplicate the embedded chip without specialized equipment.
Someone inside the hospital had helped her.
Investigators reviewed access records.
Only four employees entered the records office regularly.
One was a civilian data specialist named Laura Bennett.
She had worked at the hospital for nine years.
I recognized her photograph immediately.
“She was at my wedding.”
Nathaniel leaned closer.
“Who invited her?”
“My mother.”
Laura had attended several foundation galas. I assumed she was one of Evelyn’s friends.
Federal agents searched her home.
It was empty.
Her bank account had been drained.
A flight record showed she traveled to Montreal the morning after the wedding.
“She may be the woman from St. Catherine’s,” Deputy Monroe said.
The height matched.
The hospital access explained how she acquired potassium chloride.
More troubling, Laura had altered medical records.
The service members who died at Al-Hadid originally had notes indicating equipment failure.
Those notes had been removed.
My login appeared in the audit trail.
“She built a complete trail toward you,” Nathaniel said.
“My mother planned this for years.”
“Or Cross did.”
It no longer mattered which one conceived it.
They expected me to become the final scapegoat.
Laura Bennett became the key to clearing my name.
Canadian authorities located the apartment she rented in Montreal.
She was gone.
But they recovered a laptop.
The encrypted files contained photographs of me taken over several years.
At work.
At restaurants.
Entering my home.
There were videos studying my posture, clothing and habits.
Laura had practiced becoming me.
In one video, she wore a dark wig and repeated my signature until it looked perfect.
I watched for less than a minute before closing the screen.
Nathaniel shut the laptop.
“You don’t need to see more.”
“She studied my life.”
“She cannot take it.”
“She already took pieces of it.”
He touched my hand.
“Then we take them back.”
Agents found an unsent email on Laura’s laptop.
It was addressed to Caleb.
I did everything Evelyn asked.
She promised the records would only be used to protect the foundation.
Then people died.
I tried to leave.
Senator Cross said my daughter would lose her medical treatment if I spoke.
I am sorry.
The email changed the investigation.
Laura’s ten-year-old daughter had leukemia.
Her treatment was partially funded through a private grant arranged by the foundation.
My mother had used a sick child as leverage.
Federal agents traced payments for the girl’s care.
The latest payment came from a clinic in Baltimore.
Laura was there.
She had returned to the United States secretly to see her daughter.
Agents arrested her outside the clinic.
She requested to speak with me.
My attorney advised against it.
I agreed anyway.
We met in a federal interview room separated by a glass partition.
Laura looked smaller than she did in the videos. Her hair had turned almost completely gray.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You wore my uniform.”
“I never wore the officer insignia in public.”
“You entered a military hospital using my identity.”
“I know.”
“You altered the records of dead service members.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“They threatened my daughter.”
“So you chose other people’s children.”
The words struck her.
She lowered her head.
“I told myself I was only changing data. I told myself no one else would be hurt.”
“That is what everyone says before someone else gets hurt.”
She began crying.
“I have the original records.”
“Where?”
“Stored online. Senator Cross does not know.”
“Why keep them?”
“Insurance.”
“Give them to investigators.”
“I will.”
She looked at me through the glass.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Your mother did not arrange your marriage.”
I frowned.
“Her emails suggested she encouraged it.”
“She did. But not because she wanted Captain Hayes close.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to know what he remembered.”
“About Al-Hadid?”
Laura nodded.
“One of the pilots recorded the counterfeit crates being moved before the attack.”
“Nathaniel?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“His copilot.”
Lieutenant Aaron Cole had died at Al-Hadid.
Nathaniel rarely spoke about him.
“What happened to the recording?”
“Aaron sent it to his emergency contact before the convoy left.”
“Who was his emergency contact?”
Laura’s eyes shifted toward the observation window.
“His fiancée.”
“Name?”
“Marissa Cole.”
My sister-in-law.
Caleb’s wife.
Marissa had possessed evidence of the counterfeit shipment before she ever met my brother.
May you like
Their marriage was not an accident.
And while Caleb had been cooperating with investigators, Marissa had disappeared.
