Chapter 3 - The File That Shouldn't Exist
Daniel received his medical records that afternoon.
Three boxes.
One encrypted digital archive.
Two years of reports.
He read everything.
The official diagnosis appeared repeatedly.
Complete thoracic spinal cord injury.
Permanent loss of motor function.
Limited potential for neurological recovery.
The words were familiar.
He hated them anyway.
Emma walked into the study carrying coffee.
"You're reading medical records?"
"Apparently."
"Voluntarily?"
"Leave the coffee."
She set it down.
"You okay?"
"Why does everyone keep asking that?"
"Because you look like you're about to murder paper."
Daniel leaned back.
"Do you know anything about spinal injuries?"
"I clean houses and used to waitress."
"So no."
"I know Google."
Daniel gave her a look.
Emma ignored it.
"What are you looking for?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you reading?"
He didn't answer.
Emma picked up one report.
"Motor response absent."
"Put that down."
She did.
Then noticed a date.
"This is from five days after surgery."
"Yes."
She looked at another.
"This one is from twelve days."
"Yes."
"Different doctor."
Daniel looked at her.
"So?"
Emma pointed.
"The wording is exactly the same."
Daniel took both pages.
She was right.
Not similar.
Identical.
Same punctuation.
Same unusual phrase.
"Could be a template."
"Maybe."
Emma opened another file.
Same phrase.
Different doctor.
Different date.
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"Give me that."
They spent an hour comparing reports.
Eight different doctors.
Three facilities.
Several identical paragraphs.
Daniel called Luke.
"Get Dr. Nathan Mercer."
Silence.
"Danny."
"What?"
"Mercer's dead."
Daniel stopped.
"When?"
"About eighteen months ago."
"How?"
"Boating accident."
Daniel stared at the papers.
Mercer had been the first neurologist to examine him after surgery.
"Who replaced him?"
"Dr. Hanley."
"Who hired Hanley?"
Luke paused.
"The hospital."
"Who recommended him?"
Another pause.
"I did."
Emma looked at Daniel.
Daniel's eyes stayed on the phone.
"Why?"
"Mercer became difficult."
"Meaning?"
"He disagreed with the surgical team."
"About what?"
Luke hesitated too long.
"Your prognosis."
Daniel's voice changed.
"What did he say?"
"That he wanted more testing."
"And?"
"The other doctors said it wouldn't change anything."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You had just been shot."
"Not an answer."
"Danny, you were barely conscious."
"And later?"
Luke sighed.
"Mercer contacted me once."
Emma froze.
Daniel sat very still.
"When?"
"Six months after the shooting."
"What did he want?"
"Money."
"For what?"
"He claimed he had evidence your diagnosis was incomplete."
Daniel's heartbeat slowed.
"What kind of evidence?"
"He wouldn't say unless we paid."
"How much?"
"Five million."
Emma whispered:
"That's not a small amount."
Daniel ignored her.
"What did you do?"
"I told him no."
"Without asking me?"
"He was blackmailing you."
"Or selling me information."
Luke's voice hardened.
"He was desperate, Danny."
"And then he died."
Silence.
"Yes."
Daniel ended the call.
Emma stared.
"Do you trust him?"
"Luke?"
"Yes."
"With my life."
The answer came automatically.
Emma noticed.
"That wasn't what I asked."
Daniel's expression hardened.
"You ask too many questions."
"You hired me for administrative responsibilities."
"I can reverse that."
"No, you can't."
He almost smiled.
Then the phone rang again.
Unknown number.
Daniel answered.
Nobody spoke.
"Hello?"
A woman whispered:
"Is Emma Carter with you?"
Daniel looked at her.
"Who is this?"
"Ask Emma about her mother."
The call ended.
Emma's face drained of color.
"What?"
Daniel told her.
She grabbed her phone.
Called the memory-care facility.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
"Drive."
Daniel pressed the security intercom.
Within minutes, they were in an armored SUV.
Emma sat beside him.
Her knee bounced.
Daniel hated watching it.
"She's probably fine."
"You don't know that."
"No."
"Then don't say it."
He nodded once.
The facility was twenty-five minutes away.
They made it in sixteen.
Emma ran inside before the vehicle stopped completely.
Daniel followed with security.
Margaret Carter's room was empty.
The mattress had been overturned.
Drawers opened.
Pictures scattered across the floor.
Emma stopped breathing.
"Mom?"
A nurse rushed in.
"Emma!"
"Where is she?"
"Downstairs."
Emma turned.
"What happened?"
"Your mother became agitated this morning. She kept saying someone was coming."
Emma's face changed.
"Someone came?"
"Not that we saw."
"Why is the room like this?"
The nurse looked terrified.
"We found it this way."
Daniel examined the room.
Someone had searched it.
Thoroughly.
He rolled toward a broken dresser.
"Nothing stolen?"
"Not that we know."
Emma knelt beside the bed.
She noticed something beneath the frame.
A small tear in the carpet.
She reached under.
Pulled out an envelope.
Old.
Yellowed.
Sealed.
Her name was written on it.
EMMA.
Emma's hands shook.
Daniel watched.
"Open it."
"It's from my mother."
"Then open it."
Emma tore the edge.
Inside was a letter.
The handwriting was shaky.
Emma, if anyone ever asks about Daniel Moretti, do not tell them what I kept.
Emma stopped reading.
Daniel's chest tightened.
"What does that mean?"
She continued.
If Daniel is still alive, then they failed once. They will not want to fail twice.
Emma looked at him.
Neither spoke.
At the bottom was one final sentence.
The truth is inside the blue box.
Emma whispered:
"What blue box?"
Daniel didn't know.
Then a nurse screamed downstairs.
Everyone turned.
A second later, a security guard shouted:
"GET DOWN!"
The window exploded.
Daniel grabbed Emma's arm and pulled her behind the bed.
A bullet tore through the wall.
Another struck the door.
Emma covered her mouth.
Daniel drew the handgun strapped beneath his chair.
His voice became cold.
Controlled.
Familiar.
The feared man in Chicago had returned.
"Nobody moves."
He aimed toward the hallway.
Outside, alarms began screaming.
And Emma suddenly understood something.
May you like
Whatever her mother had hidden...
someone was willing to kill them for it.
