Chapter 8: The Doctor Who Kept My Father's Last Secret
I didn't tell Marcus about the phone call.
Not immediately.
I knew how dangerous that decision was. He had helped me recover my father's documents, taken me to the bank, and stood between Vanessa and me when she tried to destroy the evidence.
But Samuel Hayes had specifically warned me not to tell him.
And after everything I'd learned, I could no longer afford to trust anyone simply because they claimed to be on my side.
“I need some air,” I said.
Marcus studied my face.
“Are you all right?””
“No. I just need a minute.””
He glanced at his phone.
“The police should be here soon. Stay inside until they arrive.””
I nodded.
Then I slipped into the hallway and called Samuel back.
He answered after the first ring.
“Did you tell Marcus?””
“No.””
“Good. Listen carefully. The clinic is on Auburn Avenue, near the old railway building.
Use the side entrance. The front doors are monitored.””
“Why?””
“Because someone has been looking for me.””
“Who?””
“I don't know. But they know about the records.””
I swallowed.
“Is my father alive?””
A long silence followed.
Then Samuel said, “I cannot promise you that.””
The answer felt like a knife twisting in my chest.
“But I can show you what happened after the accident.””
I closed my eyes.
“I'm coming.””
“Bring the brass key. And come before midnight.””
The call ended.
I returned to the bedroom, retrieved the key from my jacket, and slipped it into my pocket.
Marcus was speaking to someone downstairs. I could hear his voice carrying through the open doorway, explaining the evidence and requesting an officer to preserve the scene.
I wanted to tell him where I was going.
I wanted to ask him whether he'd known about Samuel Hayes all along.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that my father had left the key for a reason, and that whatever remained hidden in Account 417 had not yet been fully revealed.
I left through the back door.
The old clinic stood between a closed hardware store and a brick warehouse, its windows dark and its sign faded by years of weather. A single light burned above the side entrance.
I knocked twice.
A narrow panel slid open.
“Who are you?”” a man asked.
“Nia Carter.””
The panel closed.
A lock clicked.
The door opened, revealing a thin man in his late sixties wearing a gray sweater and dark trousers. His hair was nearly white, and a surgical scar ran from the edge of his jaw toward his ear.
He stared at me.
Then he stepped aside.
“Come in.””
The clinic smelled of antiseptic and old paper. Several examination rooms had been converted into storage spaces, their counters crowded with boxes and filing cabinets.
Samuel led me into a small office.
He locked the door behind us.
“You look like him,” he said.
“Everyone keeps saying that.””
“Your father used to say you had your mother's eyes.””
I felt a sudden ache in my chest.
“Did you treat him after the accident?””
Samuel nodded.
“Yes.””
“Was he alive?””
“Yes.””
The word came so quickly that I nearly fell against the desk.
I grabbed its edge.
“Then why did the police declare him dead?””
Samuel sat down heavily.
“Because the person who identified the body was given false information. The body recovered from the crash was badly burned, and the identification was based on records and personal effects found in the vehicle.””
“But the police said—”
“The investigation was compromised.””
I stared at him.
“By Vanessa?””
Samuel looked toward the locked door.
“Vanessa was involved, but she wasn't the only person.””
I remembered Marcus's warning.
The mechanic.
The missing report.
The forged signatures.
“Who else?””
Samuel rubbed his forehead.
“Your father discovered that money was being moved through several companies connected to the Carter Foundation. He believed the theft involved someone with access to the foundation's board and its legal counsel.””
“The lawyer who sealed Account 417?””
Samuel nodded.
“Richard Coleman.””
I recognized the name.
Coleman had attended my father's funeral and delivered a speech about loyalty, family, and preserving Daniel Carter's legacy. Afterward, he had stood beside Vanessa while she announced that she would manage the estate.
I'd believed he was helping her.
“Why would he help her steal the money?””
“Because some of the money didn't belong to Vanessa. It belonged to people who had invested in the foundation's development projects. Your father discovered that the transfers were part of a larger scheme.””
Samuel opened a drawer and removed a thick file.
“Daniel confronted Coleman. A few days later, his car was sabotaged.””
My hands grew cold.
“You're saying Coleman arranged the accident?””
“I'm saying Daniel believed he did. I don't have enough evidence to prove who ordered the sabotage.””
He placed a photograph on the desk.
It showed my father lying in a hospital bed, his face bruised, his forehead wrapped in bandages.
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
“When was this taken?””
“Three days after the crash.””
I stared at the photograph.
My father looked exhausted, but his eyes were open.
He was alive.
Samuel continued.
“He suffered a serious head injury and several broken ribs. He was conscious for brief periods, but he couldn't safely return home. Vanessa had convinced the authorities that he was dead, and the people involved in the financial scheme were searching for him.””
“Why didn't he contact me?””
Samuel's expression softened.
“He tried.””
I looked up.
“What?””
“He asked me to contact you. But Coleman intercepted the first message. After that, Daniel became afraid that any attempt to reach you would put you in danger.””
I shook my head.
“He could have called. He could have sent me a letter.””
“He believed your communications were being monitored. He also believed Vanessa would use you to force him to reveal where the records were hidden.””
My eyes filled with tears.
“So he let me think he was dead?””
Samuel didn't answer immediately.
“He made a terrible choice under terrible circumstances. He thought distance would protect you.””
I turned away.
For three years, I'd mourned him.
I'd spoken to his photograph when Vanessa made me feel worthless. I'd worn his old jacket when the pain behind my eye became unbearable. I'd dreamed of hearing his voice one more time.
And somewhere during those years, he'd been alive.
Or at least he had been.
“Where is he now?”” I whispered.
Samuel opened another drawer.
Inside was a small cassette recorder and a sealed envelope bearing my name.
“I don't know where Daniel is today,” he said.
“The last time I saw him, he was being transferred to a private rehabilitation facility under a different identity.””
“Who arranged it?””
“Richard Coleman.””
I stared at him.
“Why would the lawyer help my father escape?””
“Because Daniel had evidence that could implicate Coleman, too. Coleman wanted to keep him alive long enough to recover the original records. He believed Daniel would eventually surrender them in exchange for protection.””
“But Vanessa wanted him dead.””
Samuel nodded slowly.
“They were working toward different goals. Vanessa wanted control of the estate. Coleman wanted the financial evidence. Neither wanted Daniel to regain control of the foundation.””
I picked up the envelope.
“What's this?””
“A letter your father wrote shortly before he left the clinic.””
I opened it.
Nia,
If Samuel has given you this letter, then I have failed to return to you when I promised I would.
I need you to understand that I never stopped looking for a way home.
The people who arranged the accident believe I have the original records. They are wrong. I hid the most important evidence in the one place I knew you would protect.
I stopped reading.
The blue dress.
If you found the key, then you have already discovered the account. But the account is only the beginning.
There is another document. It identifies the person who authorized the transfer that funded the attempt on my life.
My hands shook.
The document is protected by a second key. Samuel knows where it is.
I looked up.
“Where?””
Samuel pointed toward the photograph of my father on the desk.
“Look at the watch on his wrist.””
I leaned closer.
The photograph showed my father wearing the silver watch he'd received from his own father. I'd inherited it after the funeral, but Vanessa had claimed it was missing from the estate inventory.
I remembered searching my room for it.
I remembered Vanessa telling me not to waste time looking for things that weren't mine.
“Where is the watch?”” I asked.
Samuel took a breath.
“Vanessa has it.””
I felt sick.
“She stole it?””
“She told Coleman it had been destroyed. But Daniel gave it to her shortly before the accident. He believed she would keep it safe because it had belonged to his father.””
I stared at the photograph.
“Why would he trust her with it?””
“Because he still loved her.””
The words hurt more than I expected.
Samuel continued.
“The watch contains a hidden compartment. Inside is a small key that opens a deposit box at the same bank where Account 417 is held.””
I closed my eyes.
Vanessa had taken the watch.
She'd taken the dress.
She'd taken my father's money.
And now I understood why she'd been so desperate to get her hands on the gown before the competition.
She believed the dress contained the only evidence that could expose her.
But there was something she hadn't understood.
My father had prepared for the possibility that she'd find it.
He'd hidden a second safeguard.
“Can we get the watch back?”” I asked.
Samuel shook his head.
“Not without exposing ourselves. Coleman has people watching Vanessa's movements.””
“Then how do we find him?””
Samuel pushed the cassette recorder toward me.
“Listen to this.””
He pressed play.
Static crackled through the small speaker.
Then my father's voice filled the room.
“Richard, if you're listening, I know you've been lying to me.””
A second voice replied.
Coleman's.
“Daniel, you're making a mistake.””
“No. The mistake was trusting you with my family.””
A pause followed.
Then Coleman spoke again.
“You don't understand the consequences. If those records become public, everyone involved will go down.””
“Then everyone involved should be held accountable.””
“You'll destroy the foundation.””
“You've already destroyed it.””
The recording continued, capturing the scrape of a chair and the sound of someone moving toward a door.
Then Coleman said something that made my blood run cold.
“Vanessa doesn't know what I did to your brakes.””
The tape ended.
I stared at Samuel.
“That's proof.””
“It's evidence,” he corrected.
“But the recording alone may not establish when it was made or whether the voice is authentic. We need the original records and corroborating testimony.””
I nodded.
For the first time, the pieces seemed to fit together.
Vanessa wanted the money.
Coleman wanted the records.
My father had tried to expose them both.
And someone had arranged an accident that was supposed to erase him.
I took out my phone.
“We need to give this to the police.””
Samuel nodded.
“Yes. But first, there's something else you should know.””
He opened a final folder.
Inside was a photograph of a young woman standing beside my father outside the clinic.
I recognized her immediately.
My mother.
I had seen the photograph a thousand times, but never in this setting.
“Why was she here?””
Samuel's eyes filled with sadness.
“Because she knew about the foundation's financial problems long before your father did.””
I stared at him.
“My mother died when I was seven.””
“I know.””
“What are you saying?””
Samuel hesitated.
“Your mother wasn't the person who died in the accident you were told about.””
I couldn't breathe.
“What?””
He turned the photograph over.
A date had been written on the back.
Three months before my mother's reported death.
Beneath it was a sentence in my father's handwriting.
If anything happens to us, protect Nia from the people who know what she witnessed.
I stared at the words.
My mother.
My father.
The accident.
The money.
Everything I'd believed about my family was beginning to unravel.
Samuel leaned forward.
“Nia, there's a reason your father hid the evidence inside a dress you made yourself. He wanted to be certain the person who found it was you.””
I swallowed.
“Why?””
“Because he believed your mother had left you something before she died.””
“What?””
Samuel looked toward the door.
Before he could answer, someone struck it violently.
A man's voice shouted from the hallway.
“Open up! Police!””
Samuel went pale.
“That isn't the police.””
He grabbed the folder and shoved it into my hands.
“There's a rear exit. Go now.””
I backed toward the door.
“What about you?””
“Go!””
The lock rattled.
A second later, the door began to splinter.
Samuel pushed me toward a narrow passage behind the examination room.
I ran through it, clutching the folder against my chest.
Behind me, I heard the office door crash open.
Then a man's voice shouted my name.
“Nia Carter! Stop!””
I reached the rear exit and burst into the alley.
Rain fell in cold sheets.
I ran until I reached the corner, then turned back.
A black car sat outside the clinic.
The driver's door opened.
A tall man stepped out.
A scar ran along the edge of his ear.
The same scar Brianna had described.
He looked directly at me.
May you like
Then he smiled.
And raised a photograph of my father.
