Chapter 3 - The Ghost of St. Jude's
Frank Mercer stepped into the study, shaking the rain from his dark trench coat. Behind him stood two muscular men in dark tactical attire, carrying heavy pelican cases containing specialized scanning equipment.
Frank took one look at Daniel’s face and immediately turned to his men. “Sweep the house for electronic bugs and tap devices. Check the perimeter sensors. Move.”
The two operators nodded and slipped out into the hallway without a sound.
Frank walked over to the desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He looked at the silver medallion sitting beside the halved loaf of bread, then looked at Daniel. “Talk to me, Daniel.”
Daniel pushed the laptop toward Frank. “My mother and Dr. Vance didn't treat Claire for cancer, Frank. They hid her. She gave birth to twin girls three years ago at St. Jude’s. Those girls are sitting in my bedroom right now.”
Frank’s sharp eyes scanned the billing logs on the screen. As a veteran investigator, he processed the implications instantly. “If Claire was pregnant, why hide it from you? You were her husband. You owned the company. A child—an heir—would have solidified your control over the Whitmore Trust forever.”
“That’s exactly why,” Daniel said, his voice dripping with venom. “The Whitmore Family Trust was established by my father. Under the original charter, if I died without biological heirs, fifty percent of the voting stock and estate property defaulted to Ethan and Margaret. But if I had legal, biological children, my children would inherit the entire master trust automatically upon their twenty-first birthday, with me as sole trustee until then.”
Frank leaned back, crossing his arms. “Three years ago, you were flying back and forth to Asia opening four new hotel locations. You were rarely in Chicago for more than three days at a time.”
“Margaret controlled the information,” Daniel realized, the pieces locking together in horrifying precision. “When Claire got pregnant, she must have gone to Dr. Vance for her first ultrasound. Vance notified Margaret immediately. Margaret knew that if those babies were born and registered under my name, Ethan’s branch of the family would be permanently cut off from the master trust.”
“So they isolated her,” Frank said softly. “They told you she was sick. They kept her in a private wing at St. Jude’s, controlled her communications, and forced her through a delivery in secret. But what did they do with the babies after they were born?”
“They gave them to someone,” Daniel said. “A woman named Helen. In the note inside the bread, Claire wrote: 'Take them to their father before Margaret finds them.' That means Claire knew Helen was hiding them. She must have arranged it before she died.”
“Or,” Frank added grimly, “Helen was a nurse at St. Jude’s who couldn't stomach what Margaret was doing and smuggled the infants out.”
At that moment, the door to the study opened slightly.
Kesha—no, Skye—stood in the doorway, rubbing her sleepy eyes, her small bare feet silent on the rug. She was holding a faded yellow plush bear that Daniel had brought out from Claire’s old childhood closet earlier that evening.
Frank’s tough demeanor instantly softened. He stared at the little girl, then looked at a framed photograph of Claire sitting on the bookshelf.
The resemblance was unquestionable. Skye had Claire’s high cheekbones, her striking almond-shaped hazel eyes, and the distinct small dimple on her left chin.
“My God,” Frank whispered. “She’s Claire’s double.”
Daniel stood up, walked over to Skye, and scooped her into his arms. She rested her head naturally against his shoulder, sighing softly.
“We need to find Helen, Frank,” Daniel said, stroking Skye’s hair. “She’s the only living witness who can tell us what happened in that hospital room before Claire died. And if Margaret knows the girls are here, Helen is in extreme danger.”
Frank opened his secure tablet and pulled up a private database. “I’m accessing the employment records for St. Jude’s Private Medical Center for the year the girls were born. Searching for female nursing staff registered under the name Helen.”
The screen flashed as search parameters filtered through hundreds of medical personnel.
Three names popped up.
Frank tapped the second name on the list.
Helen M. Vance. Age: 58. Senior Neonatal Nurse. Status: Resigned—March 14th, three years ago. Relation: Sister of Dr. Arthur Vance.
Daniel’s blood turned to ice. “Arthur Vance’s own sister.”
“She resigned the exact same week Claire’s official death certificate was filed,” Frank noted sharply. “And look at her current registered address.”
Frank flipped the tablet screen toward Daniel.
May you like
Address: 408 Pine Crest Lane, Williams Bay, Wisconsin.
Williams Bay was a small, isolated town located on the western shore of Lake Geneva—less than four miles from where they were currently standing.
