Chapter 4 - THE DAUGHTER WHO NEVER HAD A GRAVE
Arthur stared at the message until I gently took the paper from his shaking hands.
"You're going to tear it."
He looked at me as though he'd forgotten I was there.
"My daughter," he whispered.
The words barely made a sound.
I sat beside him.
"Tell me what happened."
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he looked toward the window.
"Elena was seven months pregnant when someone forced her car off the road. She survived. The doctors told us the baby didn't."
"I'm sorry."
He nodded, staring at nothing.
"Elena never recovered emotionally. Six years ago, she died from complications of a chronic illness."
His voice cracked.
"I buried my wife. I buried the future we were supposed to have."
I looked at the note.
"And now someone is telling you your daughter survived?"
"I don't know what they're telling me."
He sounded angry.
Not at me.
At the possibility of hope.
I understood that kind of fear.
When my mother died, I spent months imagining someone had made a mistake.
That she'd call.
That she'd walk through the door.
That losing her had been a terrible misunderstanding.
Hope could hurt worse than grief when it arrived too late.
Arthur reached for his phone.
"Vincent. I need Elena's medical records. Everything connected to the accident and pregnancy."
A pause.
"Yes. Tonight."
He disconnected.
Then he looked at me.
"Maeve, this is no longer your problem."
I laughed bitterly.
"Someone photographed my brother and threatened to tie me up. I'd say I'm involved."
His expression softened.
"You're right."
The admission surprised me.
Powerful men didn't usually acknowledge that waitresses had opinions worth hearing.
Arthur did.
At least sometimes.
But before I could respond, his phone rang again.
Vincent.
"Boss, we found something."
Arthur activated the speaker.
"The physician who signed the fetal death report retired three months after Elena's accident."
"And?"
"She changed her name."
Arthur leaned forward.
"To what?"
Vincent hesitated.
"Dr. Evelyn Carmichael."
I looked at him.
My stomach dropped.
"Carmichael?"
Vincent continued.
"She's the sister of a man named Walter Carmichael. He owns a diner on the south side."
I covered my mouth.
My employer's sister had signed the report declaring Arthur's daughter dead.
Arthur's expression turned murderous.
"Where is she?"
"Still checking."
Then Vincent added something worse.
"Boss, the original hospital records have a second infant identification number."
The room went silent.
Arthur whispered, "What does that mean?"
"It means there was another newborn record associated with Elena's case."
A pause.
"And the record was transferred to a private adoption agency."
Arthur's face went white.
May you like
Vincent finished quietly.
"The agency's primary donor was Walter Carmichael."
