Chapter 8 - THE NAME STOLEN FROM MY FATHER
I had never accessed Isabella Lombardi's medical records.
I had never even met the woman.
Yet someone had used my professional credentials to open a file that could destroy the Lombardi family.
“That's impossible,” I said.
Marco showed me his phone.
The access log displayed my full name.
My dental license number.
My clinic's address.
And a timestamp from eleven minutes earlier.
I felt sick.
“Someone stole my credentials.”
Salvatore looked at Marco.
“Trace the access.”
“Already working on it.”
Carmine stepped closer.
“Or maybe she's lying.”
Salvatore's head turned slowly.
“Be careful.”
“She's been here one day, and suddenly every secret from eight years ago is falling into her hands.”
I met Carmine's gaze.
“Your brother was in pain for eight years because somebody buried evidence. My father died carrying secrets he couldn't tell me. If you think I planned any of this, you're giving me far too much credit.”
Salvatore almost smiled.
Then Marco's phone vibrated.
He read the message.
“The records were accessed from Bellhaven Memorial Hospital.”
I frowned.
“That hospital closed three years ago.”
“Exactly,” Marco said.
Salvatore grabbed his coat.
“We're going.”
I stepped in front of him.
“You just had a molar extracted. You're still recovering.”
“I've survived worse.”
“That doesn't make you invincible.”
For a moment, he looked genuinely surprised.
Then he said quietly, “You sound like your father.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
At the hospital, broken windows stared down at us like empty eyes.
Marco's team secured the building.
Inside, the corridors smelled of mildew and abandoned medicine.
We found a functioning computer in the old records department.
Someone had connected it to a portable power supply.
On the screen was a scanned medical chart.
Isabella Lombardi.
Patient status: deceased.
But below that was a second file.
ISABELLA HALE — RELOCATION AUTHORIZATION.
Salvatore gripped the desk.
“She's alive.”
I opened the document.
A new identity.
A transfer date.
A private medical facility in upstate New York.
Then I noticed the physician's signature.
Anthony Russo.
My father.
My hands began shaking.
“Dad helped her disappear?”
Salvatore stared at the signature.
“Or somebody forged it.”
I enlarged the scanned page.
There was a handwritten note in the margin.
I recognized Dad's writing immediately.
THE CHILD MUST NEVER BE RETURNED TO VINCENT.
I stopped breathing.
“What child?”
Marco opened another document.
A birth certificate appeared.
Mother: Isabella Lombardi.
Father: Salvatore Lombardi.
Child: Sofia Lombardi.
Date of birth: eight years earlier.
Salvatore stumbled backward.
His voice cracked.
“Isabella told me the baby died.”
May you like
Then he looked at me.
“And now you're telling me I have a daughter?”
