Chapter 8 - THE MAN IN MY FATHER'S ROOM
For three years, I had visited my father every Sunday.
I had fed him soup.
Brushed his hair.
Helped him practice words.
Held his hand when he cried from frustration.
Now someone was suggesting the man I'd cared for wasn't Arthur Bennett.
I felt physically ill.
"That's impossible."
Roman stood beside me.
"Sloan, look at me."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Preston may be trying to frighten Emily into signing."
I turned toward him.
"Then why would he say something so specific?"
"Because he knows how much your father means to you."
I wanted to believe him.
But doubt had already entered my mind.
Katherine arranged an independent review of the claim.
That afternoon, I drove to the care facility with Roman and a physician recommended by Katherine.
We had obtained the necessary authorization for an independent medical assessment.
My father sat beside the window, exactly where I'd left him.
He smiled when he saw me.
"Slo..."
My eyes filled with tears.
"Dad."
I rushed forward and hugged him.
The familiar scent of his soap.
The roughness of his hands.
The tiny scar beside his eyebrow from an accident at the old workshop.
Everything was exactly as I remembered.
I pulled back.
"Do you know who I am?"
His eyes widened.
He nodded.
"Sloan."
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
"You're my dad."
He squeezed my hand.
"Always."
Roman turned away, giving us privacy.
The doctor completed a careful assessment and arranged further verification.
There was no immediate evidence supporting Preston's claim.
But I still needed certainty.
That evening, Katherine contacted the facility's records department.
The original admission file contained a surprising detail.
My father's name had been temporarily listed as Arthur B. Miller.
I frowned.
"Why?"
The facility administrator explained that the registration had been changed during a disputed insurance review, then corrected months later.
"Who requested the change?" Katherine asked.
The administrator checked the records.
"An outside representative."
"Name?"
"Margaret Ellis."
My stomach dropped.
Margaret again.
Roman looked toward me.
"She's trying to make the records appear inconsistent."
I nodded slowly.
Preston wasn't trying to reveal a truth.
He was trying to create doubt.
If Emily believed my father was dead, she might sign away the trust rights.
If I believed he was an impostor, I might abandon the one person who could identify the original fraud.
I looked at Dad.
His eyes were fixed on the television.
Then he suddenly pointed toward Roman.
"Co..."
Roman approached.
"Arthur?"
Dad struggled.
"Co... sta."
Roman knelt beside him.
"I'm here."
My father gripped his wrist.
His breathing quickened.
Then he forced out a sentence.
"Your father... knew."
Roman went completely still.
I leaned closer.
"Knew what, Dad?"
Arthur's eyes filled with tears.
He whispered another name.
"Lucia."
Roman's face changed.
I noticed immediately.
"Who's Lucia?"
He didn't answer.
Dad began shaking his head.
"Find... Lucia."
Roman slowly stood.
For the first time, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
"Roman?"
He looked at me.
Then said something I hadn't expected.
"Lucia Costa was my younger sister."
I swallowed.
"Was?"
May you like
His voice became barely audible.
"She disappeared seven years ago, and your father was the last person known to have seen her alive."
