Chapter 5 - The Man My Mother Trusted
There are moments when the truth hurts so badly that your mind refuses to accept it.
Mine came when Vincent Morgan said one name.
"Dr. Samuel Price."
I stared at him.
"No."
Vincent said nothing.
"That's impossible."
Samuel Price had been my mother's physician for six years.
He visited our apartment when she couldn't travel.
He helped us appeal insurance denials.
He sometimes waived appointment fees.
He was kind.
Gentle.
Exactly the sort of man who seemed incapable of hurting anyone.
"You're wrong," I whispered.
Vincent looked exhausted.
"I hope I am."
"Then why accuse him?"
"Because a witness identified him near the construction site the night Thomas disappeared."
I shook my head.
"That doesn't prove anything."
"No."
Vincent nodded.
"It doesn't."
I studied him.
He wasn't trying to convince me through threats.
He was offering information.
And allowing me to question it.
That frightened me more than his reputation.
"Why would a doctor push an electrician?"
Vincent looked toward the street.
"Samuel wasn't always a physician in private practice."
"What?"
"He worked as a medical administrator for one of Richard's companies."
My stomach tightened.
"Which company?"
"Northbridge Medical."
I knew the name.
It appeared on several of Mom's rejected insurance claims.
I felt dizzy.
"Northbridge handles Mom's treatment approvals."
Vincent nodded.
"And Richard has financial interests in its parent organization."
I looked toward the building.
Suddenly, every delayed prescription and denied treatment felt different.
"Are you saying Richard has been controlling my mother's care?"
"I'm saying the situation needs an independent investigation."
I swallowed.
"Then I'm taking her somewhere else."
"Good."
Vincent paused.
"I can arrange transportation, but you choose the hospital and doctor."
I studied him.
"Why are you helping us?"
His expression changed.
"Because your father once saved my life."
I frowned.
"What?"
"Twenty-two years ago, there was an electrical fire at one of my construction sites. Thomas went back inside when everyone else ran."
He looked down.
"He pulled me out."
My throat tightened.
"Why didn't he ever tell me?"
"Because he didn't think saving someone's life made him a hero."
That sounded exactly like Dad.
I looked away before Vincent could see me cry.
Later that afternoon, I returned home.
Mom was sleeping.
I checked her oxygen concentrator, arranged her medication, and sat beside her bed.
Then I noticed something unusual.
A fresh envelope lay on her bedside table.
No stamp.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
Older than I remembered.
Sitting in what looked like a hospital room.
The date printed at the bottom was three weeks after his official death.
My blood turned cold.
I turned the photograph over.
A message was written in red ink.
Thomas Carter survived longer than they told you.
I stared at the picture.
Then heard Mom whisper from her bed.
"Emma?"
I turned.
She was awake.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
She looked at the photograph.
May you like
And said the six words that shattered my world.
"I saw your father after his funeral."
