Chapter 6 - THE BOYS WHO LOOKED LIKE HIM
The door didn't open.
I had locked the deadbolt before calling Damian, and whoever stood outside seemed to realize it.
For several seconds, there was silence.
Then a man's voice came through the wood.
“Mrs. Bennett? Building management. We need to check a reported leak.”
I didn't move.
“There is no leak,” I called back.
“Water is coming through the ceiling downstairs.”
“Call the building manager.”
“We need access now.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
Damian was still on the line.
“Do not open that door,” he said.
The footsteps outside shifted.
Then I heard a quiet metallic scrape.
Someone was working on the lock.
I backed away, grabbed the small wooden chair beside the kitchen table, and held it in both hands.
The lock clicked.
The door opened an inch.
A heavy shoulder struck it from the other side.
I screamed.
The chair slammed against the door, forcing it shut again.
“Claire!” Damian shouted through the phone. “Get away from the entrance!”
I ran toward the bedroom, where Noah and Caleb were sleeping.
The door shuddered behind me.
Then came a crash.
I reached the bedroom and pulled both boys off the bed.
“Mom?” Noah mumbled.
“Shoes on. Right now.”
Caleb started crying.
“What's happening?”
“We're going to see Evan.”
I didn't explain.
I couldn't.
The hallway outside the bedroom was silent when I emerged. I moved toward the rear exit, clutching Caleb's hand and carrying Noah's jacket over my arm.
Then I heard a voice.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
I turned.
Marcus stood in the kitchen doorway with two security officers behind him.
For one terrifying second, I didn't recognize him.
Then I saw the small silver pin on his lapel.
Damian's security insignia.
“You're safe,” Marcus said. “The man who tried to enter has fled. We've called the police.”
I nearly collapsed.
Noah wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Mom, is Evan okay?”
I crouched and pulled both boys close.
“Evan is getting better. We're going to see him now.”
As Marcus escorted us downstairs, I saw the damage to my apartment door.
The lock had been forced.
A strip of wood had splintered near the handle.
Someone had tried to get inside while my children slept.
My fear turned to fury so quickly that I began to shake.
At the hospital, Damian waited outside the pediatric unit.
He saw the boys first.
Noah stopped several feet away from him.
Caleb hid behind my coat.
Damian didn't approach.
He knelt instead, lowering himself to their height.
“Hi,” he said gently.
Noah stared at him.
“Are you really our dad?”
Damian swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Why haven't we met you?”
The question was simple.
The answer wasn't.
Damian glanced at me, but I didn't rescue him.
He looked back at Noah.
“Because I made some terrible mistakes, and because people told me things that I should have checked for myself.”
Noah frowned.
“Did you forget us?”
Damian's face crumpled.
“No. I didn't know about you. But I should have found out the truth.”
“Mom says grown-ups should tell the truth even when they're scared.”
“She is right.”
Caleb peered around my coat.
“Do you have a house?”
Damian blinked.
“Yes.”
“Is it big?”
“Very.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“No.”
Caleb considered this.
“Then it's not a very good house.”
A small, broken laugh escaped Damian.
“No,” he admitted. “I suppose it isn't.”
Noah studied him for another moment.
Then he looked at the photograph tucked into Damian's jacket pocket.
It was the picture of the three boys from their preschool graduation.
“Why do you have that?”
Damian looked down.
“Your mother had it in her phone. I asked if I could have a copy.”
Noah's expression softened a little.
“Evan looks sick in that picture.”
“He looks brave,” Damian said.
“He was scared that day.”
“I wish I'd been there.”
Noah considered the answer.
Then he took Caleb's hand.
“Maybe you can come tomorrow, too.”
Damian nodded.
“If your mother says it's okay.”
I looked at him.
He had learned something important in a single afternoon.
Being their father did not mean he could simply claim them.
It meant earning the right to stay.
Later, after the boys had been taken to a family room with a nurse, Damian and I sat in the corridor.
“I'm moving you to a secure apartment,” he said.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“You can help pay for a better lock. You can help the police investigate. But you're not moving me into your house.”
“Someone tried to break into your apartment.”
“And I will not let fear decide where my children live.”
He exhaled.
“All right. Then let's find somewhere you choose.”
I studied him.
“You're not used to hearing no.”
“I'm learning.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
His phone rang.
He answered, listened, and stood abruptly.
“What do you mean the files are missing?”
I got to my feet.
“What happened?”
He ended the call.
“The foundation's old records were stored in an off-site archive. Someone accessed the archive last night and removed several boxes.”
“Which boxes?”
“The medical research files.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Were they connected to Evan?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Then find out.”
He nodded.
Before he could make another call, a woman approached from the elevator.
She wore a dark green coat and carried a leather briefcase. Her hair was pulled into a tight knot, and she walked with the confidence of someone who expected doors to open before she reached them.
“Damian,” she said.
He stiffened.
“Celeste.”
She looked at me.
“Claire Bennett.”
I didn't offer my hand.
“Why is your name in my son's medical file?”
Celeste's gaze flicked toward Damian.
“Because someone is using my identity.”
“That's convenient.”
“I understand why you don't trust me.”
“You don't understand anything about me.”
Celeste accepted the rebuke without flinching.
“Five years ago, I discovered that a private medical contractor was receiving pediatric records from hospitals connected to the Cross foundation. I told Damian's father. He asked me to keep investigating quietly.”
Damian stared at her.
“My father knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“He intended to. He was preparing a meeting with federal investigators when he died.”
The corridor seemed to tilt.
“Are you saying his death wasn't natural?” Damian asked.
“I'm saying the investigation ended the day he died, and the records disappeared shortly afterward.”
I stepped closer.
“What does this have to do with Evan?”
Celeste opened her briefcase and removed a printed email.
“Three weeks ago, someone used my old credentials to access Evan's medical record. They added my name as an emergency contact and altered the referral information.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I don't know. But the access request originated from a device registered to Cross Atlantic Shipping.”
Damian went completely still.
“My company?”
“Your company's network.”
“That doesn't mean it was me.”
“I never said it did.”
She placed the email on the table.
“Someone has been using the same system to move records, conceal medical errors, and bury the original investigation. I came here because I believe they're trying to destroy whatever evidence remains.”
I stared at the email.
Then I noticed the date.
The access had occurred the day before Evan's condition deteriorated.
“Why didn't you tell the hospital?”
“I did. The report was closed as an unauthorized credential issue.”
“By whom?”
Celeste looked at Damian.
“Vivian Cross.”
A silence settled over us.
Then Celeste added something that made my stomach turn.
“There's one more thing. The original research program wasn't limited to medical records. It involved experimental treatment protocols for children with congenital heart defects.”
I looked through the glass at Evan.
“Children like my son?”
“Yes.”
Damian's hands curled into fists.
“Who authorized it?”
Celeste hesitated.
“I don't have the complete file.”
“Then what do you have?”
She opened the briefcase again and removed a small photograph.
It showed Damian's father standing beside Vivian at a hospital opening ceremony. Between them stood a younger man in a white coat.
I recognized the face from the hospital's promotional displays.
Dr. Nolan.
Celeste turned the photograph over.
Someone had written a name on the back.
Project Heartline — Final authorization: V. Cross.
Damian stared at the handwriting.
I watched his face change.
May you like
And for the first time, I understood that the woman who had spent five years keeping me away from her son might have been protecting something far more dangerous than the Cross family name.
She might have been protecting the person who had signed off on the treatment that nearly killed my child.
