PART 3 — THE DOCTOR MARK DIDN’T TRUST
The doctor took one slow step backward.
That tiny movement frightened me more than if he had shouted.
I tightened my grip on Mark’s note.
Before you hate me, find out who your doctor really is.
“What does this mean?”
The doctor glanced at Rachel.
“Emily, there are things in that file that require context.”
My stomach dropped.
I had never told Rachel my name.
Yet she didn’t react when he said it.
I looked between them.
“You two know each other.”
Rachel’s face changed.
“Not the way you’re thinking.”
“Then explain it.”
The doctor lowered his voice.
“My name isn’t important right now.”
“Your name is Dr. Daniel Harris. You’ve treated my husband for months.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would Mark tell me to find out who you really are?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
Rachel suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“We shouldn’t do this here.”
I pulled away.
“Stop telling me what I should do.”
A nurse passed us and disappeared around the corner.
Daniel looked toward the nurses’ station.
Then he said quietly, “Mark discovered something about the hospital.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Something involving his medical records.”
My anger briefly gave way to confusion.
“His records?”
Daniel nodded.
“Approximately three weeks ago, Mark asked me for copies of every test performed after his diagnosis.”
“Why?”
“Because something didn’t make sense.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“What didn’t make sense?”
Daniel hesitated.
“His genetic results.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
She already knew.
I turned toward her.
“You knew this too?”
“Only part of it.”
“Then somebody better start telling me the whole truth.”
Daniel motioned toward a small family consultation room nearby.
This time, I followed.
Not because I trusted him.
Because I needed answers.
The room was barely larger than a closet.
Daniel closed the door.
I remained standing.
Rachel sat in the corner.
I placed the medical pouch on the table.
“Start talking.”
Daniel removed his glasses.
“Mark’s original genetic screening wasn’t ordered here.”
I remembered the letter.
“Rachel’s doctor ordered it because of Noah.”
“Correct.”
“And it found the mutation.”
“Yes.”
“Then Mark came here?”
“He brought the results to me.”
Something about Daniel’s wording caught my attention.
“You?”
He nodded.
“Why specifically you?”
Silence.
Rachel looked at him.
“Tell her.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“Rachel recommended me.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She stared at the floor.
“Daniel treated Noah.”
I felt another piece of the puzzle click into place.
“So you knew Mark before his diagnosis?”
Daniel nodded.
“Only professionally.”
“And you knew Rachel.”
“Yes.”
“And Noah.”
“Yes.”
My skin prickled.
“Then when Mark walked into your office, you already knew he might be Noah’s father.”
“Yes.”
I almost laughed.
For months I had believed Mark had randomly been referred to one of the hospital’s specialists.
Nothing had been random.
“Why hide that from me?”
“Because Mark asked me to.”
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Emily, your husband was terrified.”
“Of dying?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“He was terrified something would happen to you.”
The room became very quiet.
I touched my stomach.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel pointed toward the pouch.
“Read the first page.”
I didn’t want to.
But I opened it.
Most of the language meant nothing to me.
Numbers.
Markers.
Medical abbreviations.
Then I saw my name.
Emily Carter.
Below it was another line.
Fetal sample.
I looked up sharply.
“How did anyone get a sample from my baby?”
Daniel didn’t answer quickly enough.
“HOW?”
“During your amniocentesis.”
My mind went blank.
I’d had the procedure months earlier after an ultrasound showed something the obstetrician wanted checked.
We’d been told everything looked normal.
“You used that sample without telling me?”
“No.”
“Then why is it here?”
“Mark didn’t order this test.”
I stared at him.
“But Rachel said—”
“I said Mark had another test done,” Rachel interrupted quietly. “That’s what he originally believed.”
Daniel shook his head.
“He was wrong.”
My heart started pounding.
“Who ordered it?”
Daniel looked directly at me.
“Your obstetrician.”
For a moment, I couldn’t even remember her face.
Then it came back.
Dr. Susan Whitmore.
The woman who had cared for me through my entire pregnancy.
The woman who had hugged me after Mark’s diagnosis.
The woman who always seemed to know exactly what to say.
“That’s impossible.”
Daniel reached for the file.
I pulled it away.
“Don’t touch it.”
He raised his hands.
“Look at the authorization code near the bottom.”
I found it.
There was a physician number.
Daniel wrote something on a piece of paper.
The numbers matched.
My mouth went dry.
“Why would she test my baby for Mark’s mutation before we even knew Mark had it?”
Daniel said nothing.
That was when I understood the real problem.
The dates.
I flipped through the pages.
Mark’s genetic screening had been completed seven months ago.
My daughter’s test had been ordered nearly eight months ago.
Weeks earlier.
I looked at Daniel.
“She knew.”
Rachel whispered, “That’s what Mark discovered.”
“Knew what?”
Daniel leaned back.
“That’s the question he spent his final weeks trying to answer.”
I stared at the dates again.
My obstetrician had tested our unborn daughter for a specific mutation before Mark supposedly discovered he carried it.
That couldn’t be coincidence.
“Did Mark confront her?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She denied ordering the test.”
“But her physician code is right here.”
“She claimed someone used it without authorization.”
“Did Mark believe her?”
“No.”
“Do you?”
Daniel hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
I remembered Mark asking to see Daniel alone.
The secret conversations.
The phone calls he ended whenever I entered the room.
I had thought he was arranging his death.
Maybe he’d been investigating something instead.
“Is this why Mark opened the safe-deposit box?”
Daniel nodded.
“He started collecting records.”
“Records of what?”
“Everything.”
Rachel spoke from behind me.
“He thought somebody had been monitoring your pregnancy.”
I turned around.
“What?”
“Mark called me one night,” she said. “He sounded terrified. He asked whether Noah’s doctors had ever requested information about you.”
“Why would they?”
“I said the same thing.”
“And?”
Rachel’s voice became quieter.
“One had.”
My entire body stiffened.
“Who?”
“Dr. Whitmore.”
I stared at her.
“She contacted Noah’s doctors?”
“Twice.”
“Why?”
“She claimed she was coordinating genetic information for your baby.”
“But she wasn’t supposed to know Noah existed.”
“I know.”
That sentence hit harder than anything else.
Only a handful of people knew about Noah.
Mark.
Rachel.
Daniel.
And apparently my obstetrician.
“How did she know?”
Daniel looked toward the door.
“That’s what Mark wanted to discover before he died.”
I looked down at the key in my palm.
317.
“Take me to the bank.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“The bank is closed.”
“Then tomorrow morning.”
Rachel stood.
“I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
“Emily—”
“I don’t know you.”
Her face tightened.
“You’re right.”
She picked up her purse.
“But there’s something you need to understand about that box.”
“What?”
“Mark didn’t put everything there.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I helped him.”
I stared at her.
Rachel reached into her purse again and removed a second key.
It looked identical to mine.
Except the tag read 318.
Two boxes.
“What is in yours?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Mark rented two boxes. He gave Daniel your key and gave me this one.”
“Why?”
“He said they should never be opened by the same person unless he was dead.”
A chill traveled across my shoulders.
“Why?”
Rachel’s eyes filled again.
“Because he didn’t know who he could trust.”
Daniel stood abruptly.
“Rachel.”
She ignored him.
“He was afraid somebody inside this hospital was accessing his records.”
“Rachel, stop.”
“And two days before he died, he called me.”
Daniel’s expression hardened.
“That’s enough.”
I turned toward him.
“Why are you trying to stop her?”
“I’m trying to keep you from panicking over something Mark never proved.”
Rachel looked at me.
“He told me that if anything happened sooner than expected, I should assume he was right.”
My breath caught.
“What do you mean, sooner than expected?”
Nobody answered.
I remembered Mark’s final day.
That morning, he’d been weak.
But conscious.
Talking.
Even joking with a nurse about our daughter’s name.
By afternoon, everything had changed.
His blood pressure crashed.
His breathing deteriorated.
Hours later, he was gone.
The doctors had said his disease had progressed faster than expected.
I looked at Daniel.
“You told me his body was shutting down.”
“It was.”
“You told me there was nothing unusual.”
“At the time, that’s what I believed.”
“At the time?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Rachel whispered, “Tell her.”
He opened them again.
“After Mark died, I reviewed his final bloodwork.”
My fingers became numb.
“And?”
“There was an abnormality.”
“What kind?”
“One I couldn’t explain.”
I couldn’t move.
“Are you telling me Mark didn’t die from his illness?”
“No. His condition was terminal. Nothing changes that.”
“But?”
Daniel looked genuinely frightened now.
“But something may have accelerated what happened during his final hours.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I grabbed the table.
“What?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“I requested additional testing.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
My head snapped up.
“Before or after you gave me Mark’s envelope?”
“Before.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to make an accusation without evidence.”
Rachel suddenly looked toward the hallway.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
She pointed through the narrow window in the door.
A man was standing outside.
He wore hospital scrubs.
He wasn’t a doctor I recognized.
He appeared to be looking at his phone.
But he wasn’t moving.
Daniel’s face changed.
“Do you know him?” I whispered.
“No.”
The man looked up.
For half a second, our eyes met through the glass.
Then he walked away.
Daniel opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
He stepped out and looked both directions.
Nobody.
When he returned, he locked the door.
That was when fear finally replaced my anger.
“What’s happening?”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“You shouldn’t go home tonight.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Then my phone vibrated.
A text message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
There was a photograph attached.
My blood turned cold.
It was a picture of me standing in this hospital hallway less than twenty minutes earlier.
Someone had photographed me from behind.
Below the image were six words.
Mark should have left this alone.
Rachel covered her mouth.
Daniel took my phone.
“Don’t respond.”
Another message arrived.
This one contained an address.
I recognized it immediately.
My house.
Then came another photograph.
Taken through my living-room window.
I felt my knees weaken.
“Someone’s at my house.”
Daniel grabbed his phone.
“I’m calling security.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Why not?”
Because something in the photograph had caught my attention.
On the coffee table inside my living room sat a small black box.
I’d never seen it before.
And beside it was one of Mark’s notebooks.
A notebook that had disappeared from the hospital room the night he died.
I enlarged the photograph.
There was writing on the notebook’s open page.
Three words.
BOX 317 FIRST.
I looked down at the key Mark had left me.
Then another message appeared.
Tomorrow. 9:00 a.m. Come alone.
Rachel stared at my screen.
“It’s a trap.”
Maybe.
But whoever sent the message had Mark’s notebook.
And they knew about the safe-deposit box.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Daniel whispered, “Don’t answer.”
I answered.
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a distorted voice spoke.
“You want to know why Mark really became an organ donor?”
My entire body went cold.
“What are you talking about?”
The person laughed softly.
“Ask the doctor what happened to Mark’s heart.”
The call ended.
I slowly lowered the phone.
Daniel had gone completely pale.
Rachel noticed too.
“Daniel?”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped toward him.
“What happened to my husband’s heart?”
His eyes met mine.
And suddenly I knew there was still something he hadn’t told me.
“Daniel.”
He swallowed.
“Mark’s heart was approved for donation.”
“I know.”
“But it was never transplanted.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
Daniel looked at the locked door before answering.
“Because sometime between recovery and transport…”
His voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“…it disappeared.”
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