Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO WORE MY BADGEI stared at Rebecca.
“That isn't possible.”
“I know.”
“I was in surgery.”
“Yes.”
“And my badge was in my locker.”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Are you certain?”
I thought back to the night of the assault.
I had gone directly home from work.
My purse had contained my wallet, keys, broken phone, and a small packet of crackers.
I remembered clipping my hospital identification badge to my scrub pocket when I left the staff entrance.
Then I remembered something else.
Eleanor had taken my purse during dinner.
She often searched it under the excuse of looking for spare change or receipts.
“Rebecca,” I whispered, “I think my mother-in-law had my badge.”
Her expression tightened.
“Tell me exactly what you remember.”
I explained everything.
When I finished, she sat very still.
“Okay. That's important.”
“Am I going to lose my nursing license?”
“An allegation isn't a finding. There will be a review, and you have rights. We need to preserve the evidence and let the process establish what actually happened.”
I looked down at my hands.
They were the same hands that had held pressure on bleeding wounds.
The same hands that had comforted frightened children.
The same hands that had helped keep patients alive during the darkest hours of the pandemic.
And now somebody was using my professional identity to destroy what I had spent nine years building.
“Carter did this,” I said.
Rebecca didn't answer immediately.
“We need proof.”
She was right.
And I hated that she was right.
Because Carter had spent years teaching me that truth alone wasn't enough.
He controlled the stories people heard.
He made the accusations.
He demanded explanations.
Then he punished me for defending myself.
But this time, the story would not belong to him.
The next morning, Nadia met with Rebecca and a hospital compliance officer, with my permission.
The hospital had launched an internal investigation.
The surveillance image appeared to show someone wearing navy scrubs and using a badge with my identification number.
But the person's face wasn't visible.
The timestamp was 9:06 p.m.
By then, I had already been taken into emergency surgery.
“Could the time be wrong?” I asked.
The compliance officer shook his head.
“The access-control system is synchronized. We're reviewing whether the image and entry record are authentic, but the timestamp itself appears reliable.”
I frowned.
“Then someone else had my badge.”
“Possibly.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“We can also verify that Mara was receiving emergency treatment during that period.”
The officer nodded.
“We already have documentation establishing that.”
I let out a shaky breath.
At least there was one fact Carter couldn't rewrite.
I had been fighting for my son's life while someone used my identity at the hospital.
Nadia asked whether the restricted medication cabinet showed any missing inventory.
The officer explained that the investigation was ongoing and that no conclusion had been reached.
Then he added something interesting.
“The complaint arrived before the photograph was circulated internally.”
Nadia looked up.
“What time?”
“7:42 a.m. the following day.”
I swallowed.
Carter had been taken into police custody that night.
Eleanor, however, had returned home after questioning.
And she knew exactly where my hospital badge had been.
That afternoon, my father accompanied me to the NICU.
He stood beside Eli's incubator, watching my son breathe.
I had rarely seen Dad look so uncertain.
In court, he had always been calm.
He could listen to arguments from opposing attorneys for hours without losing his patience.
But a three-pound baby had left him almost speechless.
“Would you like to touch his hand?” I asked.
Dad looked at Tessa.
“Am I allowed?”
She smiled.
“Of course. Just wash your hands first, and I'll show you how.”
He scrubbed his hands with extraordinary seriousness.
Then Tessa opened one of the small incubator ports.
Dad slipped a finger inside.
Eli's hand moved.
Tiny fingers wrapped around his grandfather's fingertip.
Dad's entire face changed.
“Oh,” he whispered.
I watched him.
For thirty years, people had addressed him as Your Honor.
They had stood when he entered courtrooms.
They had asked him to make decisions that affected entire communities.
But at that moment, none of those honors mattered.
My father was simply a grandfather meeting his grandson.
“He has your mother's hands,” Dad said softly.
I smiled through tears.
“You think so?”
“The same long fingers.”
He paused.
“She would have loved him.”
The mention of Mom made my chest ache.
She had died from ovarian cancer when I was nineteen.
During her final weeks, she told me repeatedly that kindness was never the same as weakness.
I had forgotten that lesson somewhere inside my marriage.
Now I wanted to remember it.
For Eli.
And for myself.
Later, Nadia called with an update.
The bank had placed a precautionary hold on transactions connected to the disputed power of attorney while the matter was reviewed.
There was also evidence that Carter had attempted to obtain account information using the document.
“Were any funds taken?” I asked.
“We're still confirming that.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“How much worse can this get?”
Nadia answered carefully.
“I don't want to frighten you unnecessarily. But cases involving coercive control sometimes include financial abuse, identity misuse, and retaliation when the victim seeks safety.”
I thought about Carter's expensive suits.
His leased luxury car.
The way he always complained about money despite earning more than I did.
The way Eleanor demanded that I deposit my paychecks into our household account while treating me like a freeloader.
For the first time, those details began forming a different picture.
Maybe Carter wasn't as successful as he pretended.
Maybe his mother's expensive lifestyle wasn't as secure as she wanted people to believe.
And maybe my money mattered far more than either of them had admitted.
“Nadia?”
“Yes?”
“I want everything checked.”
“We will.”
“I want to know whether he used my name, my money, or my professional credentials for anything I didn't authorize.”
There was a pause.
Then Nadia said, “That's a reasonable request. We'll begin gathering records.”
At 11:14 that night, I was awake in my hospital bed when my phone vibrated.
Dad had bought me a replacement and helped restore my contacts.
The message came from an unknown number.
At first, I thought it was another threat from Carter.
Then I read it.
My name is Grace Walker.
You don't know me, but I used to work for Carter Vale.
I sat upright.
Another message arrived.
I was engaged to him before you met.
My breathing quickened.
Carter had told me he'd never been engaged.
He said his previous relationships had been casual.
That no woman had ever understood him until I came along.
The next message made my hands go numb.
I'm sorry I didn't warn you. Eleanor threatened me when I tried to leave.
I stared at the screen.
Then the final message appeared.
Please don't tell Carter I've contacted you.
I know about the forged power of attorney.
And I know why he needed it before Friday.
I typed a reply.
What happens Friday?
The three little typing dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
May you like
Then Grace sent six words that made me forget how to breathe.
He was expecting you to die.
Related Stories
