Chapter 7
The sterile white lights of the St. Jude Medical Archives hummed with a low, relentless electrical frequency. Elena walked down aisle four, her white cane sweeping in a wide, rhythmic arc across the linoleum floor. Tap. Pause. Tap. Pause. The air smelled of antiseptic and aged paper. Behind her, trailing by precisely six paces, walked a security guard hired by her father—a precaution Arthur insisted upon, though Elena found it insultingly redundant.
“Stay by the corner,” Elena instructed the guard without turning around.
“Mr. Vance said I should keep you within arm’s reach, Miss,” the guard replied, shifting his weight uneasily.
“If you are within arm’s reach, you are in my way,” she retorted coldly. “Wait by the emergency exit.”
The guard hesitated, then muttered compliance and retreated down the corridor. Elena continued forward until her cane struck the base of shelving unit 109. She reached up, her fingers scanning the spine-labels until they located the embossed metal tabs. File 88-B: Vance, Elena - Ocular Trauma and Rehabilitation Records.
She pulled the heavy manila folder from the shelf, laying it flat on the pull-out metal desk attached to the shelving unit. Opening it, her fingers brushed the interior documents, feeling the raised textures of hospital intake forms, surgical notes, and police reports. Everything was there—except the primary incident report from the night of the accident six years ago. Pages 14 through 19 had been surgically excised with a razor blade. The binding threads were frayed and re-stitched with blue nylon thread—a modern medical binding, not hospital archive standard.
“Looking for something specific, young lady?”
Elena froze. The voice came from the shadows at the end of the aisle, smooth, cultivated, and entirely out of place in a municipal archive.
A tall man in a bespoke charcoal suit stepped into the fluorescent light. He wore rimless glasses that glinted coldly under the overhead tubes. He wasn’t wearing an identification badge, yet he walked with the absolute authority of someone who owned the building.
“This section is restricted to authorized medical personnel,” Elena said, her voice remaining perfectly level.
“And you are authorized by virtue of your DNA,” the man replied, taking another slow step closer. “I am Director Sterling. I purchased the administrative rights to these archives yesterday morning.”
May you like
Elena closed the folder with a sharp snap. “Then you also acquired a very expensive liability.”
Sterling smiled, a thin, humourless stretching of his lips. “On the contrary, Miss Vance. I acquired the missing piece of your father’s puzzle. And your father doesn’t even know it exists yet.”
