Chapter 7
The screen of Mark’s smartphone flickered with static before stabilizing into a crystal-clear, high-definition video feed. The location was unmistakably sterile: Room 404 of the downtown memorial hospital, the exact maternity ward where Clara’s prenatal files were securely stored.
Mark stared at the display, his breath catching in his throat. “What is this? Why is she broadcasting from the hospital?”
Detective Vance stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she analyzed the timestamp in the corner of the video. It wasn't a pre-recorded loop; it was live.
“She isn't just running away, Mr. Hayes,” Sarah said grimly, her fingers tapping the screen to maximize the resolution. “She’s executing a premeditated timeline. Look at the bed.”
On the screen, the hospital bed was neatly made, but the IV pole beside it was swinging gently, as if someone had just departed in a desperate hurry. Suddenly, the heavy door of Room 404 swung open on the live feed. A figure wearing a white lab coat and a surgical mask stepped into view. The person walked directly up to the wall-mounted medical chart holder, pulled out a thick manila folder, and held it up to the camera lens.
The folder was clearly labeled with Clara’s full legal name and birthdate.
Mark felt the blood drain completely from his face. “That’s our medical archive... all our fertility treatments, the adoption papers we filed three years ago, everything is in that folder.”
“And why would Elena want your adoption history?” Detective Vance asked sharply, turning her gaze onto Mark with renewed suspicion. “Most people don’t keep their family history locked in a high-security offshore safe unless there’s something substantial hidden inside it.”
Mark shook his head frantically, backing away toward the lobby glass doors. “There’s nothing! We’re an ordinary couple! We tried for years to have a family, and when the first pregnancy failed, we looked into private adoption agencies. That’s all!”
“People don’t go to war and kidnap their own pregnant relatives over ordinary adoption paperwork, Mr. Hayes,” Sarah countered, her hand resting firmly on her holster. “You’re hiding something. And if I find out you’ve been lying to me about the nature of this dispute, I will lock you in a cell right alongside your sister-in-law.”
Before Mark could formulate a defense, the live video feed on the smartphone shifted.
The person in the lab coat lowered their surgical mask. It wasn't Elena.
It was a middle-aged man with sharp, aristocratic features and cold, piercing eyes that stared directly out of the screen as if looking straight through Mark into the lobby.
Mark stumbled backward, his heel catching the edge of the rubber welcome mat. He let out a choked gasp, recognizing the face instantly despite not having seen him in over a decade.
“Father?” Mark whispered, the word escaping his lips like a ghostly sigh.
Detective Vance whipped her head around to look at Mark. “Your father? I thought you told dispatch your parents passed away in a fire twenty years ago.”
May you like
Mark couldn't answer. On the smartphone screen, the older man leaned closer to the camera lens, raised a hand holding a gold-plated pocket watch, and clicked the lid open with a sharp, metallic snap.
“Hello, Mark,” a synthesized voice echoed from the phone’s tiny speaker, though the man on the screen hadn't moved his lips. “The inheritance is no longer split. If you want to see your wife alive, you have forty-eight hours to sign over the estate deed... or the truth about your real identity comes out.”
