Chapter 5 - The Forged Paper Trail
While Dr. Vance printed out the certified physical copies of the DNA results, Roman’s chief investigator, Donovan, walked into the examination room holding a thick, manila legal folder that looked like it had been pulled straight out of a classified government archive.
"Boss," Donovan said, nodding respectfully to me before turning to Roman. "We raided Conrad Vale’s abandoned office in the West Loop last night. The place was stripped bare, but his old physical filing cabinet had a false bottom."
Donovan dropped a single sheet of paper onto the desk.
"A maternal death certificate," Donovan said grimly. "Registered in the county records fourteen months ago. Name: Rebecca Lawson. Listed as the biological mother who expired during childbirth at St. Catherine’s on June eighteenth."
I leaned forward, squinting at the paper. "Rebecca Lawson? I never knew anyone named Rebecca Lawson."
"Because she never existed," Donovan said flatly. "We cross-referenced the Social Security number on the certificate. It belongs to an eighty-four-year-old retired grain merchant living in rural Wisconsin who has never set foot in Chicago."
"A ghost identity," Roman hissed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. "They created a dead mother on paper to cover the transfer of live infants."
"That's not all," Donovan added, pulling out a second document—a yellowed hospital intake form bearing the official letterhead of St. Catherine’s Medical Center. "This is the internal release authorization for Pamela’s files. It includes a signature authorizing the immediate cremation and disposal of three infant remains, supposedly carried out forty-eight hours after birth."
I snatched the paper from the desk, my eyes scanning the signature at the bottom.
My breath hitched. The blood drained from my face.
"Dr. Malcolm Mercer," I whispered.
"Who is Malcolm Mercer?" Roman asked, stepping closer.
"He was the chief of obstetrics at St. Catherine’s," I said, my voice shaking with cold fury. "He was the man who came into my recovery room two days after the delivery, looked me in the eye with a sympathetic smile, and told me my babies hadn't survived the night."
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Roman’s eyes turned into twin craters of absolute, lethal darkness.
"Donovan," Roman said, his voice dropping into a quiet, deadly whisper. "Find Dr. Malcolm Mercer. Bring him to me. I don't care where he is hiding, and I don't care who he thinks protects him. Bring him to the penthouse before midnight."
