Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Died Before My WeddingEthan didn't sleep.
He sat at the kitchen table until dawn, staring at Rebecca's final message as though enough time might force the words to rearrange themselves into something he could understand.
My sister. And I'm the reason she's dead.
Eight years of marriage.
Ten years of knowing Rebecca.
Countless breakfasts, arguments, birthdays, holidays, hospital appointments, and quiet evenings when she fell asleep against his shoulder.
And in all that time, she'd never once told him she had a sister.
He had met her mother twice before the woman died.
He had attended the small funeral with Rebecca.
He had listened when she said her father had abandoned the family years earlier.
She'd told him she was an only child.
Not because he had asked.
Because she'd volunteered the information during their third date.
Now Ethan wondered how many of the things he knew about his wife were memories and how many were stories she'd carefully constructed.
At six-fifteen, he called Rebecca.
She didn't answer.
At six-twenty, he tried again.
This time Dr. Pierce picked up.
"Mr. Cole."
Ethan sat straighter.
"Why do you have my wife's phone?"
"Rebecca is resting."
"Put her on."
"She's not available."
"Then wake her."
Pierce sighed.
"Your wife experienced a significant episode of neurological distress overnight. We're limiting stimulation."
"Did you diagnose her with that before or after she told me about Evelyn Mercer?"
Silence.
Not long.
Maybe two seconds.
But enough.
"Who gave you that name?" Pierce asked.
"Rebecca."
Another silence.
"Mr. Cole, I'd advise you not to pursue conversations that could destabilize your wife."
"My wife just told me she's responsible for her sister's death."
Pierce spoke more sharply.
"Rebecca is confused. Certain medications can cause false memories and emotional disturbances."
"What medications?"
"I'm not discussing her treatment without authorization."
"You're holding her phone."
"Because she asked me to."
Ethan looked toward the office window.
Morning light spilled across the kitchen.
It should have made the house feel safe.
It didn't.
"Last night, two men broke into my café and demanded documents. One said you sent him."
Pierce didn't sound surprised.
"Did you report that to the police?"
"Yes."
"Then let them investigate."
"Did you send those men?"
"Of course not."
"How did they know about the agreement?"
Pierce paused.
"What agreement?"
"The agreement with my forged signature."
The doctor's tone turned cold.
"Mr. Cole, I strongly recommend that you speak with an attorney before making accusations against medical professionals."
"I plan to."
"Good."
Then Pierce added, "And until you understand the situation, stay away from Rebecca."
The call ended.
Ethan looked at the screen.
He wasn't accustomed to hatred.
Anger, yes.
Frustration, certainly.
But hatred felt different.
It was frighteningly steady.
At seven, Caroline arrived carrying two cups of coffee and a grocery bag filled with breakfast sandwiches.
She found him at the kitchen table.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"That's never stopped you from feeding everyone else."
She pushed a sandwich toward him.
He didn't argue.
Then he showed her Rebecca's message.
Caroline read it slowly.
"My sister."
"Apparently."
"Why would she hide a sister?"
"I don't know."
Caroline sat beside him.
"There's something else."
Ethan looked up.
"The police called me."
"What did they say?"
"They found a security camera on the building across the alley. They're trying to get the footage."
"Good."
"They also said the SUV had temporary plates that don't match the vehicle registration."
Ethan shook his head.
"Someone is going to a lot of trouble over a business loan."
Caroline didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Both knew it was bigger than a loan.
Ethan opened his laptop.
He searched Evelyn Mercer.
The first results were ordinary.
An archived medical-school profile.
A research conference.
A photograph of a smiling young neurologist receiving an award.
Then he found an obituary.
Dr. Evelyn Anne Mercer, 29, passed away following complications from an unexpected medical emergency.
She had died seven years earlier.
Her death had occurred eleven months before Ethan and Rebecca married.
According to the obituary, Evelyn was survived by her parents, Margaret and Thomas Mercer, and her younger sister, Rebecca.
Ethan stopped reading.
Caroline leaned over his shoulder.
"Wait."
"I see it."
Rebecca Mercer.
Not Rebecca Bennett.
He clicked another link.
An old local newspaper article appeared.
RESEARCH PHYSICIAN FOUND UNRESPONSIVE AT BELLWEATHER MEDICAL CENTER.
The story was brief.
Evelyn had allegedly suffered a sudden cardiac event while working late.
An internal hospital review found no evidence of wrongdoing.
The attending physician who signed the death certificate was Dr. Nolan Pierce.
Ethan read the sentence three times.
Pierce had been thirty-four when Evelyn died.
Old enough to hold a senior research position, though not yet the established neurologist Rebecca had presented to Ethan.
He clicked through to the hospital's archived press release.
Evelyn had worked on an experimental cognitive-therapy program.
Its director was Dr. Nolan Pierce.
The program had been funded through a private research foundation.
Bellweather Patient Advancement Foundation.
The same foundation that had received money from the café.
Ethan leaned back.
"Caroline."
"Yeah?"
"I think Rebecca knew Pierce long before she became his patient."
Caroline examined the photograph on the screen.
"Maybe Evelyn introduced them."
"Maybe."
But neither sibling sounded convinced.
Ethan returned to the sealed envelope.
The brass key was stamped with a four-digit number.
2417.
An address had been written in tiny letters along the paper tag.
North Annex — Records Storage.
Caroline frowned.
"Bellweather has a north annex?"
"Used to."
The hospital had expanded several years earlier.
An older building, once used for research offices, stood across the street from the main medical center.
Ethan remembered delivering catering orders there when he first managed the Copper Kettle.
The annex had been mostly empty for years.
"You're not going there alone," Caroline said.
"I'm not going there yet."
"Good."
"I'm going to see an attorney."
She exhaled.
"Even better."
By nine, Ethan was sitting across from Margaret Hale, a sixty-three-year-old lawyer whose office smelled of paper, lemon polish, and strong coffee.
She had handled his father's estate.
She'd also helped him purchase the café building.
Margaret was not easily impressed.
When Ethan explained the situation, she didn't interrupt.
She examined the forged agreement, the bank account, the payment records, and Rebecca's messages.
Then she removed her glasses.
"Do you understand what you're looking at?"
"A fraudulent loan."
"Possibly. But there are several separate documents here, Ethan. The signature request you saw was not the original loan application."
She turned the laptop toward him.
"This is a final ratification of a transaction someone claims you previously authorized."
"I didn't."
"Then we dispute it immediately."
"What happens if I refuse to sign?"
"That depends on the documents they've already filed. But refusal is the correct starting point."
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
"Why does the hospital want my building?"
Margaret hesitated.
"I don't think the hospital wants your building."
"What do you mean?"
She pointed to the lender's corporate registration.
"Westbridge Commercial Credit is not your wife's employer. It's a separate company with a similar name."
Ethan stared at her.
"That's legal?"
"Similar names are not automatically illegal. But look at the registered address."
He leaned forward.
A downtown office tower.
Suite 1206.
Margaret clicked another corporate filing.
The same suite appeared on documents for Bellweather Patient Advancement Foundation.
She opened a third record.
The foundation's most recent available officers included a hospital executive named Charles Voss.
Ethan recognized the name.
Voss had appeared at a hospital fundraising gala Rebecca attended the previous spring.
He was Bellweather's chief financial officer.
Margaret folded her hands.
"Ethan, this looks like an arrangement involving related entities. It may be legitimate. But combined with a forged signature and unexplained transfers, it raises serious questions."
"Can you stop them?"
"I can send an immediate dispute notice and request that the lender preserve its records. I'll also contact the bank's fraud department."
"How fast?"
"Today."
He exhaled.
For the first time in twelve hours, he felt something resembling relief.
Then Margaret asked, "Does your wife have access to your digital signature?"
Ethan nodded.
"She helped me set up the business accounts."
"Does she know your passwords?"
"Most of them."
"Did she have authority to initiate transfers?"
"Yes."
Margaret's expression softened.
"That makes this more complicated."
Ethan looked down.
"Is she going to prison?"
"I don't know what she did. And neither do you."
"But if she forged the signature—"
"Then the facts will matter. So will coercion, intent, and what she knew."
He stared out the window.
"I still love her."
Margaret's voice was gentle.
"That doesn't mean you should sign away your rights."
The words hit harder than he'd expected.
Because some part of him had already been preparing to rescue Rebecca by giving her whatever she asked for.
He had mistaken that instinct for loyalty.
Now, for the first time, he understood that love could become dangerous when someone used it as permission.
Margaret drafted notices while Ethan contacted his bank.
He changed his passwords.
He froze the affected business credit access.
He established a separate payroll account so his employees would still be paid.
By lunchtime, he had done more to protect his business than he'd done in the previous eighteen months.
But he still hadn't learned why Rebecca had lied about her sister.
At twelve-forty, Molly Hart called him.
This time she used her own phone.
"Mr. Cole?"
"Molly?"
"Can you talk?"
"Yes."
"I shouldn't be calling."
"Probably not."
He heard her swallow.
"Rebecca asked for you this morning."
Ethan closed his eyes.
"How is she?"
"She's awake. But she's upset."
"What happened?"
"Dr. Pierce told the nursing staff that your wife had withdrawn permission for family visitors."
Ethan gripped the phone.
"Did Rebecca say that herself?"
"Not to me."
"Can I speak to her?"
"I don't have permission to connect you."
He forced himself to speak calmly.
"Then what can you tell me?"
Molly was quiet.
"I've worked here six years. I've seen doctors request privacy for sensitive examinations. I've seen patients ask their husbands and wives to leave. That's normal."
Ethan waited.
"But I've never seen a neurologist take a patient to an unmarked research suite and come back with paperwork nobody can explain."
His heartbeat accelerated.
"What research suite?"
"Fourth floor. Behind the old imaging corridor."
"Have you reported it?"
"I raised concerns with my supervisor."
"And?"
"She told me to stay out of Dr. Pierce's cases."
Ethan rubbed his face.
"Why are you helping me?"
The question seemed to surprise her.
Then she answered quietly.
"Because my older brother was treated by Dr. Pierce three years ago."
Ethan said nothing.
"He was thirty-eight. He went in for headaches and memory problems. We were told he had an aggressive neurological disorder."
"What happened?"
"He died."
"I'm sorry."
Molly's voice cracked.
"Six months after the funeral, the hospital contacted us about a billing error. They said he'd been enrolled in a research program and some of the charges had been coded incorrectly."
Ethan closed his eyes.
"Did he agree to participate?"
"He never told us he had."
"Could he have signed a consent form?"
"Maybe. We don't know. By the time we asked, the hospital said the records were archived."
She paused.
"My brother's name was Daniel Hart."
Ethan wrote it down.
"Did your brother know Evelyn Mercer?"
"I don't know."
"Do you?"
"No."
Then Molly whispered, "But yesterday I found something strange."
"What?"
"Your wife was scheduled for a new infusion this afternoon. The medication wasn't listed in the ordinary electronic chart I could access. When I asked pharmacy about it, they said it was managed under a separate research protocol."
Ethan stood.
"An infusion of what?"
"I don't know. That's what worries me."
"Is Rebecca consenting?"
"I can't tell you. The authorization isn't in the portion of the chart I can see."
He reached for his keys.
"I'm coming."
"Mr. Cole, please don't storm in here."
"Then tell me what to do."
"Ask for the patient advocate. Request a conversation with Rebecca privately, if she'll agree. And if she wants you involved, ask her to authorize a second opinion."
Ethan breathed slowly.
"Thank you."
Molly paused.
"There's one more thing."
"What?"
"Rebecca asked me to throw away the sunflowers."
Ethan felt his chest tighten.
Then Molly continued.
"But when Dr. Pierce left, she asked me to bring them back."
He couldn't speak.
"She held them for almost an hour," Molly said. "And she kept crying."
After the call, Ethan sat motionless in his truck.
He wanted to hate Rebecca.
It would have been easier.
He could have imagined her and Pierce as lovers.
He could have blamed an affair.
He could have walked away from a marriage that had turned into something humiliating and cruel.
But now there were threats, research records, money transfers, and the death of a young woman whose photograph looked like his wife's reflection.
And somewhere inside Room 417, Rebecca was crying over sunflowers she'd pretended not to want.
At the hospital, Ethan went straight to the patient advocacy office.
A woman named Teresa Lin met him in a small conference room.
She listened carefully.
Then she explained that Rebecca was an adult patient who had the right to decide who received information about her care.
Ethan understood that.
What he didn't understand was why the hospital appeared to be letting one physician control every communication.
"I don't want her records without her permission," he said. "I want to know she's able to make decisions freely."
Teresa studied him.
"Has she told you she wants to see you?"
"She called me yesterday."
"Can you show me?"
He showed her the messages.
Teresa read them without commenting on their contents.
Then she said, "I'll ask whether Rebecca wants a private conversation with you. I can also request an independent assessment if there are concerns about her ability to consent to treatment."
"Without Dr. Pierce?"
"Her care team will be involved as appropriate, but the concerns can be reviewed independently."
Ethan nodded.
"Please."
Twenty minutes later, Teresa returned.
"Rebecca says she wants to see you."
Ethan stood.
"Where?"
"Her room."
"Is Pierce there?"
"No."
He almost ran to the elevator.
When he entered Room 417, Rebecca was sitting beside the window.
She looked smaller than she had nine days earlier.
Her skin was pale.
There were bruises near the inside of her elbow.
But her eyes were clear.
"Ethan."
He stopped at the foot of the bed.
For a long moment, they only looked at each other.
Then Rebecca started crying.
He wanted to cross the room.
He didn't.
"Tell me the truth."
She wiped her cheeks.
"Which part?"
The answer hurt more than he expected.
"All of it."
Rebecca looked toward the door.
"Is he outside?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I spoke to the patient advocate."
She nodded slowly.
Then she whispered, "I never slept with him."
Ethan stared at her.
"I didn't ask."
"You were thinking it."
He didn't deny it.
Rebecca pressed her lips together.
"Nolan Pierce and I have never been lovers."
"Then why does he buy you coffee with both your initials on it?"
Her expression twisted.
"Because he wants me to remember that he can still make decisions for me."
"What does that mean?"
She closed her eyes.
"Evelyn introduced us when I was twenty-four."
Ethan moved to the chair beside the bed.
Rebecca continued.
"My sister worked at Bellweather. She was brilliant. She believed she was going to change the way doctors treated early cognitive decline."
"Why didn't you tell me about her?"
"Because after she died, I changed everything I could."
"Your last name?"
Rebecca nodded.
"My mother used Bennett, her maiden name. I took it legally after Evelyn's death."
"And you told me you were an only child."
"I know."
"Why?"
Rebecca looked at him.
"Because I was afraid that if anyone knew I was Evelyn Mercer's sister, they'd find me again."
"Who?"
"Nolan. Charles Voss. The people running the research program."
Ethan leaned forward.
"What happened to Evelyn?"
Rebecca shook her head.
"I don't know all of it."
"Your message said you were responsible."
Her face crumpled.
"I was twenty-five. I worked in financial compliance. Evelyn found irregular payments connected to her research project. She came to me because she thought I could help."
"What kind of payments?"
"Money routed through patient-assistance accounts into private consulting contracts. I thought it was ordinary grant fraud."
"And?"
"I was wrong."
She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead.
"She said clinical data had been altered. Patients who suffered serious reactions were being excluded from the official analysis. She believed some consent forms had been changed after people signed them."
Ethan felt sick.
"Did she report it?"
"She tried."
Rebecca swallowed.
"She gave me copies of financial records and asked me to contact an attorney. But I panicked. I knew Nolan from family dinners. I thought he was arrogant, not dangerous. So I confronted him first."
Ethan stared at her.
"You told him?"
She nodded.
"He promised there was a misunderstanding. He said Evelyn's career could be destroyed if she made accusations without evidence."
Her hands shook.
"I believed him."
"What happened?"
"Three days later, Evelyn died."
The room seemed suddenly too quiet.
Rebecca continued.
"Nolan told me she'd suffered a cardiac event. He showed me preliminary medical records. I was in shock. I signed a form acknowledging that I'd received certain personal belongings and documents."
"Her death certificate?"
Rebecca's eyes filled.
"That's what I thought later. But my signature had been used on other paperwork. I didn't understand until I received copies years afterward."
Ethan remembered the forged signature on his loan.
A terrible pattern began taking shape.
"What happened after the funeral?"
"Voss offered my mother a settlement. He said there had been questions about the hospital's response time during Evelyn's emergency, and they wanted to avoid years of litigation."
"Did you take it?"
"My mother did. She was grieving. We both were."
Rebecca looked down.
"I helped her review it. I should have hired an independent attorney. Instead, I trusted the hospital's lawyer."
Ethan tried to keep his voice level.
"What did you sign?"
"A confidentiality agreement. A release of certain claims. I didn't realize it also included language accepting the hospital's account of Evelyn's clinical involvement."
He exhaled slowly.
"And then?"
"I left Bellweather. Changed my name. Got another job. Met you."
Ethan looked at her wedding ring.
"And never told me."
Rebecca whispered, "Never."
He sat back.
He had imagined their marriage contained a hundred little secrets.
Not one secret big enough to swallow their entire history.
"Why now?" he asked.
"Why did you return to Pierce?"
Rebecca looked toward the door.
"Because seventeen months ago, I found something in an old audit."
"What?"
"A consulting payment made to a company Evelyn had named before she died. It showed up in a commercial lending file at Westbridge Financial."
Ethan frowned.
"The same Westbridge that issued the café loan?"
"Yes."
She covered her face.
"I should have gone to the authorities immediately."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I wanted proof. Real proof. Enough to explain what happened to Evelyn."
"And you contacted Pierce."
"No. He contacted me first."
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"How?"
"He sent a photograph of Evelyn's research notebook. One page showed a handwritten note identifying a patient who'd been given an unauthorized dose."
Rebecca lowered her hands.
"He said I could have the rest of the notebook if I helped him settle an old financial obligation."
"What obligation?"
"The patient-assistance accounts. They'd been moving money through shell companies. An internal audit was coming. Voss wanted the irregular transfers disguised as repayments from an unrelated private borrower."
Ethan felt the answer forming before she spoke.
"The Copper Kettle."
Rebecca closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
He stood.
"Rebecca."
"I thought it would be temporary."
"You used my business."
"They promised they'd reverse everything once the audit cleared."
"You believed the same men who lied to you about your sister's death?"
She was crying harder now.
"I was desperate."
Ethan stepped away from the bed.
"No."
She looked up.
"Please—"
"No, Rebecca. Desperate would have been telling me you were scared. Desperate would have been asking for help. You used our savings, hid transfers, and gave people access to my signature."
She flinched.
"I know."
"You put Caroline at risk."
Her expression changed.
"What?"
"Men broke into the café last night."
Rebecca went completely still.
"What men?"
"Two of them. They demanded documents. One said Pierce sent him."
She shook her head violently.
"No."
"Caroline and I escaped through the upstairs window."
Rebecca stared at him.
Then she gripped the blanket.
"Oh, God."
Ethan watched her.
For the first time, he saw genuine surprise.
Whatever Rebecca had known, she hadn't expected the attack.
"What did you give them?" he asked.
She whispered, "Not enough."
He turned back.
"Not enough for what?"
Rebecca glanced toward the door again.
"To make them leave us alone."
Ethan approached her slowly.
"What else are they holding over you?"
She couldn't look at him.
Then she said, "A recording."
"Of what?"
"The night Evelyn died."
Ethan's breathing slowed.
"What recording?"
"Voss showed me a short clip last month. It looked like surveillance footage from the research suite."
"What's on it?"
Rebecca's voice became almost inaudible.
"Me."
Ethan stared at her.
"I'm standing beside Evelyn's body."
He couldn't move.
Rebecca began shaking.
"And there's a syringe in my hand."
For a moment, he heard only the medical equipment humming beside her bed.
Then he asked the question neither of them wanted to hear.
"Rebecca, did you kill your sister?"
She looked at him.
And instead of immediately saying no, she whispered:
"I don't remember everything that happened that night."
The world seemed to tilt beneath him.
Ethan stepped backward.
Rebecca reached toward him.
"Ethan, please. I know what that sounds like."
"Then explain it."
"I went to the hospital because Evelyn called me. She sounded frightened. She said she had proof and needed me to come immediately."
"And?"
"I remember arriving at the research wing. I remember arguing with Nolan."
She pressed her hands against her temples.
"Then there's a gap."
"How long?"
"I don't know. Maybe an hour. Maybe longer."
"Did you take anything?"
"Not voluntarily."
Ethan's stomach tightened.
"Rebecca."
"I woke in a recovery room. Nolan told me I'd fainted after finding Evelyn. He said the shock had caused a dissociative episode."
Ethan stared at her.
"And you believed him?"
"I was barely functioning. Evelyn was dead. My mother was falling apart. Nolan said he'd keep everything private so I wouldn't become part of the investigation."
She looked at him desperately.
"Last month, when he showed me the video, I realized I might have been drugged."
"Did you see the entire recording?"
"No."
"Did you ask?"
"Of course."
"And?"
"He said there was more. He said if I helped complete the financial settlement, he'd give me everything."
Ethan slowly sat down.
He felt exhausted beyond anything he'd experienced before.
"You made a deal with him."
Rebecca nodded.
"And he kept changing the terms."
"Until he wanted my signature."
Another nod.
Ethan looked at the IV tubing beside her bed.
"What are they treating you with?"
Rebecca swallowed.
"That's part of the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"My headaches were real at first. But after Nolan changed my medication, everything got worse. Confusion. Blurred vision. Memory lapses."
"Why didn't you stop?"
"I tried."
"What happened?"
"He said stopping suddenly could be dangerous. Then I had that episode at work and ended up here."
Ethan leaned forward.
"Rebecca, we need another doctor."
"I asked for one."
"And?"
"Nolan told me the research team would lose access to the information I needed if I transferred my care."
Ethan closed his eyes.
There it was.
Not an ordinary affair.
Not a simple medical dispute.
A patient whose doctor was using her grief, guilt, and fear to influence her decisions.
And a wife who had betrayed her husband long before that doctor began treating her.
Both things could be true.
Ethan stood.
"I'm going to tell Teresa everything."
Rebecca grabbed his wrist.
"Wait."
He looked down.
Her fingers were ice-cold.
"There is something else."
He felt his chest tighten again.
"What?"
Rebecca leaned closer.
"I didn't give them the documents Evelyn left me."
"What documents?"
"The originals."
Ethan stared at her.
"Where are they?"
Rebecca whispered, "Somewhere Nolan will never think to look."
"Where?"
She looked into his eyes.
"At the café."
Ethan's pulse jumped.
"The men searched the café last night."
"I know. But they didn't find them."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because Evelyn taught me something when we were children."
Rebecca managed a fragile smile.
"When you want to hide a secret, put it somewhere people think they already understand."
Ethan frowned.
"What does that mean?"
She squeezed his wrist.
"Remember the day you proposed?"
His heart gave a painful twist.
"Of course."
"The old booth by the front window."
He nodded.
"The one we had restored before the wedding."
Rebecca's eyes filled.
"There's a loose wooden panel beneath the seat. I hid Evelyn's original notebook there."
Ethan stared at her.
"How long has it been there?"
"Six years."
He couldn't speak.
For six years, he'd been serving coffee above evidence connected to a young woman's suspicious death.
For six years, Rebecca had been sitting across from him at the same booth, laughing about bills and vacations and Christmas presents while a secret lay inches beneath their feet.
He stepped back.
Then the door opened.
Dr. Pierce entered.
His smile froze when he saw Ethan beside the bed.
"Mr. Cole."
Ethan turned.
Rebecca's hand tightened around the blanket.
Pierce examined them both.
"I wasn't informed we had a visitor."
Ethan looked directly at him.
"Rebecca asked for me."
Pierce's eyes moved toward her.
"Did she?"
Rebecca lifted her chin.
"Yes."
Something passed between them.
It lasted less than a second.
But Ethan saw it.
Fear.
Then calculation.
Pierce smiled again.
"Very well. I hope you've had a productive conversation."
Ethan stepped toward the doctor.
"We have."
"Good."
"I'd like the name of the physician supervising Rebecca's infusion."
Pierce's smile weakened.
"Her treatment is being managed by my team."
"Then I want an independent second opinion."
"That would require coordinating with her primary care team."
"Fine."
Pierce looked at Rebecca.
"Is that what you want?"
Rebecca hesitated.
Ethan watched her.
He knew this moment mattered.
Not because he could decide for her.
Because for months, perhaps years, other people had been persuading her to let fear make her decisions.
Rebecca took a shaky breath.
"Yes."
Pierce's jaw tightened.
"I see."
"And," she added, "I want to know exactly what medication you're giving me."
The doctor's eyes hardened.
"Rebecca, we've discussed this."
"Then we'll discuss it again."
For the first time since entering the room, Pierce seemed uncertain.
He adjusted his glasses.
"I'll have the appropriate documentation provided."
Ethan moved toward the door.
"One more thing, Doctor."
Pierce looked at him.
"Have you ever heard of Evelyn Mercer?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Pierce remained still.
Then his expression settled into something calm and terrible.
"Of course," he said.
"She was an exceptional physician."
Ethan nodded.
"How did she die?"
Pierce met his gaze.
"A tragic medical emergency."
"That's not what I asked."
A muscle moved in Pierce's cheek.
"Mr. Cole, I suggest you stop confusing grief with evidence."
Ethan took one step closer.
"And I suggest you stop confusing a white coat with immunity."
For a moment, they stared at one another.
Then Pierce smiled.
It was not a pleasant expression.
"Your wife has made some serious mistakes, Mr. Cole."
"I know."
"More serious than you understand."
"Probably."
"Then perhaps you should think carefully before involving yourself."
Ethan glanced back at Rebecca.
She was trembling.
He thought of the anonymous warnings.
The forged signature.
The men in his café.
And the dead sister whose photograph he'd carried in his pocket all morning.
"I've spent eight years involved," he said.
"The difference is that now I know someone has been lying to me."
Pierce's smile disappeared.
Ethan walked out.
He went straight to Teresa's office and explained his concerns.
He shared what Rebecca had authorized him to share and asked about the process for an independent medical evaluation.
Teresa immediately began arranging a review.
Then Ethan called Margaret Hale.
"I need you to add something to the fraud complaint."
"What?"
"A doctor may be using research information to pressure my wife into signing financial agreements."
Margaret was silent for a moment.
"Do you have evidence?"
"I think I know where some of it is."
"Don't touch anything yet."
Ethan stopped.
"Why?"
"Because if it's original evidence connected to a death, we need to preserve it properly. Let me contact an investigator and arrange documentation."
He agreed.
But as he headed toward his truck, Ethan noticed a black SUV parked across the street.
Its windows were tinted.
Its engine was running.
He had seen a vehicle just like it the night before.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Rebecca.
He knows I told you. Please don't go to the café alone.
Ethan looked up.
The SUV pulled away from the curb.
A moment later, a second message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
It showed the Copper Kettle's front window.
The photograph had been taken that morning.
Beneath it were six words.
WE KNOW ABOUT THE BOOTH, ETHAN.
He froze.
Rebecca had told him about the hidden notebook less than thirty minutes earlier.
There had been only three people in Room 417.
Ethan.
Rebecca.
And, later, Dr. Pierce.
But Pierce hadn't been present when she revealed the hiding place.
Ethan looked back toward the hospital.
His heart hammered.
May you like
There had been someone else listening.
And whoever it was had already sent people after the notebook.
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