Chapter 9: The Hospital Records
The police arrived twelve minutes after Zachary left.
By then, Robert Hale had disappeared.
James told the officers that he had entered through the kitchen window after seeing the confrontation from outside. Margaret gave a statement, but she refused to explain the full history of the Albright family.
I didn't blame her.
There were too many secrets.
Too many people with reasons to lie.
One officer asked whether Hannah had been taken against her will.
I told him everything.
The officer wrote it down, then made a telephone call.
"We'll issue an alert," he said.
"But without a confirmed location, there's only so much we can do.""
I slammed my hand against the table.
"My daughter has been kidnapped.""
"We understand, sir.""
"No, you don't.""
James stepped between us.
"Christopher, shouting won't bring her back.""
I turned toward him.
He immediately looked uncomfortable.
"Sorry," he said.
"I didn't mean—"
"No. You're right.""
I took a breath.
For thirty-eight years, I had imagined having a son.
Now I had one.
And we were standing in a cottage while my daughter was being held somewhere by the man who had married her.
There wasn't time for introductions.
Margaret approached James.
"How did you find us?""
He looked at her.
"I followed Robert.""
"Why?""
"Because he came to my workshop three days ago.""
Margaret frowned.
"What did he want?""
"He asked whether I knew anything about my birth.""
I stared at him.
"What did you tell him?""
"That I was adopted.""
"Did you know who your biological parents were?""
James shook his head.
"No. My adoptive mother, Eleanor, died when I was seventeen. She left me a letter, but I never understood it.""
He pulled a folded envelope from his jacket.
It was old and worn.
The handwriting on the front was unfamiliar.
*For James, when you are ready to know where you came from.*
Margaret took it with trembling fingers.
"That's Eleanor's handwriting.""
James nodded.
"She told me I was born at Saint Mary's Hospital. She said my biological mother was someone named Margaret.""
He looked at her.
"I thought it was a coincidence.""
Margaret held his face.
"I'm sorry.""
James stepped away gently.
"I don't know you.""
"I know.""
"You disappeared for thirty years.""
"I know.""
"And now you're telling me I'm your son.""
Margaret nodded.
James looked toward the floor.
"I need time.""
She began crying again.
I understood him.
Blood could explain a connection.
It couldn't create a lifetime of trust.
The officer returned.
"Mr. Williams, we need to discuss the hospital.""
I looked at him.
"What hospital?""
"Saint Mary's. You mentioned it in your statement.""
I nodded.
"We believe it may contain records relevant to the kidnapping," he said.
"But the hospital was acquired by a private medical group several years ago. Accessing archived records will require authorization.""
Margaret suddenly stood.
"Don't let them access the records without me.""
The officer frowned.
"Why?""
She looked at James.
"Because the original records were altered.""
James unfolded Eleanor's letter.
"Mother, is this what you were hiding?""
Margaret took the letter.
She read it silently.
Then she sat down.
"What does it say?"" I asked.
She handed it to me.
The letter contained only three paragraphs.
James,
You were not the child I was told I would receive. I was promised a baby boy whose mother had died during childbirth. Years later, I discovered the paperwork had been altered.
I loved you from the moment I held you. Nothing about the truth changes that.
If anyone ever tells you that your birth was an accident, don't believe them. You were taken from someone who loved you.
I looked at James.
His jaw tightened.
"She knew?""
Margaret nodded.
"She discovered the truth when you were eight.""
"Why didn't she tell me?""
"She was afraid David would take you away.""
James laughed without humor.
"So everyone was afraid of David.""
Nobody answered.
I looked at the officer.
"Can you get us into Saint Mary's?""
He made another call.
Forty minutes later, we were driving toward the hospital.
It had been renovated into a private medical center. The old maternity wing was no longer used, but the records department remained in the original building.
A hospital administrator met us in the lobby.
Her name was Patricia Collins.
She looked uncomfortable when the officer explained our request.
"We have strict confidentiality policies," she said.
Margaret stepped forward.
"My name is Margaret Williams. I gave birth here on April seventeenth, thirty-two years ago.""
Patricia froze.
Then she glanced at the officer.
"Please come with me.""
She led us through a corridor into a small office.
Once the door closed, she removed a folder from a locked cabinet.
"I was told never to release this file," she said.
"By whom?"" I asked.
She looked at Margaret.
"Edward Albright.""
Margaret's expression darkened.
"Why?""
Patricia opened the folder.
"Because the records contain information that could expose a criminal investigation.""
I looked down.
There were three birth certificates.
Not two.
Three.
The first listed a baby girl.
Hannah Williams.
The second listed a baby boy.
James Morgan.
The third listed another baby boy.
Zachary Albright.
I stared at the dates.
They were identical.
The times were different.
But all three records listed Margaret as the mother.
"How is that possible?"" I asked.
Margaret shook her head.
"It isn't.""
Patricia turned the page.
"There's an additional medical note.""
She placed it in front of us.
The note described a medical complication during delivery.
It stated that one of the infants had been transferred to another hospital shortly after birth.
I read the final line.
*Infant transferred under emergency authorization. Receiving physician: Dr. Samuel Voss.*
James frowned.
"Who is Samuel Voss?""
Patricia looked toward the door.
"He was the hospital director at the time.""
"Where is he now?""
"Retired. He lives outside the city.""
Margaret's hands began trembling.
"That's impossible.""
I looked at her.
"What?""
She pointed to the next document.
It was a handwritten authorization form.
The signature at the bottom belonged to David Morgan.
But the date was different.
It had been signed three months before the babies were born.
I read it again.
Then I looked at Margaret.
"How could he authorize a transfer before the children were born?""
She didn't answer.
Patricia pulled another page from the folder.
It was a photocopy of an internal hospital memorandum.
The heading read:
*THREE-CHILD IDENTIFICATION PROTOCOL.*
Beneath it were several names.
Margaret Williams.
David Morgan.
Edward Albright.
And one name I recognized from the newspaper clipping about Richard's supposed heart attack.
Richard Albright.
I looked at the officer.
"This isn't just a family secret.""
He nodded slowly.
"No.""
Patricia closed the folder.
"There's something else.""
She reached beneath her desk and produced a small envelope.
"Dr. Voss left this here before he retired. He told me to give it to Margaret if she ever returned.""
Margaret took it.
Her hands shook so badly that I had to help her open it.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed three newborn babies.
But this time, there was a fourth person in the frame.
A nurse.
Her name badge was clearly visible.
*NURSE ELIZABETH MORGAN.*
James stared at it.
"That's my adoptive mother's sister.""
Margaret looked up.
"What?""
"Eleanor told me my aunt worked at Saint Mary's. She was the nurse who helped bring me home.""
I turned toward him.
"Your aunt helped switch the babies?""
James shook his head.
"I don't know.""
Margaret looked at the photograph again.
Then she whispered:
"Elizabeth wasn't supposed to be there.""
The hospital administrator looked frightened.
"Mrs. Williams, there's something you should know. Elizabeth Morgan died six months ago.""
James stared at her.
"How?""
Patricia swallowed.
"She was found in her home. The police ruled it a burglary.""
Margaret closed her eyes.
"David.""
The officer stepped forward.
"Why do you think that?""
Margaret looked at us.
"Because Elizabeth was the only person who knew which baby was taken from the hospital.""
I looked at the documents.
Three birth certificates.
Three children.
Three identities.
But only two parents who had supposedly raised them.
I finally understood the scale of the deception.
Someone had deliberately created a third identity to conceal the original switch.
And if the records were genuine, Zachary might not be Margaret's son at all.
James was still studying the photograph.
Then he noticed something.
A handwritten number on the back.
He read it aloud.
"Room 417.""
Patricia shook her head.
"That's impossible. The old maternity ward only had forty rooms.""
James turned the photograph over again.
Below the number was a second line.
*Ask the child who survived.*
Margaret suddenly grabbed my arm.
Her face had lost all color.
"Christopher, we have to leave.""
"Why?""
She looked at the hospital corridor.
"Because I know who the third child was.""
The officer stepped toward her.
"Who?""
Margaret looked at James.
Then at me.
And whispered:
"David and I didn't have twins.""
She took a shaky breath.
"We had triplets.""
Before anyone could respond, the office telephone rang.
Patricia answered.
She listened for a few seconds.
Then she slowly lowered the receiver.
"That was security.""
"What happened?"" the officer asked.
Patricia looked directly at me.
"A man just entered the hospital asking for the Williams family.""
"Who?""
She swallowed.
"He says his name is David Morgan.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
David was alive.
May you like
And according to Margaret, he wasn't coming for the money anymore.
He was coming for the child who had survived.
