Chapter 4: The Man in the Hospital Footage
I watched the surveillance footage again.
Then a third time.
The man in the dark overcoat walked through the hospital entrance at 8:42 a.m. He handed something to the receptionist, signed a document, and disappeared down the corridor.
His face was older than I remembered.
His hair was almost completely gray.
But there was no mistaking the scar above his left eyebrow.
My father had gotten that scar when I was seven. Michael had pushed him during an argument over a broken window, and Dad had fallen against the corner of a fireplace.
I remembered the blood.
I remembered my mother screaming.
And I remembered my father telling Michael it wasn't his fault.
That was how things worked in our family.
Michael never had to take responsibility.
I did.
I slowly lowered my phone.
“Richard,” I said, “I want the truth.””
He looked at the screen.
“I don't know what you're looking at.””
“Don't insult me.””
“Eleanor, I swear I have never seen that man.””
Victoria let out a nervous laugh.
“Perhaps the footage is fake.””
I turned toward her.
“Then why are you frightened?””
She immediately straightened.
“I'm not frightened.””
“You've been staring at that screen for thirty seconds without blinking.””
Victoria reached for her handbag.
“I have nothing more to discuss.””
Richard moved toward the door.
“Victoria, wait.””
She ignored him.
I stepped into her path.
“Where is Michael?””
She stared at me.
“I told you. He's in the hospital.””
“Which hospital?””
“St. Catherine's.””
“Which room?””
“Why don't you ask the man who admitted him?””
I leaned closer.
“Because apparently that man is my dead father.””
For the first time, Victoria's confidence completely disappeared.
She looked toward Richard.
He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
That small movement told me more than either of them intended.
They knew something.
And they were terrified of saying it aloud.
I took out my phone.
“Daniel, send the footage to our forensic team. I want the original recording, not a compressed copy. Then contact hospital security and request preservation of every camera recording from the entrance, reception, and the private wing.””
“Understood.””
“And Daniel?””
“Yes?””
“Find out whether my father's death certificate was ever amended.””
There was a pause.
“Why would it be?””
“Because someone just signed a hospital admission form using his name.””
I ended the call.
Richard watched me carefully.
“Eleanor, if you go to that hospital, don't go alone.””
“Why?””
He hesitated.
“Because whoever is doing this knows you're investigating.””
I almost laughed.
“Someone sent me a warning telling me not to trust you. Now you're telling me to be careful. Should I be impressed?””
Richard looked exhausted.
“You should be alive.””
His words hung in the air.
Victoria suddenly moved toward the door.
“I am leaving.””
“Not yet,” I said.
She turned.
“You cannot detain me.””
“I haven't tried.””
“Then move.””
I stepped aside.
She walked out, her heels striking the marble floor.
Richard remained.
“Eleanor, listen to me. I know how this looks.””
“It looks like my brother has been stealing money, your sister has been helping him, and someone is pretending my dead father is alive.””
“That's not the entire story.””
“Then tell me the rest.””
He looked at the closed door.
“Not here.””
I studied him.
“Where?””
“Your father's old house.””
My chest tightened.
“Which house?””
“The one on Lake Geneva.””
The words from my father's letter returned to me.
Ask about the house on Lake Geneva.
I had visited that house twice as a child.
It was a large stone property overlooking the water, with white shutters and a private boathouse. My father had purchased it when I was nine.
After his death, Michael told me the property had been sold to cover estate taxes.
I had never questioned it.
“Why do you want to take me there?””
Richard reached inside his jacket and removed a small brass key.
“Because your father never sold it.””
I stared at the key.
“Who owns it?””
Richard swallowed.
“According to the land registry, you do.””
An hour later, I was in the back of my car with Daniel on speakerphone.
He had already begun investigating the hospital footage.
“Eleanor, there's something strange about the admission record,” he said.
“What?””
“The patient was admitted under Michael Hayes. The person signing the paperwork used your father's name, but the identification number belongs to an entirely different individual.””
“Who?””
“A private security consultant named Thomas Reed.””
I looked at Richard, who was sitting opposite me.
“Does that name mean anything to you?””
He shook his head.
Daniel continued.
“Reed worked for a private investigation company that provided services to Whitmore Holdings six years ago.””
I turned toward Richard.
“Your company employed him?””
“I don't remember every contractor.””
“Try harder.””
Richard rubbed his forehead.
“Wait. Thomas Reed. Yes. He was hired by my father to investigate a financial dispute.””
“With whom?””
Richard hesitated.
“Your brother.””
I felt my pulse quicken.
“Why would your father investigate Michael?””
“Because money was disappearing from the company.””
I stared at him.
“And you said you knew nothing about the transfers.””
“I didn't know about the recent ones. But I knew my father suspected Michael years ago.””
Daniel interrupted.
“Eleanor, there's another issue.””
“What now?””
“The hospital records show that Michael was admitted after an accident. But his medical file contains a document requesting that one visitor be denied access.””
“Who?””
Daniel went silent.
“Your name.””
I looked down at my hands.
Michael had been in a hospital bed, possibly fighting for his life, and someone had specifically forbidden me from seeing him.
“Who signed that request?””
Daniel answered quietly.
“Victoria Whitmore.””
Richard closed his eyes.
I turned toward him.
“Your sister doesn't want me near my brother.””
“I can explain.””
“Then explain.””
Richard stared out the window.
“Victoria believes Michael has something that belongs to her.””
“What?””
“I don't know.””
“Richard.””
He finally looked at me.
“My father's original ownership certificate.””
I frowned.
“Ownership of what?””
He leaned forward.
“The controlling shares of Whitmore Holdings.””
By the time we reached the private airfield, I had stopped asking questions.
I wanted documents.
I wanted names.
And I wanted to know why my father had left me a house that supposedly belonged to someone else.
The flight to Geneva was quiet.
Richard barely spoke.
I watched the clouds through the window and thought about the last time I had seen my father alive.
He had been sitting in his study, wearing his old brown sweater, reading the financial newspaper.
I had brought him a cup of coffee.
He had thanked me without looking up.
Two days later, he died in his sleep.
At least, that was what I had been told.
When we landed, a driver was waiting.
The journey to the lake took nearly an hour.
As the car approached the property, I recognized the stone gate.
The old iron letters were still there.
HAYES HOUSE.
But something was different.
A black SUV was parked outside.
Richard noticed it too.
“That's not mine.””
I looked toward the house.
The front door was open.
Someone had entered.
I stepped out of the car.
“Stay here,” Richard said.
I ignored him.
We crossed the gravel path together.
Inside, the house smelled of cedar, dust, and something burning.
A fire was still alive in the living room.
Someone had recently been there.
On the table sat two coffee cups.
One was empty.
The other was still warm.
I moved toward the fireplace.
A photograph lay face down beside it.
I picked it up.
It showed my father standing between two men.
One was Richard's father.
The other was Michael.
But the date written on the back made my stomach turn.
*November 14 — Three days before the funeral.*
My father's funeral had taken place fourteen years earlier.
I looked at Richard.
“Why was Michael with my father three days before the funeral?””
Richard stared at the photograph.
Then he whispered something I would never forget.
“Because your father wasn't dead when we buried him.””
Before I could respond, a floorboard creaked upstairs.
Someone was in the house.
Then a man's voice called down the staircase.
“Richard?””
A pause.
“Did you bring Eleanor?””
Richard went completely still.
I looked toward the stairs.
The voice sounded familiar.
Terrifyingly familiar.
May you like
And then the man stepped into view.
It was my father.
