Chapter 7: The Doctor Who Had Been Dead for Two Years
For nearly a minute, Samuel Reed stared at the hospital document without speaking.
Grandma stood behind him, one hand gripping the back of his chair. Olivia had moved beside the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. I sat at the edge of the desk, holding the brass key so tightly that its teeth pressed into my palm.
The signature at the bottom of the document belonged to Dr. Michael Foster.
I recognized the name because it was printed beneath the hospital's official letterhead.
*Attending Physician: Dr. Michael Foster.*
According to the document, he had examined my father at 11:47 p.m., determined that Daniel Bennett could not consent to treatment, and accepted authorization from Vanessa Carter to make a final medical decision.
But Samuel had already found the doctor's obituary.
Dr. Foster had died twenty-six months before my father entered the hospital.
"That cannot be genuine," Grandma whispered.
Samuel enlarged the image.
"The hospital's letterhead is authentic. The physician's identification number appears to be authentic. But this document contains several inconsistencies.""
"Someone used a dead doctor's name," I said.
"Possibly. We need the hospital to authenticate the record before we reach a conclusion.""
Grandma leaned over his shoulder.
"Who sent this?""
Samuel opened Richard's email again.
The message had been sent from his professional account, but there was no telephone number or explanation.
"Richard promised to preserve the original," Samuel said.
"This appears to be a scan. I'll contact him through a verified number and ask where he obtained it.""
He reached for his phone.
Before he could dial, another email arrived.
This one contained a short message.
I found the original in a locked cabinet in my office. The paper appears genuine, but the signature and date are wrong. Vanessa told me the hospital had approved the authorization. I now believe she lied to me.
A second line appeared beneath it.
Do not trust the person who arranged the medical review.
Samuel read the message twice.
"Who arranged the medical review?"" Olivia asked.
"The invoice lists Northbridge Medical Consulting," Samuel replied.
"But we don't yet know who commissioned the work.""
Grandma's face tightened.
"Then we need to find out.""
Samuel began typing a reply, asking Richard to preserve the document and all related correspondence. He instructed him not to alter, remove, or destroy any records.
Then he looked at Grandma.
"There's something else. If the hospital authorization was falsified, that doesn't automatically establish that the medical decisions themselves were improper. We need the clinical records, the identity of the treating team, and the actual sequence of events.""
I understood what he meant.
Still, the thought that someone might have used a dead doctor's name to decide what happened to my father made me feel sick.
"Could Vanessa have made the hospital stop treating Dad?"" I asked.
Samuel paused.
"She may have been authorized to make decisions on his behalf. Or someone may have claimed she was. We need to establish which.""
"But if Dad could still speak, why would she need to authorize anything?""
Grandma looked down.
"Your father was very ill during those final days. There were moments when he was alert and moments when he was exhausted or confused. That's why the medical records matter so much.""
I remembered the last time I saw him awake.
He had been lying against white pillows, his face pale and his lips dry. Vanessa had stood beside the bed with her arms folded.
Dad had reached for my hand.
"Promise me you'll keep the key safe," he'd whispered.
"I promise.""
"And if anyone tells you that I didn't want you to have the lake house, don't believe them without asking questions.""
I'd laughed nervously.
"Why would anyone say that?""
He had looked toward the door.
"Because people sometimes confuse what's convenient for them with what's right.""
Then Vanessa had returned from the hallway and told me visiting time was over.
I'd never seen him awake again.
I told Grandma what I remembered.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she pressed her lips together.
"That sounds like Daniel.""
"Does it mean he knew what Vanessa was doing?""
"It means he was worried about something. We mustn't assume we know exactly what.""
Samuel closed the laptop.
"Tomorrow morning, I'll contact the hospital's legal department, the county recorder, and the relevant authorities. I'll also arrange for an independent document examiner to review the disputed signatures.""
"And the lake house?"" I asked.
"We'll seek lawful access through the property records and whoever currently controls the premises. We won't put you in danger.""
I looked down at the key.
"I don't want to wait.""
"I know," he said.
"But the best way to protect what your father left you is to make sure nobody can accuse you of taking it improperly.""
Grandma touched my shoulder.
"We've waited long enough to get answers, Maya. One more night won't change what happened.""
I wanted to believe her.
But when I finally went upstairs to the guest bedroom, I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph of the lake house window. I imagined someone walking through the rooms where Dad had taught me to play chess, opening drawers, searching the study.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
*You have the key. They have the documents. Neither of you has the whole truth.*
I sat up.
Another message arrived.
*Ask your grandmother why she signed the original agreement.*
My stomach dropped.
I reread the words.
Then I got out of bed and walked barefoot down the hallway.
A light shone beneath the library door.
Grandma was sitting at the desk, still wearing the clothes she'd worn to the gala. The property receipt lay beside an old photograph of my father.
She looked up when I entered.
"Couldn't sleep?""
I showed her my phone.
She read the messages in silence.
Then she sat back.
"They want us to distrust one another.""
"Did you sign an agreement with Dad?""
Grandma stared at the photograph.
"Yes.""
My heart began to race.
"What agreement?""
"Your father asked me to witness a document concerning the lake house several years ago. It was not the trust termination certificate Samuel showed us tonight.""
"Then what was it?""
She opened the leather address book she'd taken from the desk earlier.
A small envelope had been tucked inside its back cover.
She removed it and placed it between us.
"I should have told you sooner," she said.
"But Daniel asked me to keep this confidential unless the property was threatened.""
Inside the envelope was a copy of an agreement dated six years earlier.
It stated that the lake house would be held for the benefit of Daniel's descendants. The document also contained a provision allowing a designated trustee to arrange repairs, approve necessary expenses, and protect the property from unauthorized transfers.
At the bottom was Grandma's signature.
And beside it was my father's.
"Why did you sign it?"" I asked.
"Because Daniel wanted to make sure the house would remain available to you, even if something happened to him.""
"Then why did you let Vanessa sell it?""
Grandma's eyes filled with tears.
"I didn't know she had sold it until tonight.""
"But you knew Dad had a plan.""
"Yes.""
"Why didn't you tell me about it?""
"Because I believed the trust was secure. I didn't want you growing up worrying about money, ownership, and legal battles. I wanted you to remember the house as a place where your father loved you.""
I sat down slowly.
That was the worst part.
Everyone had been trying to protect me from the truth.
And somehow, the secrets had made everything more frightening.
Grandma reached for my hand.
"I am sorry.""
I wanted to be angry with her.
Part of me was angry.
But she looked so tired, so much older than she had at the gala, that I couldn't bring myself to pull away.
"Do you think Vanessa knew about the original agreement?""
"She knew Daniel intended to protect the property. Whether she knew the exact terms is something we need to establish.""
I glanced at the document.
"Could someone have changed the trust after Dad died?""
"That's possible. But a valid transfer would require proper authority. The disputed paperwork raises serious questions.""
My phone vibrated again.
This time, the message contained a photograph of a document.
It was the same agreement Grandma had placed on the desk.
But in the photograph, a handwritten note appeared in the margin.
If the original trustee cannot serve, Evelyn Bennett will assume temporary responsibility until a replacement is appointed.
Grandma went completely still.
"That's not on my copy," she whispered.
I leaned closer.
The handwriting looked like my father's.
"Does that mean you were supposed to be the trustee?""
"I never saw that note.""
She compared the photograph with the agreement in front of us.
The paper looked identical.
The signature positions matched.
Even a tiny crease in the upper-right corner appeared in both images.
But the note was absent from the physical copy.
"Someone has access to the original," Grandma said.
"Or someone has a copy we haven't seen," I replied.
She looked at me with a strange expression.
For the first time, I realized that she was not simply afraid of what Vanessa might have done.
She was afraid that the person responsible had been close enough to my father to know every detail of his plans.
Grandma picked up her phone.
"I'm calling Samuel.""
Before she could dial, the house alarm sounded.
A sharp electronic chime rang through the ground floor.
We both turned toward the hallway.
Then came the sound of the front door handle moving.
Grandma stood and motioned for me to stay behind her.
"Who's there?"" she called.
No answer.
The handle moved again.
Then something slid beneath the door.
A white envelope.
Grandma waited until the footsteps outside had faded before approaching it.
She didn't touch it with her bare hands. Instead, she called Samuel, who came downstairs within minutes.
He photographed the envelope where it lay, then carefully opened it.
Inside was a printed photograph of my father in his hospital bed.
He was awake, looking directly at the camera.
On the back, someone had written a date and a time.
11:47 p.m.
Beneath it were seven words.
*HE WAS ALIVE WHEN VANESSA SIGNED FOR HIM.*
Grandma covered her mouth.
Samuel stared at the photograph.
Then he turned it over again and examined the lower corner.
"There is a hospital room number written here.""
I leaned forward.
Room 814.
Samuel looked at me.
"Do you remember whether your father was in that room during his final admission?""
I nodded slowly.
"Yes.""
He looked toward the front door.
"Then we may finally have a way to establish what happened that night.""
But as he reached for his phone, his expression changed.
The photograph had one more detail none of us had noticed.
Reflected in the dark window behind my father's hospital bed was a figure standing beside the door.
A woman wearing a champagne-colored gown.
May you like
Vanessa.
And she was holding a document in one hand and a telephone in the other.
