Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
For three seconds, I couldn't understand what Dominic had said.
Then I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes the human mind rejects a sentence before the heart can understand it.
“My mother is at home,” I said.
Dominic didn't blink.
“No.”
“She has been at St. Catherine's for almost six months.”
His right-hand man, Marco, locked the private entrance exactly as Dominic had ordered.
Victoria remained near the dining room, watching us from a distance.
Dominic lowered his voice.
“Casey, listen to me carefully.”
“I am listening.”
“Who told you she was Mary Evelyn Miller?”
I stared at him.
“My mother.”
He looked toward Marco.
“Bring me the file.”
Marco disappeared.
I felt anger replacing confusion.
“You're frightening me.”
“I know.”
“That isn't reassuring.”
“It wasn't meant to be.”
He placed both hands flat on the table.
“I need you to tell me everything you know about your mother.”
“My mother is sick.”
“I know.”
“She has renal failure.”
“I know.”
I stopped.
“How?”
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
Marco returned carrying a thin black folder.
He placed it in front of Dominic.
Dominic opened it.
Inside were photocopies.
Hospital records.
Insurance forms.
Property records.
Old newspaper clippings.
My stomach tightened.
“Where did you get that?”
Dominic looked at me.
“From a file I wasn't supposed to have.”
He turned the first page toward me.
At the top was a photograph.
A woman in her thirties.
Brown hair.
Pale eyes.
The same small scar beside her left eyebrow that my mother had.
I stared.
It was my mother.
But she looked younger.
Much younger.
And beside her stood a man I had never seen before.
Dominic pointed at the photograph.
“Do you recognize him?”
“No.”
“Look again.”
I did.
The man wore a dark suit.
He had one hand resting lightly on my mother's shoulder.
There was no romance in the photograph.
Only familiarity.
Then I saw the date.
My mother had always told me she met my father in 2001.
My fingers went cold.
“That can't be right.”
Dominic watched me.
“What did your mother tell you about your father?”
“That he died before I was born.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“That's what she told you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever see a death certificate?”
“No.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Dominic slid another document across the table.
It was a property deed.
The owner was listed as Mary Evelyn Miller.
But the signature wasn't my mother's.
I recognized it because I had seen her sign birthday cards my entire life.
“That isn't her signature.”
“I know.”
“Then why is her name on it?”
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
I looked at him.
“You said my mother wasn't supposed to be alive.”
He nodded.
“Twenty-seven years ago, Mary Evelyn Miller was reported dead.”
My mouth went dry.
“Twenty-seven?”
“Yes.”
“But I was born twenty-six years ago.”
“Exactly.”
I stared at the photograph again.
Then something caught my attention.
A small object around my mother's neck.
A silver pendant.
I knew it.
I'd seen it in our house.
My mother kept it inside a wooden jewelry box.
I had never been allowed to touch it.
Dominic noticed my expression.
“You've seen it.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
Marco leaned toward him.
“Boss.”
Dominic nodded.
Then looked at me.
“Casey, your mother may have been using another identity before you were born.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
He pushed the photograph toward me.
“I expect you to look at the evidence.”
I hated that he was calm.
I hated that he seemed to know things about my family that I didn't.
Most of all, I hated the possibility that my mother had been lying to me.
Then Victoria approached.
“Dominic.”
He didn't look at her.
“Go home.”
She stopped.
“Excuse me?”
“Now.”
“You're seriously choosing this waitress over your wife?”
Dominic finally looked at her.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“I'm choosing the truth over everyone.”
Victoria's face changed.
She glanced at me.
Then at the folder.
“What truth?”
Dominic closed it.
“Not here.”
Victoria's eyes narrowed.
She walked away.
I watched her leave.
Then I looked back at Dominic.
“What does she know?”
“Less than she thinks.”
“And you?”
“More than I want.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
It was the hospital.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
A nurse's voice came through.
“Ms. Miller?”
“Yes.”
“This is St. Catherine's.”
My heart stopped.
“Is my mother okay?”
There was a pause.
“That's why I'm calling.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
“The patient assigned to Mary Evelyn Miller was discharged three days ago.”
I stared at Dominic.
“What?”
“She wasn't discharged by family.”
“Then who?”
Another pause.
“A man named Dominic Russo.”
I couldn't breathe.
I looked at him.
He looked genuinely stunned.
“I didn't discharge her.”
The nurse continued.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“The patient was never receiving dialysis under the name Mary Evelyn Miller.”
Silence.
My hand began shaking.
“Then who was receiving treatment?”
The nurse gave me a name.
One I had never heard before.
I wrote it down.
Dominic stood.
“Casey.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
His eyes were fixed on the name.
He knew it.
“I've heard that name before.”
“Where?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he picked up his phone.
“Marco, call the hospital. Nobody leaves that building until I know who accessed her records.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Because the woman you believe is your mother may not be the woman who checked into that hospital.”
My blood ran cold.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text message.
One sentence.
DON'T TRUST DOMINIC RUSSO.
I looked up.
Dominic was watching me.
“Who sent that?”
“I don't know.”
He held out his hand.
“Give me the phone.”
I hesitated.
Then another message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
My mother.
Standing outside St. Catherine's.
Alive.
But she wasn't alone.
May you like
Beside her stood Victoria Russo.
And Victoria was handing her a small black envelope.
