Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Could No Longer Remember
“That's my mother.”
Nina pointed at the screen.
Dr. Ellis looked from the photograph to the consent form.
“Are you certain?”
“Her name was Margaret Brennan. She died eight months ago.”
Victor sat perfectly still.
Nina leaned closer.
The woman in the photograph had gray hair pulled into a low bun. She wore a blue cardigan and the small gold necklace Nina had given her for Mother's Day.
It was unmistakably Margaret.
But something was wrong.
“This photograph was taken at Meridian Park,” Nina said. “I remember that cardigan. Mom wore it when she had her memory evaluation.”
Ellis examined the document.
“The form identifies her as an independent witness.”
“She wasn't an independent witness. She was a patient.”
“Could she have met Mr. Danalov?”
Nina looked at Victor.
“Have you ever met my mother?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“She was already struggling with dementia when this form was supposedly signed. She sometimes couldn't recognize the street where she'd lived for thirty years.”
Victor lowered his head.
“I never authorized an experimental study.”
Ellis zoomed in on the electronic document.
“The photograph proves who was represented as the witness, not who actually completed the form. We need the original audit records.”
Nina felt tears rising.
She had spent years protecting her mother.
Now, even after Margaret's death, someone was using her identity.
“Whoever did this knew she couldn't challenge them.”
Victor heard the pain in her voice.
“Nina.”
She shook her head.
“I worked at that hospital. I trusted those people with her care.”
Dr. Ellis quietly closed the document.
“I'll preserve the records we obtained and contact the appropriate medical review authorities.”
Victor turned toward her.
“I want copies.”
“You can receive your records, Mr. Danalov. But please don't confront hospital personnel while we are still securing evidence.”
Victor gave a cold smile.
“You've heard stories about me.”
“I have.”
“Then you know patience isn't my greatest strength.”
Ellis didn't flinch.
“Neither is permanently damaging someone's remaining vision. Right now, getting you appropriate treatment is more important than frightening the people who failed you.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Victor nodded.
“Arrange the specialist.”
On the drive home, Nina sat beside Victor while Anton drove.
The city passed beyond the tinted windows.
Victor held his father's ring between his thumb and forefinger.
“Tell me about your mother.”
Nina stared ahead.
“She was a school librarian for thirty-one years. She remembered every child's favorite book. Even after they graduated, she'd send them birthday cards.”
“And when she became ill?”
“At first, she forgot appointments. Then recipes. Then how to get home from the grocery store.”
Nina swallowed.
“She was embarrassed. She'd ask me not to tell anyone.”
Victor said nothing.
“I worked nights so I could be home with her during the day. Sometimes she'd wake me at six in the morning because she thought she had to get ready for work.”
“What did you do?”
“I helped her choose a dress and told her the library was closed.”
“Did she believe you?”
“Sometimes.”
Nina gave a small, painful smile.
“Near the end, she forgot my name. But whenever I came into her room, she'd reach for my hand.”
Victor turned toward her.
“She knew you were someone she loved.”
“I hope so.”
“I think she did.”
Nina wiped her eyes.
After a while, Victor spoke again.
“My daughter used to hold my hand like that.”
“Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“Why don't you call her?”
“She stopped answering.”
“Then write.”
“She returns my letters.”
“Have you ever asked why?”
Victor looked toward the sound of the traffic.
“I know why.”
“Maybe you know your version.”
For once, Victor had no answer.
Back at the estate, Gregor was waiting in the study.
He stood when Victor entered.
“Where have you been?”
“At a medical appointment.”
“Without telling me?”
Victor removed his coat.
“I'm forty-nine years old, Gregor. I don't remember hiring you as my father.”
Gregor looked at Nina.
“What did the doctor say?”
Victor smiled faintly.
“That I should spend less time with people who make decisions for me.”
“Victor, whatever this woman has told you—”
“Her name is Nina.”
Gregor stopped.
Victor walked to his chair.
“Sit down.”
Gregor hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because we need to discuss Meridian Park.”
A heavy silence settled over the study.
Nina remained near the door.
Victor placed the copied donation authorization on his desk.
“Why is Thomas Brennan's signature on this?”
Gregor looked at the document.
His expression changed.
For an instant, Nina saw something beyond surprise.
Grief.
“Where did you get that?”
“Answer the question.”
Gregor loosened his tie.
“Thomas Brennan was appointed as a historical reference representative for the foundation's research compliance program.”
“He died in 2004,” Nina said.
Gregor closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Then explain how he approved a payment last year.”
“It was an electronic authorization error.”
“A four-million-dollar error?” Victor asked.
Gregor leaned forward.
“I didn't create that document.”
“Your signature is on it.”
“My signature was attached through the foundation's delegated approvals system. Evelyn Marsh controlled the clinical paperwork.”
Victor went quiet.
“Why did you let her control it?”
“Because you told me to get answers about your condition.”
“I told you to find doctors.”
“And I did.”
“Then why did you approve a research agreement using a dead man's name?”
Gregor's voice broke.
“Because by the time I realized what they'd done, they already had enough to destroy us.”
Nina felt her heart pounding.
“Destroy whom?”
Gregor looked toward Victor.
“All of us.”
Victor leaned back.
“Start talking.”
Gregor rubbed his face.
“Meridian Park was running a privately funded neurological research program. Their executives promised access to advanced treatments unavailable through ordinary appointments.”
“And you believed them?” Nina asked.
“My wife died waiting for a treatment that came too late. I know what desperation can make people believe.”
Nina hadn't known Gregor had been married.
Gregor glanced at her.
“You think I don't understand what happens when hospitals fail families?”
“Understanding doesn't excuse stealing a patient's choices.”
His expression hardened.
“No. It doesn't.”
Victor spoke softly.
“Did you know about the tumor?”
Gregor stared at the floor.
“Not at first.”
“Gregor.”
“I knew the hospital was withholding something. Marsh told me Victor had an aggressive neurological disorder and that revealing the full prognosis could make him refuse their treatment protocol.”
Victor's voice turned cold.
“You let someone decide what truth I could bear?”
Gregor swallowed.
“I thought I was buying you time.”
“You were buying your own peace of mind.”
Gregor looked genuinely wounded.
“Victor, everything I did—”
“Was something you decided I wasn't entitled to understand.”
No one spoke.
Finally, Gregor stood.
“There's a reason Evelyn Marsh hasn't been challenged.”
“Then tell me.”
Gregor shook his head.
“Not without knowing whether my family is safe.”
He walked toward the door.
Anton stepped into his path.
Victor raised his hand.
“Let him go.”
Nina turned sharply.
“Mr. Danalov—”
“Let him go,” Victor repeated.
Gregor left.
Victor listened until his footsteps disappeared.
Then he spoke to Anton.
“Watch him. Don't threaten him. And don't let anyone from Meridian Park near this house.”
That evening, Nina sat at the guest-house kitchen table with her mother's photograph.
She had been so focused on the forged consent form that she hadn't looked closely at the photograph's background.
Now she remembered something.
The original had been taken in a hospital examination room.
There had been a paper butterfly taped to the wall.
Her mother had made it during a memory-care activity.
Nina searched through photographs on an old phone she had kept after losing service.
She found the original image.
Same cardigan.
Same necklace.
Same paper butterfly.
But the photograph attached to Victor's consent form had been cropped to remove the room.
The image hadn't been taken during a clinical trial.
It had been copied from Margaret Brennan's patient record.
Nina stared at the date.
The original photograph had been uploaded two years earlier.
Long before Victor's supposed consent.
Then she noticed the consent document's administrative code.
HARBORLIGHT-17.
The same code appeared in her audit notebook.
She opened it.
Seven patient entries were marked with that program identifier.
Two were deceased.
Three had been transferred.
One had disappeared from the hospital's active database.
And one was listed as:
M. BRENNAN — FINAL STATUS: CLOSED.
Nina felt dizzy.
Her mother had been part of the same program.
Not as a witness.
As a patient.
She turned another page.
Beside Margaret's name, Nina had written a note from the hospital's restricted system:
AUTHORIZED FAMILY CONTACT: G. SOALOV.
Gregor.
The man who had asked about her father's name.
The man who had controlled Victor's medical arrangements.
He had also been listed as her mother's authorized contact.
While Nina was working three jobs to keep Margaret alive.
She reached for her phone.
Then stopped.
There was something else beneath the entry.
A financial notation.
PATIENT SUPPORT RESERVE — $84,000.
Nina stared.
Exactly the amount she owed in hospital bills.
And beside it, a final instruction:
RESERVE RELEASED. FAMILY BALANCE TO REMAIN OUTSTANDING.
Someone had set aside money to pay her mother's medical bills.
May you like
Someone had taken it.
And someone had made certain Nina remained in debt.
