Chapter 5 - THE SEVENTH SHIPMENT
For a moment, I wondered whether the photograph had been mislabeled.
Then I looked again.
The seventh crate carried a Northstar nameplate, years before the Northstar Surgical Supply company in our present investigation had supposedly been established.
“Grandma, where did this photograph come from?”
“Ruth gave it to Samuel.”
“Did she explain the Northstar label?”
“She said Daniel believed it wasn't a company name then. It was a project code.”
“A project for what?”
Grandma shook her head.
“He never told her everything.”
I sat beside her.
“Why not?”
“Because he thought knowing less would protect her.”
I looked at the six employees smiling beside the Christmas tree.
“Did it?”
Grandma's eyes filled.
“No.”
That answer stayed with me as I drove back toward St. Catherine.
I could investigate the broader historical issues as a hospital governance matter, but the active case involving Ethan belonged to independent professionals.
So I gave the photographs to the compliance team through its evidence intake process.
I also asked them to preserve records relating to the old distribution business, Richard Bellamy, and the Northstar designation.
Then I did something more personal.
I wrote Ruth Mercer a letter.
I explained that Samuel had been my grandfather, that I now helped oversee St. Catherine, and that I wanted to understand what happened to Daniel.
I didn't ask her to accuse anyone.
I asked whether she would be willing to talk.
Three days later, a handwritten reply arrived at Grandma's house.
Claire, your grandfather was the only person at that hospital who treated my husband like an honest man after the accusations began. If you want to hear Daniel's story, come to Milwaukee. But please don't bring anyone who works for Richard Bellamy's old company.
At the bottom, Ruth had added one sentence.
And ask your father what happened to the red notebook.
I read that line twice.
Then I drove to my parents' house.
Dad was in the garage, sorting tools.
He looked surprised to see me.
“Claire.”
“What's the red notebook?”
He set down a screwdriver.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
“Where did you hear about that?”
“Ruth Mercer.”
Dad sat heavily on an old wooden stool.
“She contacted you?”
“I contacted her.”
He stared at the floor.
“I told you I tried to apologize.”
“Then tell me about the notebook.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“Daniel kept personal delivery notes. Red cover, spiral binding. He wrote down shipments that didn't match the invoices.”
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you ever have it?”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I felt anger rise in my throat.
“What did you do with it?”
“I gave it to Richard.”
The words were almost a whisper.
“Why?”
“Because he told me Daniel had stolen company information and we needed it to correct the records.”
“Did you believe him?”
Dad's silence answered me.
I moved toward the garage door.
“Claire, wait.”
I turned.
He looked smaller than I remembered.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Losing everything.”
“You helped another man lose everything instead.”
He nodded.
I hadn't expected that.
No excuses.
No angry defense.
Just a tired man finally acknowledging something he had spent decades avoiding.
“There's more,” he said.
I waited.
“Richard told me the notebook had been destroyed. But years later, I saw it again.”
My pulse quickened.
“Where?”
“At his house.”
“When?”
“Just before he died.”
“Did he say why he kept it?”
“No. He was ill. We were going through old business papers.”
“Who inherited them?”
Dad looked toward the driveway.
“His son.”
I searched my memory.
Richard Bellamy had one son, Thomas.
I had met him twice when I was younger.
He was a quiet boy with dark hair who rarely attended our family gatherings.
“What happened to Thomas?”
“He changed his last name after his parents divorced.”
“To what?”
Dad looked at me.
“Cole.”
The garage seemed to tilt.
“Ethan?”
Dad nodded.
I stared at him.
“Ethan is Richard Bellamy's son?”
“Yes.”
“And nobody thought to tell me?”
“Vanessa knows he was raised by his stepfather. Ethan didn't like talking about his biological father.”
I took a step backward.
“Does Vanessa know Richard was the man you worked with?”
“She knows there was a business connection. Not the details.”
The entire situation changed shape.
Ethan wasn't merely a surgeon who might have encountered old supplier codes.
He had a family connection to the man at the center of the historical allegations.
“Did Ethan inherit Richard's business records?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you ever tell him about Daniel?”
Dad looked ashamed.
“He asked once, before he married Vanessa.”
“What did you say?”
“That it was an unfortunate dispute.”
I stared at him.
“Dad, you've spent thirty years minimizing something that destroyed a family.”
He looked at me with exhausted eyes.
“I know.”
I left without another word.
But I didn't go directly home.
I drove to Vanessa's house.
She opened the door wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt.
Ethan wasn't there.
“Claire? What's wrong?”
I studied her face.
“Does Ethan ever talk about his biological father?”
She frowned.
“Richard Bellamy? Why?”
“Did you know Dad used to be his business partner?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Richard's company was involved in a serious supply-records dispute at St. Catherine?”
Her expression changed.
“No.”
“Vanessa, this may be relevant to the investigation. You need independent advice before discussing it with Ethan.”
She gripped the doorframe.
“Are you saying his father was involved in fraud?”
“I'm saying there are allegations that deserve examination.”
She looked away.
“Ethan told me his father was a dishonest man.”
That surprised me.
“He did?”
“He said Richard made money hurting people, and he wanted nothing to do with him.”
I went still.
“Then why does he have anything to do with the old company?”
“What old company?”
I explained only what the historical photographs showed, not confidential investigative findings.
Vanessa sat down.
“Ethan told me he chose medicine because he didn't want to be like his father.”
I looked at her.
“Maybe that was true.”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
“What?”
“He kept a red notebook in our safe for years.”
My breath caught.
“Is it still there?”
“I don't know. I saw it when we moved.”
“Don't remove it. Tell the investigators exactly what you remember.”
Vanessa pressed her palms against her face.
“Claire, I married him because I thought he was different from Dad.”
I sat beside her.
“Different how?”
“Dad always measured people by what they earned. Ethan seemed to care about patients.”
“Maybe he does.”
She looked at me.
“Even after everything?”
“People can do good things and still make terrible choices.”
For a moment, we sat together without speaking.
Then Vanessa glanced toward the hallway.
“There's something I haven't told you.”
“What?”
“Ethan's father left him a storage unit. He told me it contained old furniture and paperwork.”
“Where?”
“Outside Milwaukee.”
I turned toward her.
“Milwaukee?”
She nodded.
“And he went there two weeks before Thanksgiving.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“He said he was finally getting rid of his father's things.”
A terrible thought settled in my stomach.
I had just arranged to visit Ruth Mercer in Milwaukee.
Now I knew Ethan had recently traveled there, too.
Vanessa opened a kitchen drawer and removed a small paper receipt.
“I found this in his jacket after that trip.”
It was from a commercial storage facility.
The date matched her account.
At the bottom, someone had handwritten a notation.
Unit 417.
I looked at the receipt.
Then at Vanessa.
She swallowed.
“Claire, there's something written on the back.”
I turned it over.
May you like
In hurried blue ink were seven words.
DO NOT LET RUTH SEE THE NOTEBOOK.
