Chapter 5 - THE SIGNATURE I NEVER WROTE
“That isn't my signature.”
I said it three times.
Not because I thought Michael didn't believe me.
Because seeing my own name attached to something dishonest made my skin crawl.
The receiving report showed six neonatal transport incubators valued at more than $480,000.
Six machines.
Six pieces of equipment that could save premature babies during emergency transfers.
And according to the hospital's records, I had personally accepted delivery.
“Look at the date,” I said.
Michael enlarged the document.
September 14.
I almost laughed.
Except nothing was funny.
“That was my wedding anniversary.”
My father looked at me.
“Were you working?”
“No. Carter took me to dinner in Philadelphia.”
I remembered that evening perfectly.
The fancy restaurant.
The expensive necklace he'd given me.
The way he'd insisted we leave our phones in his car so we could concentrate on each other.
For months afterward, I'd held on to that memory whenever he frightened me.
I told myself the loving husband from that dinner was the real Carter.
Now I wondered whether the entire evening had been carefully arranged.
“Can you prove where you were?” Michael asked.
“Yes. Restaurant reservations. Parking receipts. Carter's credit-card statement.”
Michael wrote everything down.
“Good.”
But Rosa remained strangely quiet.
When Michael left, I turned toward her.
“Rosa, please tell me what's going on.”
She stared at the floor.
“I heard the receiving documents were being audited.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Her eyes filled.
“Hannah, I've worked at Saint Agnes for nineteen years. My pension, my insurance, everything depends on this job.”
“I understand.”
“No,” she whispered. “You don't.”
Then she stood.
“I need to check on my patients.”
Before I could stop her, she disappeared.
My father watched the doorway.
“She's frightened.”
“Of Carter?”
“Possibly. Or someone else.”
I lay back against the pillows.
Ben was fighting for every breath downstairs.
And somewhere in the same building, somebody had been using my identity to cover the disappearance of lifesaving equipment.
An hour later, a hospital compliance officer named Laura Chen visited.
She brought a folder containing records the hospital had already gathered.
“We need to explain something,” Laura said.
“The missing incubators were purchased through a grant administered in partnership with First Light Families.”
I frowned.
I knew that name.
First Light Families was a charitable foundation that helped families with premature infants.
They hosted expensive fundraising dinners.
Sponsored hospital equipment.
Published photographs of smiling babies beside grateful parents.
And its president was Eleanor Voss.
My blood went cold.
“Eleanor runs that charity.”
Laura nodded.
“Her foundation coordinated part of the equipment procurement process.”
My father leaned forward.
“And who provided legal services?”
Laura checked the folder.
“Voss Legal Group.”
Carter's firm.
I closed my eyes.
Eleanor.
Carter.
My stolen badge.
My forged signature.
The pieces were beginning to fit together.
But one question bothered me.
“Why would they need my signature?”
Laura answered carefully.
“The receiving employee's verification releases the payment associated with a shipment.”
“So somebody gets paid for equipment that never arrived.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the window.
“That's why Carter kept asking about the new NICU equipment.”
Laura did not confirm my conclusion.
But she didn't dismiss it either.
After she left, my father pulled his chair closer.
“Hannah, did Carter know about your connection to me?”
I shook my head.
“He thought you were just a farmer.”
Dad gave a sad smile.
“I am a farmer.”
“You know what I mean.”
He looked at his hands.
“Your mother always said people reveal themselves when they believe nobody important is watching.”
A tear slid down my face.
“I thought Carter loved me.”
Dad squeezed my fingers.
“I believe there was a time when you thought that for good reason.”
That hurt more than if he'd simply called Carter evil.
Because I remembered the man who brought soup when I had the flu.
The man who cried when we heard Ben's first heartbeat.
The man who painted our nursery pale blue.
I couldn't reconcile those memories with the husband who had watched me bleed on the kitchen floor.
Laura returned just before midnight.
Her face was pale.
“We found something else.”
She placed a printed email on my bedside table.
“Six months ago, our previous compliance director tried to report irregularities in the equipment purchasing program.”
“What happened?”
“She was instructed to stop sharing her concerns with outside investigators.”
“By whom?”
Laura pointed toward the bottom of the page.
It was a letter on official county prosecutor's office letterhead, urging the hospital to preserve records but referring further inquiries back to the office's designated contact.
There was no lawful reason for that office to control a hospital's procurement audit.
And at the bottom was a familiar name.
Richard Voss.
Carter's uncle.
The senior prosecutor who supposedly knew every judge in the county.
The man Carter had threatened to use against me.
My father read the letter twice.
Then he looked at Laura.
“Has your hospital reported this conflict to the state attorney general?”
She swallowed.
“Not yet.”
Dad placed the paper on the table.
“Then that needs to happen through the proper channels.”
But I was staring at one final detail.
Richard's letter had been copied to someone else.
Not Carter.
May you like
Not Eleanor.
Rosa Alvarez.
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