Chapter 7 - THE NIGHT THE RECORDS VANISHED
“Where are they taking the records?” Anthony demanded.
Claudia gripped the payment schedule.
“I don't know.”
Emily stepped toward her.
“You signed the authorization.”
“I was supposed to approve the financial closeout. Peter handled the rest.”
Anthony's expression hardened.
“You keep saying Peter handled everything.”
Claudia looked wounded.
“Because he did.”
“Then help us prove it.”
For several seconds, she remained silent.
Finally, she opened her gallery laptop.
Peter's accounting folder contained dozens of entries disguised as artwork transport expenses.
One payment had been scheduled for Friday morning.
The destination was a waterfront document-storage company.
Anthony recognized the address immediately.
It was located inside a warehouse owned by one of his legitimate shipping businesses.
He stared at the screen.
“Peter used my property.”
Thomas nodded.
“And your company's standard freight account.”
Anthony's jaw tightened.
For years, he had built an empire by knowing who controlled every door, every shipment, every payment.
Now someone had used that same system to hide what happened to his son.
By noon, an independent forensic accountant had been engaged to review the gallery and clinic transactions.
The clinic's governing board had also received a formal complaint.
But Dr. Keene was already moving.
Thomas received confirmation from warehouse management that an unscheduled document shipment had arrived that morning.
It was listed as obsolete medical equipment.
The shipment was being prepared for transfer to an off-site records facility.
Anthony stood.
“We're going.”
Emily stopped him.
“If you arrive with armed men and start opening boxes, Keene will say you tampered with evidence.”
Anthony looked at her.
“What do you suggest?”
“Preserve everything. Use the proper authorities.”
It was obvious Anthony hated that answer.
But he listened.
Thomas contacted the investigators reviewing the clinic complaint.
The warehouse manager was instructed to hold the shipment under the company's existing records-preservation procedures.
No boxes were opened.
No employees were threatened.
For once, Anthony's power was used to stop a process rather than force one forward.
Meanwhile, I stayed at the mansion with Daniel.
He had barely slept.
I suggested resting in his room.
He refused.
Instead, he guided his wheelchair toward his studio.
Sunlight poured through the windows.
Paintbrushes stood in ceramic jars along the worktable.
On the far wall hung a small painting of the ocean.
Daniel had completed it before I became his caregiver.
He pointed toward it.
“Want to show me something?” I asked.
He nodded.
I lifted the frame down.
Behind the canvas was a folded piece of paper.
It contained thirteen names.
Beside each was a simple blue symbol.
I recognized one immediately.
Emily Foster.
The blue bird.
“Daniel, did Emily help you make this?”
He nodded.
The names belonged to patients who had attended the intensive motor-training program.
Some were adults.
Others were teenagers.
Daniel had painted their identifying symbols instead of their faces to protect their privacy.
I looked at him.
“You were trying to remember everyone.”
He typed.
SOME LEFT. SOME DIDN'T.
My throat tightened.
“Did someone tell you not to speak about them?”
He nodded.
AUNT CLAUDIA.
I couldn't hide my disappointment.
Daniel watched me.
Then typed another sentence.
SHE CRIED WHEN SHE SAID IT.
That stopped me.
Claudia had done terrible things.
But Daniel remembered something more complicated.
She hadn't simply ordered him to stay quiet.
She had been frightened too.
That afternoon, Anthony returned with disturbing news.
The investigators had preserved the warehouse shipment.
But many boxes were empty.
Others contained duplicate billing statements rather than original treatment records.
Dr. Keene had apparently moved the records earlier.
Peter Lang had disappeared from the gallery's administrative offices.
And Claudia's financial authorization had been used to arrange both shipments.
Anthony sat beside Daniel.
“I need to ask you something.”
Daniel looked up.
“Did Claudia ever tell you why your paintings had to stay hidden?”
Daniel typed slowly.
SHE SAID THEY WOULD HURT YOU.
Anthony looked confused.
“Who would?”
Daniel selected another sentence.
THE PEOPLE WHO PAID.
Emily entered carrying the photograph of the thirteenth painting.
She had been comparing the visible symbols with the patient names.
Her expression was grave.
“Anthony, I think I understand why the paintings were so valuable.”
She placed the photograph on the table.
“Each painting connects a specific patient, session, and date. They're a visual record of what happened.”
Anthony examined the brushstrokes.
“Then why pay millions to buy them?”
“Because the buyers weren't all purchasing art.”
Emily looked toward Daniel.
“Some were purchasing the evidence they wanted removed.”
Thomas arrived moments later with a sealed evidence inventory provided by the warehouse investigators.
He handed Anthony a copy.
“Sir, the shipment included a list of every painting the clinic intended to recover.”
Anthony scanned it.
Then stopped.
“The thirteenth painting is listed.”
Emily nodded.
“But it was never sold.”
Thomas pointed to the final column.
“That isn't a sale price.”
The entry was labeled:
RECOVERY REWARD — $750,000.
Beneath it was a handwritten instruction.
DO NOT CONTACT THE ARTIST. CONTACT HIS CAREGIVER.
May you like
My name appeared directly below.
RACHEL MORGAN.
