Chapter 6 - The Doctor Who Knew Which Baby Was Taken
Victor watched the security footage as Benjamin and Dr. Samuel Pierce climbed into the sedan.
“Lock the gates,” he told the guard stationed in the hallway.
The guard reached for his radio.
Victor stopped him.
“Not over the security channel.”
Benjamin controlled that channel.
Victor made a private call to the gatehouse supervisor, a younger employee who had never worked for Lorenzo.
“Keep the east exit closed. Quietly.”
By the time Victor reached the garage, the sedan was already approaching the gates.
He stepped into its path.
The driver braked.
Benjamin got out first.
“Boss, I can explain.”
Victor looked at the cassette case in his hand.
“Then start.”
Benjamin glanced toward the passenger seat.
Dr. Pierce remained inside.
“I was taking these to be authenticated.”
“Without telling me?”
“I thought there might be something damaging.”
Victor stepped closer.
“Damaging to whom?”
Benjamin didn't answer.
Victor opened the rear door.
“Doctor. Out.”
Samuel Pierce emerged slowly.
He was seventy-nine, thin, neatly dressed, and leaning heavily on a cane.
Victor remembered him as an authoritative man who rarely smiled.
The doctor studied Victor's face.
“You look more like her every year.”
Victor went still.
“Like whom?”
“Evelyn.”
Benjamin closed his eyes.
Victor turned toward him.
“You knew.”
“Boss—”
“You knew who my mother was.”
Benjamin looked away.
Victor took the cassette case from his hand.
“Inside. Both of you.”
They gathered in the study.
Martha stood near the doorway.
Isabella remained beside her.
Victor placed the tapes on the desk.
“I want the truth about October 17, 1978.”
Dr. Pierce lowered himself into a chair.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he looked at Martha.
“I never expected to see you again.”
Martha's voice was steady.
“You saw me at Margaret's funeral.”
Pierce looked down.
Victor noticed the exchange.
“What happened to Margaret?”
The doctor rubbed his forehead.
“She had a complicated medical history.”
“That's not an answer.”
Pierce sighed.
“She suffered a series of pregnancy losses. Lorenzo wanted an heir. She wanted a child.”
“So you stole one.”
Pierce's face tightened.
“I arranged a private placement.”
“Without the mother's consent.”
“Yes.”
The single word landed heavily.
Victor leaned forward.
“Who paid you?”
“Lorenzo.”
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand dollars.”
Isabella stared.
“Thirty thousand?”
“In 1978,” Pierce said quietly. “Enough to buy a comfortable house.”
Victor felt disgust rise through him.
“You sold a newborn.”
Pierce lowered his head.
“Yes.”
“Was Lorenzo my biological father?”
The doctor hesitated.
“No.”
Victor sat back.
For forty-seven years, he had carried Lorenzo's name.
His reputation.
His enemies.
His violence.
Now even their blood relationship was gone.
“Who was my father?”
Pierce looked toward Benjamin.
Victor followed his gaze.
“Don't look at him. Look at me.”
Pierce swallowed.
“Evelyn never named him on the hospital paperwork.”
“But you knew.”
The doctor said nothing.
Victor placed Evelyn's wristwatch on the desk.
“Before she died, she left a message asking me to question Benjamin about Margaret's doctor.”
Pierce stared at the watch.
For the first time, fear crossed his face.
“Where did you get that?”
“It belonged to my mother.”
Pierce leaned back.
“Then she knew.”
“Knew what?”
Pierce looked at Martha.
Martha shook her head.
“Tell him.”
The doctor closed his eyes.
“Lorenzo wasn't the only person paying to keep Evelyn quiet.”
Victor's expression changed.
“Who else?”
Pierce glanced at Benjamin again.
Benjamin finally spoke.
“Boss, I made arrangements because your father ordered me to.”
Victor turned.
“Arrangements for what?”
“To keep Thomas away from you.”
“You had my brother beaten.”
Benjamin's jaw tightened.
“I ordered the guards to send him away. I didn't know they'd hurt him.”
Victor's voice dropped.
“You were in charge. You were responsible.”
Benjamin looked down.
“I know.”
Victor pointed toward Pierce.
“And why were you driving him out of my house?”
Benjamin hesitated.
“Because he wanted the tapes destroyed.”
The doctor protested.
“That's not what I said.”
“Enough,” Victor snapped.
He took the cassette marked October 1978 and placed it inside the recorder.
Lorenzo's voice filled the study.
“Evelyn Bennett delivered the boy tonight.”
The second voice asked about the baby's father.
Victor listened to the familiar exchange.
Then the recording continued.
Pierce's younger voice came through.
“The other family will want assurance.”
Lorenzo answered, “They've been paid.”
“Not that family,” Pierce said. “The father's.”
Victor stopped the tape.
He stared at the elderly doctor.
“What other family?”
Pierce's lips trembled.
Benjamin shifted beside the fireplace.
Martha suddenly spoke.
“Samuel. Enough children have suffered because of you.”
The doctor looked at her.
“Lorenzo would've killed me.”
“And how many lives did you ruin trying to save your own?”
Pierce lowered his head.
Victor waited.
Finally, the doctor whispered, “Evelyn had been seeing a married man.”
Victor didn't move.
“He came from a respected Philadelphia family. She worked for them as a home health aide.”
“Who was he?”
Pierce swallowed.
“His wife discovered the affair. The family offered Evelyn money to disappear.”
“Did she take it?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“She left the job. Months later, she gave birth to you.”
Victor's voice hardened.
“Name him.”
Pierce looked at the floor.
“Arthur Whitcomb.”
Isabella frowned.
“The Whitcomb family? The hospital foundation?”
Pierce nodded.
Victor knew the name well.
Whitcomb Medical Holdings owned several clinics across Pennsylvania.
The family sat on charity boards and appeared in society magazines.
Victor had attended fundraisers with them.
Arthur Whitcomb had died eight years earlier.
But his eldest son, Charles, ran the foundation.
Victor thought of the numerous charity events where Charles had shaken his hand.
Complimented his businesses.
Called him an old friend.
“Did Charles know?”
Pierce hesitated.
“He discovered the payments years ago.”
“Payments to whom?”
“To the people keeping Evelyn away from you.”
Victor looked toward Benjamin.
The security chief remained silent.
Victor understood.
Lorenzo had built the prison.
But after his death, other people had maintained it.
“Why?” Victor demanded.
Pierce's eyes filled.
“Because Evelyn kept something.”
“What?”
“A letter Arthur wrote before you were born.”
Victor leaned closer.
“What did it say?”
“I never read it.”
“Who has it?”
Pierce shook his head.
“Evelyn refused to surrender it.”
Martha pressed her lips together.
Victor looked at her.
“Do you know where it is?”
Before she could answer, Isabella stepped forward.
“Daddy.”
Victor turned.
She held the old photograph from 1978.
The picture of Lorenzo outside the church.
“I looked at this earlier. There's something we missed.”
She pointed to the edge.
A man's hand rested on the church railing.
On his finger was a distinctive black stone ring.
Victor recognized it.
Charles Whitcomb wore that ring at every public event.
A family heirloom.
But Charles had been only a teenager in 1978.
Victor looked at the photograph again.
The man wearing the ring was older.
Arthur Whitcomb.
Standing beside Lorenzo.
Watching Evelyn.
Pierce whispered, “That photograph should have been destroyed.”
Victor turned toward him.
“Why?”
The doctor looked defeated.
“Because it was taken the day your father tried to get you back.”
Victor stared.
“My father?”
Pierce nodded.
“Arthur Whitcomb came to that church to claim you.”
Martha gripped the doorway.
Victor looked between them.
“And Lorenzo refused?”
Pierce gave a sad, exhausted laugh.
“No, Victor.”
He looked directly at him.
“Lorenzo was prepared to hand you over.”
Victor's blood ran cold.
May you like
Pierce continued.
“Until Arthur told him what he intended to do with you.”
