Chapter 7 - THE DOCTOR WHO WORE SOMEONE ELSE'S NAME
“Dr. Mercer isn't a doctor?”
I stared at the photograph.
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
He handed it to Marco.
“Verify his license. Every state. Every name he's used.”
Marco stepped into the hallway.
The rehabilitation center's administrator looked alarmed.
“Is something wrong?”
Dominic folded Claire's letter.
“We're trying to establish whether someone falsely represented himself as a physician.”
She looked at Margaret.
“Was he involved in her care?”
“Yes,” I said.
The woman immediately offered to contact the appropriate authorities.
Dominic agreed.
I was grateful.
For once, nobody suggested we solve the problem with threats or secrecy.
Margaret sat beside the open drawer, holding the worn leather notebook.
“Claire kept everything,” she whispered.
Dominic looked at her.
“Did you know what was inside?”
“No. She made me promise not to open it unless someone tried to take control of the trust.”
“Why didn't you tell me about the drawer when Vanessa first threatened you?”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“Because she said Oliver could be removed if I challenged her.”
Dominic crouched beside her.
“Mother, you should have come to me.”
“I tried.”
He looked away.
She continued softly.
“You were always busy. When I asked you to visit, Vanessa said she'd explain everything.”
The accusation wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Dominic bowed his head.
“I should have listened.”
Margaret touched his cheek.
“You're listening now.”
Marco returned twenty minutes later.
“Mercer's medical license number belongs to a retired physician in Indiana.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“And Elias Mercer?”
“That's his real name. But he's listed in old corporate records as a financial compliance consultant.”
I looked at the photograph.
“So he helped Arthur Caldwell manage trust accounts?”
“Apparently.”
Marco continued.
“The state medical board has no record of Mercer ever holding a physician's license.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
For weeks, she had been told she was confused.
That she couldn't trust her own memory.
That her family needed to make decisions without her.
And the man making those judgments had no authority to diagnose her.
Dominic stood.
“We report everything.”
Then he turned toward me.
“Hannah, I need you to document every visit Mercer made.”
I nodded.
But before I could answer, my phone rang.
It was Daniel.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Hey, Danny.”
“Hannah? Are you at the center?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Someone came to my room yesterday.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“A woman. She said she worked for the foundation.”
“What did she want?”
“She asked if I knew where you kept your work notebook.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Daniel, did you tell her anything?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He hesitated.
“Han, she also asked whether I remembered the accident.”
I frowned.
“Of course you remember.”
“Not all of it.”
Daniel had spent almost two weeks in intensive care after his accident.
Some memories remained blurry.
He lowered his voice.
“But I remember something now.”
“What?”
“The other car.”
I closed my eyes.
“Daniel, we've talked about this. The police said the driver lost control.”
“I know what they said.”
He paused.
“The car had a white sticker on the back window.”
“What kind?”
“A little blue house.”
I froze.
The Briarwood House logo was a blue building with a white roof.
Daniel continued.
“And the woman who came yesterday had the same picture on her folder.”
I returned to the records room.
Dominic immediately noticed my face.
“What happened?”
I explained Daniel's memory.
Marco listened carefully.
Then he asked for the date of Daniel's accident.
I gave it to him.
Fourteen months earlier.
He checked something on his tablet.
“Boss.”
Dominic turned.
Marco showed him an insurance record.
The vehicle involved in Daniel's collision had been registered to a Briarwood subsidiary.
My knees weakened.
Vanessa had paid Daniel's medical bills.
She had used those payments to pressure me.
And now we knew the vehicle involved in his accident belonged to the organization at the center of everything.
Dominic caught my arm before I fell.
“Hannah.”
I could barely speak.
“Did they hurt my brother because of me?”
“We don't know that.”
“But—”
“We don't know,” he repeated firmly.
His restraint mattered.
He wasn't promising answers he didn't have.
He helped me sit.
Then Margaret opened Claire's notebook.
A small photograph slipped from between the pages.
It showed a younger Daniel standing beside a man in a dark coat.
I stared.
My brother looked no older than eighteen.
The photograph had been taken years before his accident.
“What is this?”
Margaret turned it over.
Claire had written a date.
October 6, 2016.
And underneath:
DANIEL BROOKS — CONTACT THROUGH HIS FATHER.
I looked at Dominic.
“My father died when Daniel was sixteen.”
Margaret's expression changed.
“Your father's name?”
“Thomas Brooks.”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“Thomas Brooks was the man who helped Anthony find the missing trust money.”
