Chapter 8 - The Accident Nobody Could Explain
The hospital no longer kept Olivia's full twenty-two-year-old records in its active system.
But Reed Avery represented several medical networks, and Olivia knew exactly what could be requested legally.
Two days later she received archived admission documentation.
April 14, 2004.
Olivia Reed.
Age fourteen.
Head laceration.
Concussion.
Sedation.
Possible traumatic memory disruption.
No horse-related injuries.
No fractures.
No abrasions consistent with a riding fall.
More disturbing was the name of the admitting physician.
Dr. Samuel Ortega.
Olivia found him living in Arizona.
Retired.
Seventy-nine.
He initially refused to speak.
Then Olivia mentioned Charles Reed.
Silence.
Finally:
"You look like your mother."
Olivia froze.
"I know."
"No," Ortega said.
"You don't."
She gripped the phone.
"What does that mean?"
"I shouldn't have said that."
"Dr. Ortega, why was I hospitalized on April 14, 2004?"
"I treated hundreds of patients."
"My grandfather paid you thirty thousand dollars three days later."
Silence.
"Please."
Ortega's voice trembled.
"Come to Phoenix."
She flew that night.
Julian accompanied her.
They met Ortega in a quiet assisted-living residence.
He had kept one folder.
Not medical records.
Personal notes.
"I knew Charles from the hospital foundation," Ortega explained.
"That night he called me privately."
"What happened?"
"A vehicle accident."
Olivia stared.
"My parents said I fell from a horse."
"You were never near a horse."
"Who was driving?"
Ortega looked at her.
"You weren't in a car."
Olivia felt the room close around her.
"Then what vehicle?"
"A delivery van."
"What happened?"
"You were being moved."
The word struck like ice.
"Moved where?"
"I was never told."
"By whom?"
Ortega opened the folder.
Inside was a photocopy of the original emergency intake form.
Patient delivered by Charles Reed and Malcolm Reed.
Under circumstances:
Recovered after attempted unauthorized transport.
Julian whispered, "Jesus."
Olivia looked at Ortega.
"Was I kidnapped?"
"I believed so."
"By whom?"
"Charles refused to tell me."
"Why wasn't police involved?"
"They were."
Olivia frowned.
"There is no police report."
"Exactly."
Ortega looked ashamed.
"Two officers came. Then Henry arrived with an attorney."
"Mercer?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"Everyone argued."
"About what?"
"You."
Olivia swallowed.
"What were they saying?"
Ortega stared down at his hands.
"Henry kept telling Charles, 'She's mine.'"
Olivia's skin prickled.
"He's my father."
Ortega looked at her.
"That is what I assumed."
"What did Grandpa say?"
Ortega's eyes lifted.
"He said, 'Not according to the papers you signed.'"
The room became silent.
Olivia could hear her own heartbeat.
"What papers?"
"I don't know."
"Who was trying to transport me?"
"I don't know."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
She stood abruptly.
Twenty-two years of her life tilted beneath her.
Julian touched her arm.
Ortega continued.
"Your mother arrived later."
"Margaret?"
He nodded.
"She was crying."
"What did she say?"
"I remember one sentence because it was strange."
Olivia waited.
"She said, 'Henry, you promised this would never happen again.'"
Olivia sat down.
"Again?"
Ortega nodded.
Before leaving, he handed her the folder.
"There was something else."
Inside was a photograph from the emergency department.
Fourteen-year-old Olivia slept in a hospital bed.
Charles sat beside her.
On the far edge of the image stood a woman.
Olivia had never seen her before.
Thin.
Blonde.
Terrified.
On the back, Ortega had written:
Woman demanded access to patient. Charles permitted five minutes. Name given: Eleanor Vale.
Olivia stared at the name.
"Who is she?"
Ortega shook his head.
"I assumed family."
Olivia looked at Julian.
He was already searching.
Less than a minute later, his expression changed.
"Olivia."
"What?"
"Eleanor Vale died twelve years ago."
Olivia felt disappointment.
Then Julian continued.
"But she had a son."
"Who?"
May you like
He turned the screen.
Bradley Mercer.
