Chapter 5: The Doctor They Kept Hidden
Callum Vance's clinic was not what I expected.
I had imagined something institutional — white walls, numbered doors, the particular silence of a place where people came to receive difficult news.
What Luca's phone found, after forty minutes of searching through research databases and medical directories, was a converted Victorian building on a quiet street in the city's east end.
The website was plain.
No photographs of the doctor.
Just a list of research specialties, a contact form, and a single line at the bottom of the page: *We see patients by referral or direct contact.
No case is turned away for financial reasons.*
I called the number from Fiona's hospital room while she slept.
A woman answered on the second ring.
I explained who I was.
There was a brief pause, and then she said, "Can you hold one moment?" — and before I could answer, a man's voice came on the line.
"Jessi Vance?"
The surname stopped me.
I hadn't given it.
"Yes."
"I've been expecting a call," he said.
"Not necessarily from you.
But from someone.
My name is Callum.
I'm Luca's uncle." A pause.
"How is the baby?"
"She's healthy," I said.
"She's sleeping."
"Good." His voice was unhurried.
Careful in a different way than Wendy's — not controlled, but considered.
"I imagine you've had a difficult twenty-four hours."
"That's one way to describe it."
"Did Wendy give you the envelope?"
"Yes."
"Did it include the research summary from the 2019 study?"
I thought back to the three pages.
"No."
A brief silence.
"I didn't think it would." He didn't sound surprised.
"Jessi, I want to be straightforward with you, because I think you've had enough of the opposite.
The information in that envelope is accurate as far as it goes.
But it's incomplete.
There have been significant developments in the last three years that change the picture considerably for a child Fiona's age."
"What kind of developments?"
"A preventive protocol.
It doesn't eliminate the risk, but in children who begin monitoring before age two, the data shows a sixty-three percent reduction in early-onset progression." He paused.
"That number is not in anything my sister gave you."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"Why not?"
"Because the protocol was developed through my clinic.
Using data that Wendy controls access to but did not generate." His voice stayed even.
"She has been contesting the research findings for eighteen months.
It is a professional disagreement that has become, unfortunately, something more personal."
"She's blocking research that could help Fiona."
"She would say she is ensuring proper scientific rigor.
I would say she is protecting her position as the sole authority on this condition within the family." Another pause.
"I'll let you draw your own conclusions."
I looked at Fiona sleeping in the bassinet.
Her chest rising and falling.
That small dimple.
"What do I need to do?" I asked.
"Come in when you're discharged.
Bring Luca.
I can run a full panel on both of you and do an initial assessment for Fiona.
If she does carry the active marker, we start the protocol immediately.
If she doesn't, you go home and you live your life."
"And if Wendy finds out you've seen us?"
A quiet exhale.
"She'll find out.
She always does.
But Jessi — you are Fiona's mother.
Not Wendy.
The decision about your daughter's medical care belongs to you and Luca.
Not to my sister."
"She has the family records."
"She has copies," he said.
"I have the originals.
She doesn't know that."
The room felt very still.
"You have the originals," I repeated.
"Our father kept them.
When he passed, they came to me.
Wendy received duplicates.
She has believed for eleven years that she holds the complete archive." A pause.
"She does not."
I sat with that for a moment.
"Dr.
Vance," I said.
"Callum."
"Callum.
Why are you telling me this now?
Why not go to Luca directly?"
"I tried," he said simply.
"Three times in the last two years.
He didn't return my calls." A beat.
"I don't blame him.
He was trying to protect his family.
He just chose the wrong method."
I looked at the white card on the bedside table.
Wendy's number, face-down where I had left it.
"We'll come in on Friday," I said.
"After discharge."
"I'll have everything ready," he said.
"And Jessi — bring the envelope.
All three pages.
I want to show you what's missing."
We said goodbye.
I set the phone down.
Luca was in the doorway.
I hadn't heard him come back.
From his expression, he had caught enough of the conversation to understand.
"You called him," he said.
"Yes."
He came in and sat in the chair beside the bed.
He looked at Fiona for a long time without speaking.
"He has the originals," I said.
"I heard."
"Did you know?"
"No." He shook his head slowly.
"I didn't know." He rubbed his face with both hands.
"My mother told me he was a rogue researcher.
That he had broken from the family because he wanted to publish findings that weren't properly verified.
I believed her."
"Because it was easier."
"Because I wanted it to be true." He dropped his hands.
"If Callum was wrong, then the condition was still contained.
Still something my mother managed.
Still something I could keep at a distance."
"It was never at a distance, Luca.
It was in this room with us the whole time."
He didn't answer.
He reached out and very gently touched Fiona's hand — one finger against her tiny curled fist.
She didn't wake.
"Friday," I said.
"We go together."
"Together," he agreed.
His phone buzzed on the chair arm.
He glanced at it.
His face changed.
"What?" I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
It was a text from an unknown number.
May you like
Four words.
*Don't go to Callum.*
