Chapter 8: Dr. Fenwick
Dr.
Fenwick called me back herself, not her receptionist.
It was the same afternoon, just after four o'clock.
I had left a message with the front desk saying only that it was urgent, that it involved a legal matter, and that my name was Claire Calloway.
When her voice came through the phone, it was careful and direct — the same way she had always spoken to me during appointments.
"Claire.
I got your message.
Are you all right?
Is the baby all right?"
"We're both fine," I said.
"Emily was born five days ago.
She's healthy."
"Good." A brief pause.
"What's happening?"
I told her about the filing.
I told her about the pharmacy record.
I told her about the signature.
The silence on her end lasted long enough that I checked the screen to make sure the call was still connected.
"That is not my signature," she said.
"I know."
"Claire, I have never prescribed a controlled substance to you.
Not once.
Your entire file is clean." Her voice had changed — still controlled, but with something underneath it now.
"Someone forged my name on a legal document."
"Yes," I said.
"That's what my attorney believes."
"Who did this?"
"We don't know yet.
But we have a strong suspicion." I paused.
"Dr.
Fenwick, my attorney's name is Diane Marsh.
She's based in Pittsburgh.
She's going to want to speak with you directly.
Would you be willing to talk to her?"
"Willing?" Dr.
Fenwick said.
"Claire, someone used my name to fabricate a medical record in a custody proceeding.
I'm not just willing — I'm going to need to report this to the medical board and to the police." A pause.
"Give me your attorney's number.
I'll call her today."
I read out Diane's number.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't thank me," Dr.
Fenwick said quietly.
"I'm sorry this is happening to you.
I'm sorry I didn't see more when you were sitting in my office." A pause.
"You always seemed fine.
I should have asked more."
"You couldn't have known," I said.
"Maybe not." She paused again.
"How is she?
Emily."
"She's perfect," I said.
"She looks like nobody yet.
Just herself."
Dr.
Fenwick made a small sound — not quite a laugh, but something warm.
"That's exactly right," she said.
"That's exactly what they do."
We hung up.
I sat on the edge of Rachel's spare bed and looked at Emily in the bassinet.
She was awake, doing the slow, unfocused looking-around that was her main occupation so far.
Rachel appeared in the doorway with two cups of tea.
"How did it go?" she said.
"She's calling Diane today," I said.
"She's going to the police."
Rachel set one of the cups on the nightstand and sat down in the chair by the window.
"Derek didn't think this through," she said.
"He thought I'd be too scared to fight back," I said.
"He thought I'd see the filing and come home."
"He doesn't know you very well."
"No," I said.
"He never did."
Rachel wrapped both hands around her cup.
"What happens now?" she said.
"Diane says Derek's attorney will receive a letter within the week.
Dr.
Fenwick's statement, a formal complaint about the forged document, and a counter-filing." I picked up my tea.
"And then Derek is going to find out that the one more thing he was saving didn't work the way he planned."
Rachel was quiet for a moment.
"Do you think he knew the document was forged?" she said.
"Or do you think Karen did it without telling him?"
I had been thinking about that since the phone call with Diane.
"I think he knew," I said.
"I think he asked her to do it.
I think he told her it was the only way." I paused.
"And I think when this falls apart, he's going to tell everyone it was entirely her idea."
Rachel looked at me over the rim of her cup.
"That's exactly what he'll do," she said.
May you like
"Yes," I said.
"But by then, it won't matter what he says."
