Chapter 9: The Truth About Claire
The retired physician's name was Dr.
Alan Mercer.
He was living in Portugal.
He answered the call on the third ring, and when Victor said his name, there was a pause on the line that lasted just long enough to mean something.
"Mr.
Blackwood," Dr.
Mercer said.
"I wondered if this call would come eventually."
Victor kept his voice even.
"Then you know why I'm calling."
"I have my suspicions." Another pause.
"I should tell you — I've already spoken to your attorney this morning.
She reached me an hour before you."
"I know.
I asked her to."
"Then you know I'm willing to cooperate."
"I know you said you were," Victor said.
"I wanted to hear it from you directly."
Dr.
Mercer was quiet for a moment.
"Claire's complication — the one that took her — was rare.
But it was not unpredictable.
There are markers.
Tests that can identify risk during late pregnancy.
Standard protocol in any high-risk case."
"Were those tests run?"
"They were ordered," Dr.
Mercer said.
"By me.
Standard procedure."
"And?"
"The results I received showed no elevated risk.
Claire was cleared.
The delivery proceeded as planned." He stopped.
"But three weeks ago, when your attorney's investigator contacted the hospital, they found a discrepancy in the archived records.
The results I received and the results in the original file — they don't match."
Victor's hand tightened on the phone.
"Someone altered the results," he said.
"Someone altered what I was shown," Dr.
Mercer said.
"I acted on the information I had.
If I had seen the true results, I would have recommended a different delivery plan.
A different facility.
More intervention." His voice was steady but careful.
"I am not certain your wife would have survived regardless.
But she would have had a better chance."
The room was silent.
"Who had access to those records?" Victor asked.
"At the administrative level — very few people.
But the alteration was made digitally.
Someone with system access and enough knowledge to make it look clean."
"Diana Voss worked as a paralegal for an estate law firm," Victor said.
"But before that?"
"I don't know her background," Dr.
Mercer said.
"But your attorney mentioned her name.
She asked me to think carefully about whether I had seen it anywhere connected to the hospital." A pause.
"I'm still thinking."
"Take your time," Victor said.
"And Dr.
Mercer — I want you to know that I don't hold you responsible.
I need you to understand that clearly before this goes any further."
A long silence from Portugal.
"Thank you," Dr.
Mercer said.
His voice was quieter now.
"That matters more than I expected it to."
They ended the call.
Victor set his phone on the desk.
He sat without moving for several minutes.
The study was warm.
Outside, he could hear the faint sound of Rosa in the kitchen, and beneath that, from somewhere upstairs, Ethan's voice — a small, experimental sound, the kind he made when he was practicing something new.
Victor stood up.
He walked upstairs.
Ethan was in his crib, standing with both hands on the rail, rocking slightly.
When he saw Victor, he made the sound again — louder this time, more deliberate.
Victor reached in and picked him up.
"I know," he said softly.
"I know."
Ethan grabbed his face with both hands, the way he did when he wanted to be sure he had someone's full attention.
Victor held him tighter.
Downstairs, his phone lit up on the desk.
A message from Grant: *Marcus Hale taken into custody.
May you like
2:14 PM.
He asked for a deal immediately.*
