C15 The baby in the photograph

Alexander didn't sleep that night.

He sat in his study with the photograph spread across his desk, studying every detail until the image seemed permanently burned into his mind.

Two bassinets.

Two newborn babies.

Richard's hand holding one of them.

And a message claiming that one child had been taken while the other had been left behind.

The question was no longer whether his family had hidden something from him.

The question was what they had done.

At six in the morning, Daniel arrived with a thick folder and a troubled expression.

“You look terrible,” he remarked.

Alexander didn't look up. “Did you find Richard?”

“I did. He left his mother's mansion at eleven last night and went straight to his penthouse. He hasn't come out since.”

“Any visitors?”

“One. A woman arrived shortly after midnight. She stayed for twenty minutes.”

“Who?”

“We're still identifying her.”

Alexander pushed the photograph across the desk.

“Find out where this was taken.”

Daniel examined it carefully.

“The bassinets look like the ones used in private maternity wards. I'll need someone familiar with St. Vincent's old facilities to confirm it.”

“Contact Dr. Whitmore.”

“I already did. He says the hospital's private maternity wing was renovated six years ago. Most of the original equipment was removed.”

“Then find someone who worked there before the renovation.”

Daniel hesitated.

“There may be one person who can help us.”

“Who?”

“A former maternity nurse. Her name is Patricia Wells. She left the hospital shortly after Catherine Moore disappeared from the records.”

Alexander stood.

“Get her address.”

“I've already arranged a meeting. She agreed to speak with us, but she insisted on meeting somewhere public.”

Alexander picked up his coat.

“Let's go.”

---

Patricia Wells chose a small café in Cambridge, Massachusetts, far from the hospital where she had once worked.

She was in her late fifties, with silver streaks in her dark hair and the nervous habit of checking the entrance whenever the door opened.

When Alexander approached her table, she stood.

“Mr. Hayes?”

“Yes. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

“I almost changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because people who ask questions about that night have a habit of disappearing from the conversation.”

Alexander pulled out a chair.

“Did you know Catherine Moore?”

Patricia's expression changed.

“Yes. We worked together.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“No. But I know she was frightened.”

“Of whom?”

Patricia looked at Daniel, then back at Alexander.

“Your family.”

The answer landed heavily between them.

Alexander kept his voice controlled.

“What happened at St. Vincent's five years ago?”

Patricia folded her hands on the table.

“There were two babies in the private maternity wing that night. That much is true. Both births were entered into the initial records, but by the following morning, the paperwork had changed.”

“Changed how?”

“One baby's file had been sealed. The other had been transferred to a different administrative record.”

“Were the babies related?”

“I don't know. We weren't told their full family histories.”

“Did Richard Hayes visit the ward?”

Patricia looked down.

“Yes.”

Alexander leaned forward.

“When?”

“Shortly after the second baby was born. He spoke with Dr. Whitmore and a woman from your family's legal team.”

“Was my mother there?”

Patricia hesitated.

“Not when I saw Richard. But I saw her later that night.”

Alexander's fingers tightened around his coffee cup.

“What did she do?”

“She went into the records office with Catherine. They were there for nearly an hour.”

“And afterward?”

“Catherine came out crying.”

Alexander's stomach tightened.

“Did she tell you why?”

Patricia shook her head.

“She only said that someone had made a decision that could never be undone.”

“Did you see the babies?”

“I saw both of them.”

Alexander took the photograph from his folder and placed it on the table.

“Do you recognize this?”

Patricia stared at it.

For several seconds, she didn't speak.

Then she touched the corner of the photograph with trembling fingers.

“I remember this night.”

“Can you identify either child?”

“No.”

“What about the person holding the baby?”

Patricia studied the wristwatch.

Her face drained of color.

“That's Richard's watch.”

“I know.”

“No, Mr. Hayes. You don't understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Patricia looked toward the café window.

“The person wearing that watch wasn't supposed to be holding either baby.”

Alexander went completely still.

“Who was supposed to?”

Before Patricia could answer, her phone vibrated.

She glanced at the screen.

Whatever she saw made her rise so quickly that her chair scraped across the floor.

“I have to go.”

Alexander stood too.

“You haven't answered my question.”

“I've told you more than I should have.”

“Patricia, please. My daughter could be involved in this.”

That stopped her.

For the first time, he saw something other than fear in her expression.

He saw pity.

“Protect that little girl, Mr. Hayes,” she whispered. “Whatever happened that night, don't assume the people who claim to love her are telling the truth.”

She walked out before he could stop her.

Daniel hurried to the window.

A black sedan was parked across the street.

Patricia climbed into a waiting taxi instead.

The sedan pulled away moments later.

Daniel turned back.

“Someone knew she was meeting us.”

Alexander stared at the empty doorway.

“Then someone is monitoring everyone connected to those records.”

“And they're getting nervous.”

Alexander slipped the photograph into his coat.

“Good. Nervous people make mistakes.”

But as they left the café, he couldn't shake Patricia's final words.

Don't assume the people who claim to love her are telling the truth.

---

Back in Manhattan, Elizabeth was helping Grace get ready for school when the little girl asked a question that made her hands stop moving.

“Mommy, did Daddy know me when I was a baby?”

Elizabeth knelt to straighten Grace's collar.

“No, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

The familiar question carried a new weight now.

Elizabeth brushed a strand of hair away from Grace's face.

“Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes. Sometimes people tell lies, and the truth takes a long time to come out.”

Grace considered that.

“Did somebody lie to Daddy?”

Elizabeth's heart ached.

“Yes. I think somebody did.”

“Then he should tell the truth to the police.”

Despite everything, Elizabeth smiled.

“You might be right.”

Grace hugged her stuffed rabbit.

“Will Daddy come to see me today?”

“He said he would try.”

“Can you call him?”

Elizabeth reached for her phone.

Before she could dial, a message arrived from an unknown number.

You should ask Alexander why his family was interested in your baby before she was born.

Elizabeth read it twice.

A second message followed.

You weren't the only mother who left St. Vincent's with unanswered questions.

Her fingers went cold.

She looked at Grace, who was busy trying to fit her rabbit into her schoolbag.

Five years ago, Elizabeth had believed Victoria's lies. She had believed Alexander had abandoned her and wanted nothing to do with their child.

But what if Victoria's interference had been about something bigger than keeping them apart?

What if Grace's birth had been part of a plan?

Elizabeth deleted neither message.

Instead, she took screenshots and forwarded them to Alexander.

Then she added one line.

We need to talk. Immediately.

---

Alexander arrived at the apartment less than thirty minutes later.

Elizabeth was waiting in the living room, her phone in her hand.

“Did you receive my messages?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Who would send something like that?”

“Someone who knows what happened at St. Vincent's.”

“Alexander, a woman just told me that your family was interested in our baby before she was born.”

He stared at her.

“Who?”

“I don't know. It's a private number.”

“Did they mention anything else?”

She showed him the messages.

Alexander read them carefully, then looked at her.

“Did anyone from my family contact you when you were pregnant? Anyone other than my mother or Richard?”

Elizabeth thought for a moment.

“There was a woman who called me once. She said she was contacting me on behalf of a private medical office. She wanted to confirm details about my pregnancy.”

Alexander's expression sharpened.

“When was this?”

“About a week before I left the country.”

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because at the time, I thought it was a scam. She asked questions I wasn't comfortable answering, so I hung up.”

“Do you remember her name?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to recall the conversation.

“I think she said her name was Catherine.”

Alexander went silent.

“Catherine Moore?”

“I don't know her surname. She didn't introduce herself properly.”

“Did she say why she was calling?”

Elizabeth swallowed.

“She asked whether I'd delivered at St. Vincent's and whether I'd received all the paperwork relating to my pregnancy.”

Alexander felt the floor shift beneath him.

“Elizabeth, why didn't you tell me this earlier?”

“Because I didn't know it mattered!” Her voice cracked. “I was pregnant, alone, and convinced that you had rejected me. Your mother had shown me a letter with your signature. Richard had told me things that made me believe there was no point trying again. I was trying to survive, Alexander. I wasn't investigating your family.”

He immediately regretted his question.

He stepped closer, but stopped when he saw her tense.

“I'm sorry. You're right.”

Elizabeth looked away.

“I need to know whether Grace was ever in danger.”

“So do I.”

“And I need the truth. All of it. Even if it destroys whatever we're trying to rebuild.”

Alexander held her gaze.

“You'll have it.”

She searched his face.

“Promise me you won't hide anything from me just because you think you're protecting me.”

He remembered all the years they had lost because other people had made decisions on their behalf.

“I promise.”

For a moment, she seemed ready to believe him.

Then his phone rang.

Daniel.

Alexander answered immediately.

“Tell me you have something.”

“I do,” Daniel replied. “I've identified the woman who visited Richard last night.”

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Patricia Wells.”

Alexander frowned.

“Patricia was just in Cambridge with us.”

“Exactly. But according to the security footage from Richard's building, she visited him before your meeting with her.”

Alexander looked at Elizabeth.

“Are you sure?”

“I've checked the footage twice.”

“Why would she meet Richard and then agree to speak with us?”

“I don't know. But there's something else. She left an envelope with him.”

“What was inside?”

Daniel paused.

“A photograph.”

Alexander's pulse quickened.

“Of what?”

“Two newborn babies in hospital bassinets.”

He looked at the photograph in his own hand.

The same two bassinets.

The same night.

“Daniel, find Patricia. Now.”

“I already tried. Her phone is switched off, and she's not at her apartment.”

Alexander's grip tightened around the phone.

“She's disappeared?”

“I'm afraid so.”

The call ended.

Elizabeth watched him.

“What happened?”

Alexander took a slow breath.

“Patricia Wells has vanished.”

“Wasn't she the woman you met today?”

“Yes.”

“And she knew about the babies?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth sat down heavily.

For five years, she had believed that her greatest tragedy was losing Alexander.

Now she was beginning to wonder whether someone had been moving pieces around her life long before she ever discovered she was pregnant.

Alexander crouched in front of her.

“Listen to me. Whatever happened five years ago, we will find out.”

Elizabeth looked at him.

“And if the truth means Grace was never supposed to be ours?”

His expression hardened.

“Then whoever made that decision will have to answer to me.”

---

That evening, Richard stood alone in his penthouse, holding the envelope Patricia had left behind.

He had already memorized the photograph inside.

Two babies.

Two bassinets.

And a handwritten note that had been folded behind the image.

He unfolded it again.

The child you were ordered to protect was not the child you were told to take.

Richard's breathing became shallow.

He had spent five years believing he understood what had happened that night.

He had believed his mother had arranged a transfer to protect the family's interests.

He had believed the secret concerned inheritance, reputation, and Alexander's future.

But the note suggested something far worse.

Someone had given him an order.

And someone had lied about which baby he was supposed to protect.

His phone rang.

Victoria.

He answered without greeting her.

“Tell me the truth.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Patricia Wells. The photographs. The babies.”

Silence.

Richard closed his eyes.

“You knew she was still alive.”

“Richard, listen to me—”

“Did you know the wrong child might have been transferred?”

Victoria's breathing changed.

That was all the answer he needed.

“Oh, God,” he whispered.

“Don't do anything foolish.”

“Which baby was taken, Mother?”

“I said don't—”

“WAS IT ALEXANDER'S CHILD?”

Victoria said nothing.

Richard looked down at the photograph.

Then he noticed something he hadn't seen before.

A hospital identification band around the wrist of the baby in the second bassinet.

The name was partially visible.

He moved closer to the light.

And when he finally made out the first few letters, the photograph slipped from his hand.

Because the name wasn't Elizabeth Carter's.

And it wasn't Alexander Hayes's.

It belonged to someone Richard had believed was dead.