Chapter 8 - THE SECRET IN THE MEDICAL RECORDS|
I printed the birth certificate and took it to Giovanni.
He read it once, then again.
"Six months," he whispered.
"Someone changed the date."
He called Marco and ordered a search for the original hospital records.
I asked to see the document more closely.
The paper was a scanned copy, but the hospital stamp looked authentic. The date had been altered in the digital file, not on the original document.
"Who sent this?" Giovanni asked.
"I don't know."
He looked at the email address.
"Could be Rossi."
"Why would he give us evidence?"
"To make us desperate enough to trade."
I studied the record.
"There's something else."
I pointed to a handwritten notation near the bottom.
A number had been written beside the infant's identification code.
I recognized the format.
It was a neonatal ward reference number.
"Could you get the hospital's original neonatal records?" I asked.
Giovanni nodded.
"Marco can."
"Not through a favor or a private contact. Officially. If someone altered a record, we need the original chain of custody."
He studied me.
"You really were close to becoming a doctor."
"I was closer than people think."
I told him about medical school.
I had been accepted at twenty-two. My father had been proud until Tyler convinced me to leave school after we married. Tyler said a family needed one person with a stable schedule, and that he would support my education later.
Later never came.
When I became pregnant, he left.
I returned to work at the pediatric ward as a nurse assistant, then completed additional training. I had never stopped wanting to finish medical school.
Giovanni listened without interrupting.
"Why did your family let him do that?"
"They thought marriage was supposed to be a sacrifice. They never asked whether I was the only one sacrificing."
He looked at me.
"You should finish."
I laughed softly.
"That's easy to say when you have a private jet."
"Money can pay tuition. It cannot do the studying for you."
I didn't answer.
The next morning, Marco returned with news.
The hospital still had archived records, but access required a court order. A former neonatal nurse had also been located.
Her name was Teresa Moretti.
She had retired and moved to a small town in Wisconsin.
Giovanni wanted to send someone to question her.
I insisted on going.
He refused at first.
"You're not part of this investigation."
"Neither is your daughter, yet her life is at the center of it."
"That doesn't make it safe."
"Nothing about this is safe. But I can help identify medical inconsistencies that your security team might miss."
He looked frustrated.
Then he agreed, provided two security officers accompanied us.
The drive took three hours.
Teresa lived in a modest house with flower boxes beneath the windows. She opened the door, saw Giovanni, and immediately began to cry.
"You look like your father," she whispered.
Giovanni's expression closed.
"I came for the truth."
Teresa invited us inside.
She brought out a small box containing letters, hospital notes, and a photograph of Isabella holding a newborn.
"Your daughter lived," she said. "She was small, but she was breathing. Isabella held her for nearly an hour."
"Why was I told she died?"
Teresa looked down.
"Because your father ordered us to say she had."
Giovanni stood.
"Why?"
"Your father believed the child would become a weakness. He had enemies, and he feared they would use her against the family."
"Where did Isabella take her?"
Teresa hesitated.
"She didn't take her alone."
She pulled another photograph from the box.
A woman stood beside Isabella, holding a baby carrier.
May you like
I recognized her immediately.
It was Camilla.
