Chapter 2 - The Doctor's Question|
Dr. Rebecca Hayes led me into a small consultation room.
She was in her early forties, with tired eyes and a calm voice that suggested she had delivered terrible news to frightened parents many times before.
I couldn't sit still.
"Is Zion going to be okay?"
"We're doing everything we can. His breathing has improved, but we need additional tests."
"What caused it?"
"That's what we're trying to determine."
She opened a folder.
"Has Zion experienced unusual sleepiness recently?"
I thought about it.
"He's eight months old. Babies sleep."
"Has he been difficult to wake?"
I hesitated.
"Sometimes."
"Have you noticed changes in his feeding?"
"His appetite has been inconsistent."
"Any episodes where he seemed unusually weak or his breathing became shallow?"
My mind returned to Emily's words.
His breathing changes.
I swallowed.
"She said something about that."
"Who?"
"The housemaid. Emily."
Dr. Hayes stopped writing.
"What exactly did she say?"
"She claimed something was wrong after Margaret gave him his evening bottle."
The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse.
"Who is Margaret?"
"His nanny. She's been with us for months."
"Does she prepare his formula?"
"Yes."
"Does she administer any medication?"
"Only what we've prescribed."
Dr. Hayes closed the folder.
"Mr. Whitaker, we need to investigate all substances your son may have been exposed to. That includes prescription medication, over-the-counter products, supplements, and anything used around his nursery."
I felt cold.
"Are you suggesting someone poisoned my child?"
"I'm not suggesting anything yet. I'm telling you that we cannot rule out accidental medication exposure."
I stood up.
"That's impossible. Margaret has excellent references."
"References don't replace medical evidence."
Her words struck harder than I expected.
A nurse entered and whispered something to her.
Dr. Hayes nodded.
"We're sending additional blood and urine samples for testing. We also want to examine anything your son has been given recently."
"Fine. I'll bring everything."
"Please don't throw anything away or change the routine until our team has documented it."
I nodded.
Then I remembered Emily.
"Doctor, could the bath have caused this?"
"Did the child swallow water?"
"I don't know."
"Was he submerged?"
"No. He was sitting in a baby tub."
"Then we shouldn't assume the bath caused his breathing episode. But I would like to know why your housemaid was concerned."
I pulled out my phone.
I searched for Emily's number.
It wasn't there.
I had never saved it.
I called the house and demanded to speak to the staff manager.
"Find Emily Carter," I ordered. "I need her number."
There was a pause.
"Sir, Emily left the property."
"I know she left. Find her."
"She didn't take her belongings."
That caught my attention.
"What?"
"Her bag is still in the staff room. Her coat, too."
I looked toward the hospital doors.
"Then she hasn't gone far."
I asked for her address.
The manager hesitated.
"Sir, I don't think she—"
"Give me the address."
Ten minutes later, I was in my car, heading toward a small apartment building in Stamford.
I had no idea what I would say when I found her.
An apology seemed inadequate.
An accusation seemed foolish.
All I knew was that Emily had tried to warn me, and I had refused to listen.
When I reached her apartment, I knocked several times.
No answer.
Then I heard a woman's voice from inside.
"Who's there?"
"It's Marcus Whitaker."
Silence.
A lock turned.
Emily opened the door.
Her eyes widened when she saw me.
"Mr. Whitaker?"
"I need to talk to you."
She looked beyond me, toward the hallway.
"Is Zion all right?"
"He's in the hospital."
Her hand covered her mouth.
"Oh, God."
"Emily, I need you to tell me everything you noticed."
She stepped back, but she didn't invite me inside.
Then she said something I would never forget.
"Sir, I tried to tell you because I was afraid this would happen. But the person you need to question isn't me."
"Who?"
May you like
Emily looked directly into my eyes.
"Margaret."
