Chapter 2 - The Sins of St. Catherine’s
Room 428 was silent except for the low, rhythmic hiss of a high-flow oxygen machine.
Evelyn Vance sat propped up in a specialized medical bed, her frail body practically swallowed by the white sheets. At seventy-four, her skin was paper-thin, translucent enough to reveal the blue network of veins beneath. But her eyes—sharp, dark, and hollow—were wide open, staring at the ceiling as if waiting for an executioner.
When the door pushed open and Daniel stepped inside with Valerie right behind him, the old woman’s head turned slowly on the pillow.
"You came," Evelyn whispered, her voice like dry leaves scraping across concrete.
Valerie rushed to the side of the bed, her hands trembling as she set the yellow envelope on the bedside table. "Where is he? Where is my son?"
Evelyn let out a long, wheezing sigh, her bony hand reaching out to touch the edge of the envelope. "For twenty years... I kept his file in my closet. My husband... Richard... he called it an 'administrative transfer.' But it was a sale."
Daniel felt a cold, icy sweat break out across his neck. "A sale? St. Catherine's was a licensed medical clinic!"
"It was a private clinic for the wealthy," Evelyn corrected weakly, her eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. "Richard ran up massive gambling debts in Chicago. He realized that wealthy, desperate couples would pay anything... anything... for a healthy baby with clean genetics. Young, unmarried, or underfunded couples who came in with complications were the easiest targets. He forged the stillborn death certificates."
Valerie let out a broken, strangled cry, her hand flying to her mouth. She reeled backward, and Daniel instinctively reached out, catching her by the elbow to steady her. She didn't pull away. For the first time in five years, she leaned into his frame, shaking uncontrollably.
"Who took him?" Daniel demanded, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt. "Give me a name, Evelyn! Who has our boy?!"
Evelyn reached into the pocket of her knitted shawl and pulled out a small, brass key, pressing it into Valerie’s palm.
"The black leather book in your father-in-law's room," Evelyn breathed, her heart rate monitor beginning to spike in erratic bursts. "Key opens... the locked section. File 2006-B. A high-ranking judge... Samuel Sterling. His wife couldn't carry... they paid two hundred thousand dollars."
Daniel froze.
Samuel Sterling.
The name echoed through his mind like a thunderclap.
Judge Samuel Sterling was the primary trustee of the Sterling Development Fund—the exact multi-million-dollar investment group Daniel had been chasing for six months. The same investors Sophia had just reminded him he was supposed to meet for dinner in less than two hours.
"Julian," Evelyn whispered, her eyes beginning to roll back as the sedative pump clicked automatically beside her bed. "They named him... Julian Sterling."
Valerie dropped to her knees beside the bed, clutching the brass key against her chest, her tears soaking into the white hospital blanket. "Julian... my baby's name is Julian..."
Daniel stood towering over the dying woman, his hands curling into white-knuckled fists inside his pockets.
All those years he had blamed Valerie’s depression for the death of their marriage. All those nights he had stayed late at the office, drowning his guilt in alcohol and corporate deals, believing they were cursed by fate. All those cold arguments where he accused her of holding onto a ghost.
The ghost was alive. He was twenty years old. And he was living under the roof of the man funding Daniel’s biggest architectural contract.
"Daniel," Valerie sobbed from the floor, looking up at him with raw, unvarnished agony. "Daniel, what do we do?"
May you like
Daniel reached down, took Valerie by both hands, and pulled her up to her feet.
"We don't go to dinner," Daniel said softly, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb, completely forgetting the existence of Sophia, the firm, or his new life. "We go get our son."
