Chapter 4 - THE DEATH CERTIFICATEGarrett had buried his father believing the official story.
Heart attack.
Fifty-nine years old.
Long hours, high stress, family history of cardiac disease.
Doctors had explained it.
Margaret had accepted it.
Garrett had accepted it because grief made explanations easier than questions.
Now Sally was telling him there might have been another reason.
“Show me the message.”
Sally retrieved an old prepaid phone from her backpack.
The screen was cracked diagonally.
She opened a saved screenshot.
The number was blocked.
The message contained six sentences.
Sally. Do not respond. I am alive. I found the final transfer records. You were right about Margaret. Robert discovered it too. His death was not what they told Garrett. If anything happens to me, find Dr. Samuel Pike. Tell Garrett I’m sorry.
Garrett read it three times.
His father’s name was Robert.
Margaret left without another word.
Garrett didn’t stop her.
Within an hour, he was driving toward St. Matthew’s Medical Center, where his father had been taken the night he died.
Sally sat beside him.
Emma remained at the townhouse with Nora and Daniel Ross.
Neither Garrett nor Sally had spoken much since leaving.
Finally Garrett said, “Why didn’t you show me this yesterday?”
“Because yesterday you thought I abandoned you for money.”
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
He glanced at her.
She looked immediately guilty.
“No,” Garrett said. “Don’t take it back.”
“I’m not trying to punish you.”
“You don’t need to.”
Rain streaked the windshield.
Garrett tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“I did enough of that myself.”
They reached St. Matthew’s shortly after ten.
Getting medical records for a deceased parent was not easy, but Garrett was executor of his father’s estate and still carried the necessary documents digitally.
Two hours later, an administrator brought them to a consultation room.
Robert Milford’s old chart appeared on a computer screen.
Garrett scanned notes he barely understood.
Cardiac arrest.
Respiratory distress.
Collapse at home.
Transport time.
Medications administered.
Then Sally leaned closer.
“What’s that?”
A note had been flagged.
Possible toxin screening requested by attending physician. Family declined autopsy.
Garrett stopped.
“What?”
He read it again.
Family declined autopsy.
Garrett had been on the way to Norfolk.
He had not declined anything.
His mother had handled it.
“Who was the attending physician?”
The administrator checked.
“Dr. Samuel Pike.”
Garrett and Sally looked at each other.
The name from Julian’s message.
“Does he still work here?”
“No. He retired about three years ago.”
“Do you have contact information?”
“I’m afraid we can’t provide private employee information.”
Garrett nodded.
“Understood.”
Outside, Sally immediately searched the name online.
Nothing current.
Former cardiologist.
Medical conference publications.
An old charity board.
No address.
Garrett called Daniel.
“I need you to find Samuel Pike.”
Daniel sighed.
“Garrett, I’m a naval officer, not Batman.”
“You spent six years in intelligence.”
“Which means I know when not to casually violate privacy laws.”
“I’m not asking you to hack him.”
“Good.”
“I need public records.”
“That I can do.”
Garrett explained everything.
Daniel stopped joking.
“I’ll call you.”
While they waited, Garrett and Sally sat in his parked car.
It felt strange being alone together.
Four years earlier, silence between them had been comfortable.
Now every silence held a funeral.
Garrett finally spoke.
“What happened after Emma was born?”
Sally stared through the windshield.
“She was seven pounds, two ounces.”
Garrett swallowed.
“I wasn’t asking—”
“I know.”
She looked down.
“But I think you deserve to know.”
She told him.
Emma arrived at 3:12 in the morning after eighteen hours of labor.
Sally had been living above a laundromat in Camden because it accepted month-to-month rent.
The woman downstairs drove her to the hospital.
Sally listed Garrett as the father.
Then changed it.
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid your mother would find us.”
Garrett’s jaw tightened.
“She already knew.”
“I know.”
“Did she ever see Emma?”
“Once.”
Garrett turned sharply.
“When?”
“Emma was six weeks old.”
Margaret had appeared outside Sally’s apartment.
No warning.
She carried a check for fifty thousand dollars.
“She offered you money?”
“To leave permanently.”
Garrett’s face hardened.
“What did you do?”
“I tore it up.”
“Then?”
“She said something.”
“What?”
Sally hesitated.
“She said, ‘Garrett has a future. Your daughter doesn’t have to become his mistake.’”
Garrett closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Sally continued.
“She warned me that if I contacted you again, she would prove Emma belonged to Julian.”
“How?”
“She had photographs.”
“Photographs don’t establish paternity.”
“She also had a document.”
“What document?”
“A lab report.”
Garrett looked at her.
Sally nodded.
“It said you weren’t Emma’s father.”
“But we’d never tested.”
“I knew that. Which meant she had already prepared false evidence.”
Garrett felt physically ill.
“She planned everything.”
“I think so.”
His phone rang.
Daniel.
“I found Pike.”
Garrett answered immediately.
“Where?”
“Assisted living community outside Lancaster.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see him?”
“You can try.”
They drove there.
Dr. Samuel Pike was eighty-two and thinner than his old photographs, but his eyes remained alert.
When Garrett introduced himself, the doctor’s expression changed.
“Robert Milford’s son.”
“Yes.”
Pike looked at Sally.
“And you are?”
“Sally Milford. Formerly.”
Recognition flashed across his face.
“You came to the hospital.”
Garrett looked at her.
Sally frowned.
“When?”
“The night Robert died.”
Sally shook her head.
“No. I didn’t.”
Pike stared.
“A blond woman came.”
Margaret.
Garrett pulled up a photograph.
“This woman?”
Dr. Pike looked at it.
“Yes.”
“My mother.”
Pike sat back.
“I always wondered.”
“Wondered what?”
“Why she refused the autopsy.”
Garrett’s stomach tightened.
“What made you request one?”
Pike folded his hands.
“Your father’s heart stopped, yes. But the pattern was unusual. He had severe vomiting before collapse, visual disturbance, confusion.”
“What does that mean?”
“It can mean many things.”
“Poisoning?”
Pike hesitated.
“It can.”
Sally leaned forward.
“Do you remember what toxin you suspected?”
“Digitalis.”
Garrett frowned.
“Heart medication?”
“Digoxin is used therapeutically. In excessive quantities, it can produce lethal arrhythmias.”
“Was my father taking it?”
“No.”
Garrett’s pulse quickened.
“Then why suspect it?”
“Because he told me something before he lost consciousness.”
“What?”
Pike’s gaze shifted to him.
“He said, ‘She put it in the tea.’”
Garrett felt the room turn cold.
“Who?”
“He never said.”
“Was my mother there?”
“She arrived shortly afterward.”
Pike looked troubled.
“She insisted Robert had been confused for weeks. Said he often made strange accusations.”
“That wasn’t true.”
“I suspected as much.”
“Did you tell police?”
“No evidence. No autopsy. No toxicology sample preserved beyond routine protocols. Your mother said the family wanted privacy.”
Garrett stood abruptly.
He couldn’t sit.
Sally touched his arm.
The contact surprised him.
He looked down at her hand.
For one fleeting second, four years disappeared again.
Then Pike said something else.
“There was another man.”
Garrett turned.
“What man?”
“Came to see me a year later. Asked exactly what Robert had said.”
“Julian Cross?”
Pike studied the name.
“Yes.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
Pike nodded slowly.
“He said Robert had discovered who was stealing from the company.”
Garrett leaned closer.
“Who?”
“Julian never told me directly.”
“Then what did he say?”
Pike’s voice lowered.
“He said the person responsible wasn’t working alone.”
Garrett’s phone buzzed.
A security alert from his townhouse.
Front door opened.
Then another.
Motion detected upstairs.
Garrett immediately called Nora.
No answer.
He called Daniel.
No answer.
Then Sally’s prepaid phone rang.
Unknown number.
She stared at it.
Garrett answered for her.
A distorted male voice said only:
“You should have left the past buried.”
A photograph arrived seconds later.
Emma.
May you like
Standing inside Garrett’s townhouse.
Taken less than a minute earlier.
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