Chapter 2 - Ghosts in the Records
The storm outside raged through the early morning hours, but inside the lake house, Daniel didn't sleep a wink. He spent the night sitting on the edge of the master bed where Ivy and Skye slept peacefully, curled around each other like two small kittens. Every few minutes, he would reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from their foreheads, searching their tiny features for hints of Claire—or himself.
Skye had Claire’s distinct, upturned nose and the subtle dimple on her left cheek. Ivy had Daniel’s deep-set hazel eyes and the slightly square shape of his jaw. How had he been so blind? When he first saw them on the porch, his grief-blinded mind had registered them only as lost strangers. But now, looking through the lens of truth, the bloodline was undeniable.
At 6:00 AM, Daniel called Marcus Vance, his personal attorney, private investigator, and the only man in his inner circle whose loyalty wasn't bought with Whitmore corporate money.
"Daniel? It's six in the morning on a Sunday," Marcus’s gravelly voice came through the line. "Is everything alright at the lake house?"
"I need you here immediately, Marcus. Don't tell anyone. Not my assistant, not my mother, not Ethan. Come alone, and bring a private DNA testing kit."
There was a beat of heavy silence on the other end. Marcus had worked for the Whitmore family for over fifteen years. He knew the dynamics, the money, and the dark undercurrents. "I'm on my way. Give me two hours."
While waiting for Marcus, Daniel began searching the house. If Claire had left a message here, she might have left more. The lake house had been closed off since her funeral. Margaret had offered to manage the estate's closing, claiming it was too painful for Daniel to handle. Daniel had agreed back then, paralyzed by despair. Now, he realized how conveniently his mother had stepped in to "clean up."
He went down to the basement, a dry, stone-walled space where Claire used to paint. Most of her canvases had been packed away into wooden crates labeled STORAGE - MARGARET WHITMORE.
Daniel pulled out a crowbar from his tool kit and pried open the first crate. Inside were not paintings, but boxes of old medical records, personal journals, and sketchbook remnants. Margaret hadn't destroyed them—she had hoarded them, keeping them locked away where Daniel would never look.
He opened a thick Manila folder stamped with the logo of St. Jude Memorial Hospital—the facility where Claire had purportedly spent her final months under the care of Dr. Harrison Vance, a long-time family friend recommended by Margaret.
As Daniel turned the pages, his breath caught in his throat.
The early medical reports showed Claire’s treatment for severe neurological decline. But as he flipped further, he found a lab report dated four months before her death.
Patient: Claire Whitmore. Test: Quantitative hCG. Result: Positive. Pregnancy confirmed. Gestational age: 12 weeks. Fetal heartbeat detected (Twins).
Daniel dropped the file onto the dusty concrete floor. Tears blurred his vision. She was pregnant. She was carrying his children while she was supposedly dying in a private wing of the hospital.
Why had no one told him? Why had Dr. Vance reported her condition as deteriorating day by day? Why had Margaret insisted that Daniel stay away from the hospital during the last two months due to "severe immune system vulnerability and infectious complications"?
He remembered those dark weeks clearly now. Margaret had practically placed him under house arrest at the corporate headquarters, smothering him with administrative duties, telling him that visiting Claire would only cause her distress and expose her to fatal infections. He had trusted his mother. He had believed she was protecting him and his dying wife.
"You monsters," Daniel whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of immense grief and murderous fury. "You took them from me."
A soft sound at the top of the basement stairs made him freeze.
"Mr. Daniel?"
It was Skye, standing at the door in his oversized white T-shirt, holding her small belly.
Daniel quickly wiped his face, stood up, and forced a warm smile as he walked up the stairs. "Hey there, little one. Did you sleep okay?"
"Ivy’s tummy is making noise," Skye said softly, reaching up for his hand. "Can we have more rice?"
"Of course you can," Daniel said, picking her up and kissing her forehead. "As much as you want."
At 8:30 AM, a black sedan pulled up the gravel driveway. Marcus Vance stepped out, carrying a leather briefcase. He took one look at Daniel’s hollow, pale face and the two little girls sitting at the kitchen island eating bowls of warm oatmeal, and he knew something seismic had occurred.
"They're yours, aren't they?" Marcus asked quietly, setting his briefcase on the table.
"I need the DNA test to make it legally ironclad, Marcus," Daniel replied, leading the lawyer into his private study while keeping an eye on the girls. "But I already know the answer. Look at this."
Daniel handed Marcus the medical records from the basement and the handwritten note found inside the bread.
Marcus read through the documents, his professional composure cracking. "My God, Daniel. This... this is criminal conspiracy. Kidnapping, fraud, medical malpractice. If Dr. Vance faked her death records—"
"—Then Claire might not have died of an illness at all," Daniel interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Or worse... she died giving birth to my daughters in secret while my mother and brother hid them from me."
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Marcus looked out the study window, his eyes narrowing. "Who is 'Mommy Helen'?"
"That's what we need to find out," Daniel said. "The girls said Helen was taken by a man with 'loud shoes' and put in a big car. I think Helen was the woman Claire trusted to hide these children. And I think my mother's people just tracked her down."
