“Yes,” Richard replied. “Something tied to sealed records—and a missing child.”
My attention shifted briefly toward the NICU monitor where Lucas was sleeping. Then I asked, “What does Elise Morgan have to do with it?”
Richard lowered his voice and said, “She had access to restricted archives. Your mother and Nora helped her copy files. They were trying to understand what my father was hiding.”
“And you?” I asked.
“I found out too late,” he said.
His jaw tightened as he continued. “At first I thought your mother feared my family’s name. Then I realized she feared what it meant to know too much.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“Being erased,” he said quietly. “From the story.”
I swallowed hard and returned to the missing page. “The missing page?” I asked.
Richard hesitated again before answering. “Your mother wrote names. A location. A theory about what happened to Elise’s baby.”
“So you tore it out,” I said.
“I removed it because I believed it would put you in danger,” he replied.
“You didn’t even know I existed when she wrote it,” I said.
“No,” he admitted. “But once I found you… once I saw Michael involved… I knew the past was already reaching you.”
I let out a shaky breath. “So you decided what I was allowed to know.”
“I was trying to protect you,” he said.
“Michael said the same thing.”
That comparison made him flinch, and for once he did not defend himself. He looked down and said, “You’re right to say it.”
After a long silence, I asked, “Where is the page?” Richard reached into his coat, and for a moment I thought he was finally going to hand it to me.
Instead, he placed a small brass key in my palm. It was attached to an old blue ribbon, the same kind my mother used to keep.
“I didn’t want to bring it here,” he said. “It opens a vault in Boulder. The page is inside. Along with everything else.”
My fingers closed around the key. “Why not just bring the documents?” I asked.
“Because I don’t trust who’s watching us,” he said.
I looked toward the door. “What do you mean?”
Richard lowered his voice. “Ashley shouldn’t have been able to reach you. Your hospital access was restricted. Only a few people could override it.”
My chest tightened. “You think someone inside helped?”
“Or someone with access to those who are inside,” he replied.
“Michael?” I asked.
“He doesn’t have that level of reach,” Richard said. “Not alone.”
The meaning was clear. “Your family,” I said, and Richard did not deny it.
Before either of us could say another word, someone knocked on the hospital room door. The sudden sound made pain shoot through my ribs as Richard instinctively stepped in front of my bed.
Detective Marisol Grant entered carrying a thick folder. Her eyes moved from Richard to me, then settled on the torn letter still resting in my hands.
“I have updates,” she said.
“No,” I replied. “You have timing.”
She quietly closed the door before speaking. “Michael Carter is missing.”
The words settled over the room. Richard immediately asked, “Since when?”
“He was supposed to come in for questioning today,” Grant explained. “He never showed up. His attorney claims he’s emotionally unstable, his phone has been turned off, and his car was found abandoned near Denver International Airport.”
My breathing grew shallow.