PART 3 — The Second Family
Charles couldn't move.
His name was on the screen.
Not Lillian's.
Not Teresa's.
His.
Someone had been watching him.
Teresa immediately took the phone.
“Don't touch anything else.”
Charles stared at the message.
“How did they know I was involved?”
Teresa didn't answer.
Because the more disturbing question was obvious.
How long had they been watching?
The phone contained almost nothing.
No contact names.
No photographs.
No call history.
Everything had been erased.
Except for one folder.
A folder protected by a password.
Teresa handed it to a digital investigator.
“Break it.”
Three hours later, they did.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens of them.
Lillian entering Charles's hospital.
Lillian leaving the grocery store.
Charles meeting Lillian at a café.
Charles arriving at Warren's pharmacy.
And one photograph that made Charles's stomach turn.
It showed him asleep in his own bedroom.
Taken through his window.
“This isn't surveillance,” Teresa whispered.
“Then what is it?”
“A warning.”
She enlarged the photograph.
Someone had written across the image:
HE WILL BE NEXT.
Charles felt a cold wave pass through him.
“Teresa.”
“Yes?”
“I think Warren knows we're searching.”
She looked at him.
“He probably does.”
Then the hospital called.
Lillian had regained consciousness.
Charles rushed back.
When he entered her room, Lillian's eyes were open.
Weak.
Confused.
But alive.
“Charles?”
He moved beside her.
“I'm here.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Where's Warren?”
“He isn't here.”
She looked relieved.
Then terrified.
“Good.”
Charles took her hand.
“Lillian, I need you to tell me what happened.”
Her lips trembled.
“I don't remember everything.”
“Try.”
She closed her eyes.
“I was at home.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“What happened?”
“Warren came into the kitchen.”
Charles felt his chest tighten.
“What did he say?”
“He asked me to sign something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you sign it?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
She swallowed.
“He became angry.”
“How angry?”
“I'd never seen him like that.”
She began shaking.
Charles signaled the nurse.
But Lillian grabbed his hand.
“Don't leave.”
“I won't.”
“He said I had ruined everything.”
“What did you ruin?”
“I found the woman.”
Charles exchanged a glance with Teresa.
“What woman?”
Lillian stared at them.
“The pregnant woman.”
Charles showed her the photograph.
Lillian's eyes widened.
“You found her.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Evelyn.”
“Who is Evelyn?”
Lillian looked toward the door.
“Warren's daughter.”
Charles froze.
“His daughter?”
“Yes.”
“But Warren doesn't have a daughter.”
Lillian gave a bitter laugh.
“That's what he told everyone.”
She began crying.
“She's twenty-nine.”
“How do you know her?”
“I found her messages.”
“What messages?”
“Between her and Warren.”
Teresa stepped closer.
“Did they have an affair?”
“No.”
Lillian looked at her.
“Evelyn is Warren's daughter from before we married.”
Charles slowly exhaled.
“That doesn't explain the insurance.”
Lillian shook her head.
“Evelyn isn't the problem.”
“What is?”
“She has a son.”
Silence.
“Warren's grandson?”
“Yes.”
“Then why hide them?”
“Because Warren's first wife died.”
Charles felt a chill.
“His first wife?”
Lillian nodded.
“Twenty-eight years ago.”
“How?”
“Sudden allergic reaction.”
Nobody spoke.
Teresa's expression changed.
“Dexopraline?”
Lillian nodded.
“My God.”
Charles stepped backward.
“Warren killed his first wife?”
“I don't know.”
Lillian's voice broke.
“But I found something.”
“What?”
“Her medical records.”
“Where?”
“In Warren's office.”
Charles stared at Teresa.
The pattern was becoming undeniable.
Two wives.
Two severe allergic reactions.
And Warren had pharmaceutical knowledge.
But Lillian wasn't finished.
“There was another woman.”
“Who?”
“The pharmacist who worked with Warren.”
“What about her?”
“She discovered something.”
“What's her name?”
Lillian closed her eyes.
“Maria Bennett.”
Teresa wrote it down.
“What did she discover?”
“Warren was buying medications under fake names.”
“For what?”
“I don't know.”
“Where is Maria now?”
Lillian looked at them.
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
Charles felt a growing sense of dread.
“Lillian, why didn't you go to the police?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“With whom?”
She hesitated.
“Teresa.”
The detective leaned forward.
“Me?”
“No.”
Lillian shook her head.
“A different detective.”
“Who?”
Lillian whispered the name.
Teresa's face changed.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“That detective died two years ago.”
Lillian stared at her.
“No.”
“He came to my house.”
Teresa stood.
“Lillian, what did he look like?”
“Gray hair.”
“Anything else?”
“He had a scar above his eyebrow.”
Teresa went completely still.
She knew that description.
Because the detective Lillian had described had never been a detective.
He had been Warren's private security consultant.
A man named Victor Hale.
And Victor Hale had been arrested years earlier for falsifying medical records.
Teresa turned toward Charles.
“Warren has been manipulating medical records.”
Charles looked at Lillian.
“Do you know why?”
She nodded.
“He wanted me to look sick.”
“For what?”
“To convince everyone I was dying naturally.”
Charles felt nauseous.
Lillian squeezed his hand.
“But that's not the worst part.”
“What is?”
She stared directly into his eyes.
“The night before I collapsed, I discovered where Warren was keeping the real records.”
“Where?”
Lillian whispered:
“Inside the old pharmacy.”
Charles frowned.
“The pharmacy closed five years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why would he keep anything there?”
“Because nobody goes there anymore.”
Teresa reached for her phone.
“We'll search it.”
Lillian suddenly grabbed her wrist.
“No.”
“Why?”
“He isn't keeping the records there anymore.”
“Then where?”
Lillian's breathing became rapid.
“He moved them.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
Lillian looked toward the window.
Then whispered:
“Your hospital.”
Charles stared at her.
“What?”
“Warren moved everything into the hospital.”
“That makes no sense.”
“He has someone inside.”
“Who?”
Lillian's face drained of color.
“I don't know.”
Then the monitor beside her suddenly began beeping faster.
Her eyes widened.
“Charles…”
“What?”
“He knows I'm awake.”
The lights in the hallway flickered.
Teresa stepped toward the door.
A nurse ran in.
“What's happening?”
Lillian grabbed Charles's wrist.
“Don't let him come in.”
“Who?”
Her eyes filled with terror.
“Warren.”
Then the ICU doors opened.
Warren Prescott walked inside.
Holding a bouquet of white roses.
And behind him stood a hospital administrator Charles had trusted for fifteen years.
