Chapter 10 - The Door Marked SeventeenBellweather stood behind a high concrete wall, surrounded by pine trees and security cameras.
From the road, it looked like an ordinary private medical facility. White curtains hung in the windows. Patients walked along a fenced garden, accompanied by nurses in pale blue uniforms.
But the closer I looked, the less it felt like a hospital.
No visitors entered without authorization. Armed guards patrolled the rear entrance, and every vehicle passed through two separate security gates.
My father was somewhere inside that building.
Evelyn waited in a rental car two streets away while Mara and I approached through the woods. She had given us visitor badges, medical uniforms, and a small emergency transmitter connected to her phone.
“If anything goes wrong, press the red button,” she had told us. “I'll call the police.”
“Which police?” I'd asked.
She had stared at me.
“Fair point.”
Now we crouched beside a maintenance hatch hidden beneath a staircase.
Mara entered a code and pushed.
The hatch opened onto a narrow concrete passage smelling of rust and detergent.
“Stay close,” she whispered.
We followed the tunnel until we reached a locked steel door. I pulled the brass key from my pocket and slid it into the lock.
It turned.
Beyond the door lay a dusty records room filled with metal cabinets. The lights flickered overhead. Boxes covered the floor, and an old computer hummed on a desk.
I searched the cabinets while Mara checked the computer.
Within minutes, I found a folder marked C.D.
Inside were medical evaluations, medication schedules, and transfer authorizations. Several documents contained my father's real signature. Others had been signed by Dr. Cross.
One report made my hands shake.
PATIENT RETAINS CAPACITY TO RECOGNIZE FAMILY MEMBERS. TRANSFER OF ASSETS SHOULD BE COMPLETED BEFORE COGNITIVE STATUS IMPROVES.
They hadn't been waiting for Dad to recover.
They had been waiting for him to become too weak to resist.
A second folder contained the original authorization for the transfer of Dennis Enterprises' controlling shares. The signature at the bottom was a forgery, but this time the file included an internal email discussing how to make it look authentic.
The email was from Carter.
Once Camden is gone, nobody will question the transfer. Finnley can stay in prison, and Reagan will sign whatever we put in front of her.
I copied the files onto a small drive.
Then I found a document bearing the name MERIDIAN TRUST.
It stated that my father had transferred his shares into a protected trust years earlier. Neither Reagan nor Carter had any legal authority to sell them.
The transaction was not merely fraudulent.
It was impossible.
Unless someone could make the trust appear invalid.
Attached was a draft petition requesting a declaration that Camden Dennis was mentally incompetent and incapable of managing his assets. It had been prepared months before his reported death.
I heard footsteps in the corridor.
Mara shut down the computer.
“Someone is coming.”
We slipped behind a row of cabinets as the door opened.
Dr. Lillian Cross entered with two security guards.
She carried a file and spoke into her phone.
“The sale cannot proceed without the original will. Reagan says the boy has the key, but he hasn't produced the document.”
A man's voice answered through the phone.
“Then find him.”
Dr. Cross lowered her voice.
“And Camden?”
“Keep him alive until Friday. If he signs, he can go. If he doesn't, you know what to do.”
The call ended.
Dr. Cross opened a cabinet directly opposite us.
I could see the reflection of her face in the metal.
She paused.
Then she slowly turned toward our hiding place.
“Who's there?”
Mara grabbed my sleeve.
We ran.
One guard shouted. Another reached for his radio. I pushed through the basement door and raced down the corridor, clutching the copied files.
We reached the service tunnel, but a heavy metal gate had been lowered across the exit.
Mara pressed herself against the wall.
“We're trapped.”
A keypad blinked beside the gate.
I entered the number from the key.
17.
Nothing happened.
I tried it again.
A red light flashed.
Then, from somewhere behind us, a guard shouted, “They've entered the restricted wing!”
I looked at the key, at the keypad, and then at the scratched inscription on its handle.
The number wasn't a code.
It was a room number.
A faint memory surfaced: Silas saying the key opened a door inside Bellweather, but not the door I was thinking of.
I looked beyond the gate.
On a nearby wall stood a small, faded sign.
EMERGENCY GENERATOR ROOM 17.
The door was beside us.
I turned the key.
The lock clicked.
Inside, an emergency release lever hung beneath a red metal cover. I pulled it.
The gate rose just enough for us to crawl underneath.
We burst out into the woods and didn't stop until we reached the car.
Evelyn was pale when she saw us.
“Did you find Camden?”
“No,” I said, handing her the drive.
“But I found the proof we need.”
She scanned the first documents, then went completely still.
“What is it?” I asked.
She turned the screen toward me.
A patient transfer order was dated for that evening.
PATIENT C.D. WILL BE REMOVED FROM BELLWEATHER AT 9:00 P.M. DESTINATION: PRIVATE PROPERTY OWNED BY JULIAN CROSS.
The transfer was signed by Dr. Lillian Cross.
And beneath the signature was an instruction written in red ink.
NO RETURN TRANSPORT AUTHORIZED.
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My father was being moved that night.
If we didn't find him before nine, we might never find him at all.
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