Chapter 5 - The Records Room
The word WELCOME was still wet.
I could see black paint dripping down the brick beneath it.
Ethan stopped the SUV several yards from the entrance.
“No one gets out,” he said.
I opened my door.
“I do.”
“Sarah.”
“My daughter is inside.”
“I know.”
“Then move.”
He caught my wrist.
“Whoever brought Nia here wants us to enter.”
“Good.”
His expression tightened.
“That's exactly what worries me.”
Thomas opened the rear door.
“He's right.”
I turned toward him.
“Then tell me what to do.”
Thomas looked at the building.
“Nothing.”
I almost laughed.
“My four-year-old daughter is inside a building where someone threatened to make her disappear, and you're telling me to do nothing?”
“No.”
He pointed toward the entrance.
“I'm telling you not to walk through that door without knowing what you're walking into.”
Ethan pulled his phone out.
“I'll call the police.”
Thomas shook his head.
“Do that, and Nia becomes leverage.”
“She already is.”
“No.”
Thomas looked at me.
“Right now, whoever has her wants something. If the police arrive before we understand what it is, that person may decide Nia is no longer useful.”
I hated that he made sense.
I hated everything about that night.
The rain.
The empty street.
The open doors.
The painted word.
Most of all, the fact that my daughter was somewhere inside.
I stepped out of the SUV.
Ethan followed.
Thomas came behind us.
We crossed the parking lot.
The old records annex looked abandoned from the outside, but the lights inside told a different story.
Every fluorescent fixture was on.
The front door stood open.
There was no security guard.
No receptionist.
No sound.
I stopped at the threshold.
“Where is she?”
Ethan looked at his phone.
“The tracking signal from the photograph isn't active anymore.”
Thomas examined the hallway.
“This place has three floors.”
“How do you know?”
“I used to work here.”
I turned.
“You worked here?”
“Richard owned the building.”
“Why?”
“Medical records storage.”
“Your company stored medical records?”
“Not exactly.”
Thomas lowered his voice.
“Richard funded a private research division.”
“What kind of research?”
He hesitated.
“Genetics.”
My stomach tightened.
I looked at Ethan.
“You knew?”
“I knew there was a research division.”
“Did you know they tested babies?”
“No.”
Thomas looked away.
That was enough.
We entered.
The door closed behind us.
I immediately turned.
“Ethan.”
He tried the handle.
Locked.
My heart began racing.
Thomas walked toward the nearest wall.
“There should be an emergency release.”
“Find it.”
He did.
Nothing happened.
“It's been disabled.”
Ethan pulled out his phone.
“No signal.”
I checked mine.
Nothing.
The building had become a box.
A very large box.
With my daughter somewhere inside.
I forced myself to breathe.
“Nia.”
My voice echoed down the hallway.
“Nia, Mommy is here.”
Nothing.
Then—
A small sound.
A child's voice.
“Mommy?”
I nearly ran.
Ethan grabbed my shoulder.
“Wait.”
I heard it again.
“Mommy!”
This time it came from the left.
We followed.
The hallway ended at a metal door.
A small window had been cut into it.
Inside was a storage room.
Boxes.
Shelves.
Old medical equipment.
And a little pink dress.
My daughter's dress.
I slammed my hands against the glass.
“Nia!”
Ethan looked through the window.
“She isn't there.”
I stared.
The room was empty.
Then I noticed the dress.
It was hanging from the back of a chair.
Nia had been wearing an emerald-green birthday dress.
This was a pink dress.
One I had never seen before.
I stepped back.
“What is that?”
Thomas went pale.
“Don't touch it.”
“Why?”
He stared at the dress.
“Because that isn't Nia's.”
A speaker crackled above us.
Then the man's voice returned.
“You're getting closer.”
I froze.
“Where is my daughter?”
A pause.
“She is safe.”
“Let me hear her.”
Silence.
Then a small voice.
“Mommy?”
“Nia!”
“I'm here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little.”
I closed my eyes.
“Baby, listen to Mommy. Stay exactly where you are.”
“Okay.”
The man's voice returned.
“You have five minutes.”
“Five minutes for what?”
“To find the room where your daughter was supposed to die.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Ethan looked at Thomas.
Thomas whispered:
“This is a trap.”
The speaker went silent.
A red digital timer appeared at the end of the hallway.
05:00
Then it started counting down.
04:59.
04:58.
04:57.
I looked at Ethan.
“What room?”
He didn't answer.
Thomas did.
“Records basement.”
“Where?”
“Below us.”
We found the stairwell.
The door was unlocked.
We ran down.
The basement smelled like dust and old paper.
Rows of filing cabinets stretched into darkness.
At the far end, a single light flickered.
Ethan's phone suddenly vibrated.
The signal had returned.
One new message.
CABINET 16.
He showed us.
We found it.
Cabinet sixteen was locked.
Thomas pulled a small key from his pocket.
I stared at him.
“You had that?”
“I didn't know it would be here.”
He opened the cabinet.
Inside were dozens of folders.
Names.
Dates.
Hospital numbers.
I searched desperately.
Then I saw it.
BENNETT, SARAH
My hands shook.
I pulled the file out.
The first page was my admission record.
The second was Nia's birth record.
The third was missing.
I flipped through the rest.
Nothing.
Then Ethan found another folder.
REEVES, ETHAN
He opened it.
The first page showed his birth certificate.
The second showed a genetic report.
The third was marked:
PATERNITY REVIEW — CONFIDENTIAL
Ethan stared at it.
I stepped closer.
“Open it.”
He did.
The report was dated three years earlier.
The patient was listed as:
ETHAN REEVES
The child:
FEMALE INFANT — NIA BENNETT
My knees weakened.
There was a percentage beneath it.
99.98%
Ethan stopped breathing.
I looked at him.
“You're her father.”
He didn't move.
“I didn't know.”
I wanted to hate him.
I wanted to scream.
But all I could think about was Nia.
The little girl upstairs.
The birthday cake.
The crooked crown.
The way she had asked him why he knew her birthday.
Then I saw another line.
Biological relationship confirmed.
And beneath it, handwritten in red:
DO NOT DISCLOSE TO SARAH.
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Who wrote that?”
Thomas took the page.
His face changed.
“Richard.”
“How do you know?”
“I recognize his handwriting.”
I looked through the file.
There was another document.
A photograph.
A young Ethan standing beside Richard.
And between them was a hospital bassinet.
Nia.
I stared at the photograph.
“Why did your father hide her?”
Thomas turned another page.
His expression became unreadable.
“Because there was another test.”
“What test?”
He handed it to Ethan.
Ethan read it.
Then looked at me.
His lips moved.
No sound came out.
“What?”
He passed it to me.
The report was from the same night.
But the patient's name wasn't Ethan.
It was Richard Reeves.
And the result was marked:
PATERNITY MATCH — 99.99%
I stared at the page.
“No.”
Thomas whispered:
“That's why Richard was terrified.”
Ethan looked at him.
“My father was Nia's biological father?”
Thomas nodded.
I couldn't breathe.
Four years of lies.
Four years of believing I knew exactly who Nia belonged to.
I looked at Ethan.
“Then what are you?”
Ethan stared at the report.
“I don't know.”
A sound came from the darkness behind us.
A metal door slammed.
I spun around.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
Then footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming toward us.
Ethan moved in front of me.
Thomas reached for the nearest metal bar.
The footsteps stopped.
A man's voice came from the darkness.
“You finally found the wrong father.”
I froze.
Ethan whispered:
“Daniel.”
A figure stepped into the light.
It was him.
Daniel Mercer.
The man I had buried in my mind for four years.
The man I had believed was dead.
He looked at me.
Then smiled.
“Hello, Sarah.”
Behind him, another door opened.
May you like
And Nia whispered from inside:
“Mommy?”
