The rage in Ethan’s chest collapsed, replaced by a vast, hollow emptiness. «We’re going to the police,» he said, his voice flat. «Right now.»
«No! Ethan, you can’t! He said he would destroy everything!»
As she spoke, her phone lit up with a text from Thorne. You have five minutes to get back to this table, or our arrangement is terminated. And so is your hope.
«Good,» Ethan said, a new, icy resolve flooding his veins. He opened the car door. «Let’s go have a chat with the doctor.»
Back in the restaurant, Ethan stood over Thorne’s table, the picture of calm fury. «The game is over.»
Thorne gave a condescending smirk. «I’m merely providing a valuable, if expensive, service.»
«It’s called extortion,» Ethan said, placing his phone face down on the table and discreetly pressing the record button. He laid it all out: the police, the District Attorney, news reporters who would love a story about a respected therapist preying on grieving families. He watched the smug confidence drain from Thorne’s face, replaced by a flicker of genuine fear.
Finally, the man crumbled. «There are no documents,» he admitted, his voice stripped of its earlier charm. «It was a fabrication. I heard your family’s story from a mutual acquaintance. I knew your wife was vulnerable… a perfect client.»
Chloe let out a sound of pure anguish, a stifled sob that seemed to suck all the air out of the room.
«You are going to wire every single cent back into her account,» Ethan said, his voice dangerously quiet. «You’re going to do it now.»
An hour later, they were home. Helen was waiting, her face etched with worry. In the safety of their kitchen, Chloe recounted the entire, sordid tale. When she was done, Helen was silent for a long moment. Then she said, «I remember that night at the hospital, after the accident. There was a nurse. A young woman with bright red hair. She was so frantic, running around with paperwork. A few days later, she was gone. Quit, they said.»
It was a single thread in a tapestry of lies, but it was real.
The search that followed was an agonizing journey through bureaucracy and dead ends. They found the nurse’s employment file: Maria Graves. But their hope was short-lived. A public records search revealed she had passed away from cancer three years ago. For days, they felt adrift, the trail gone cold. Ethan was ready to suggest a private investigator when Helen called. «Ethan, I’ve been thinking,» she said, her voice strained. «There was a surgeon. He operated on Kevin. Dr. Miller. Samuel Miller. I remember he was so kind.»
They found him, semi-retired and working part-time at a small suburban clinic. He remembered the case vividly. Seated in a sterile office that smelled of antiseptic, he listened to their story, his face growing heavier with each word. Finally, he looked at Chloe, his eyes full of a decades-old sorrow. «The boy survived,» he said, his voice barely a whisper. «There was a wealthy family from Boston, the Prestons. Their own infant had just died from a heart defect. A deal was made. Money changed hands. The records were falsified.» He handed them a slip of paper with the name written on it.
Within an hour, they found them online. Andrew and Elena Preston, pillars of the Boston tech community. And their twelve-year-old son, Max. Staring at the boy’s smiling photo on the website of an elite prep school, Chloe began to weep silently. He had Kevin’s eyes.
A week later, Ethan, Chloe, and Mia were in Boston. They rented an apartment and for three days, they simply watched from a distance. They saw Max get out of a black Mercedes, laughing with the woman he knew as his mother. They saw him play basketball with his friends, his movements fluid and athletic, just like Kevin’s had been. They saw a boy who was happy, confident, and deeply loved.