CHAPTER 4 – THE MAN WITH TWO NAMES
His name wasn't Mark.
Not legally.
The detective discovered that within forty minutes.
“Mark Hale” didn't exist.
The man standing in my mother's living room was actually Marcus Vane.
Forty-six years old.
Former licensed practical nurse.
Former because his license had been revoked.
Twice investigated for medication discrepancies.
Once fired for accessing patient records without authorization.
And four years earlier, Marcus Vane had been working the night shift at St. Matthew's Medical Center.
The same night my father died.
Mom sat perfectly still.
“I didn't know.”
I laughed.
I couldn't help it.
“You didn't know?”
She glared at me.
“He told me his name was Mark.”
Daniel covered his ears.
I lowered my voice.
“Sorry, Danny.”
The detective turned to Mom.
“When did you meet Mr. Vane?”
“Last year.”
Daniel shook his head.
Everyone looked at him.
“Daniel?”
He swallowed.
“Before Dad died.”
Mom stood.
“He's confused.”
Daniel flinched.
The detective immediately stepped between them.
“Sit down, Mrs. Carter.”
“My son has autism.”
“Yes.”
“He mixes things up.”
Daniel looked at me.
Then said something strange.
“Red shoes.”
“What?”
“Mom wore red shoes.”
Mom froze.
Daniel continued.
“Hospital cafeteria.”
The detective took out his notebook.
“When?”
“Dad sleeping.”
“Did you see your mother with Mr. Vane?”
Daniel nodded.
Mom laughed nervously.
“This is absurd.”
But Daniel wasn't finished.
“They kissed.”
The detective slowly turned toward Mom.
Her face collapsed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
I knew.
She knew Marcus before Dad died.
Maybe long before.
Marcus said nothing.
The detective asked him to accompany officers to the station.
He refused.
They didn't arrest him.
Not yet.
But they took his real identification and told him not to leave the state.
As Marcus passed Daniel, he whispered something.
Only Daniel heard it.
My brother recoiled.
“What did he say?”
Daniel wouldn't answer.
Marcus smiled at me.
Then walked outside.
That night, Daniel came home with me.
He slept on my couch because he didn't want to be alone.
At 2:13 a.m., I woke to the sound of glass breaking.
I ran downstairs.
Daniel was standing beside the window.
A brick lay on my living room floor.
Something was wrapped around it.
Paper.
I unfolded it.
Three words had been written in black marker.
GIVE IT BACK.
“What?”
Daniel pointed upstairs.
“The report.”
My blood turned cold.
I had taken Dad's toxicology report with me.
Or at least I thought I had.
I opened my bag.
The envelope was there.
But when I pulled out the document, Daniel shook his head.
“Wrong.”
I looked closer.
The report had Dad's name.
The hospital logo.
Everything.
“How is it wrong?”
Daniel pointed at the bottom.
“Dad's birthday.”
The date was incorrect.
One digit had been changed.
The document we had was another forgery.
Which meant the real report was still somewhere else.
Then Daniel whispered.
“Dad hid things twice.”
“Where?”
May you like
Daniel looked toward the broken window.
And somewhere outside, a car engine started.
