Chapter 3 - A SIGNATURE WRITTEN IN BLOOD
Emma hadn't seen Noah Richardson since the summer she turned nineteen.
He was twenty-two then, restless and endlessly curious, with a terrible habit of making jokes when he was frightened.
He worked nights for a medical transport contractor while saving money to finish engineering school.
One Tuesday in August, he left their shared apartment to cover an emergency shift.
He never returned.
His car was found beside an industrial road outside Chicago.
His wallet remained inside.
So did his phone.
There was no sign of a struggle.
Police investigated.
Friends searched.
Emma put up missing-person posters until the color faded.
After eighteen months, the investigation went cold.
But Emma never stopped keeping an extra chair at Thanksgiving.
Now Noah's face was on her phone.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
Dr. Chen found Emma sitting on the staff-room floor.
"Emma?"
She tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
He crouched beside her.
"What's happened?"
She showed him the photograph.
His expression changed.
"Is that Noah?"
Emma nodded.
Dr. Chen had worked alongside her since she joined the hospital.
He knew about the missing-person case.
He knew about the birthday Emma spent every August visiting the police station, hoping somebody had found a new lead.
"Where did this come from?"
"Unknown number."
"Have you called the police?"
"Not yet."
He helped her to her feet.
"Then we should."
Emma looked toward Julian's room.
Somehow, she already knew the two events were connected.
The detectives who arrived were cautious.
A photograph with a recent date didn't prove Noah was alive.
Metadata could be changed.
Images could be altered.
But there were details that mattered.
A distinctive scar beside Noah's right eyebrow.
A small tattoo on his wrist.
And in the background, a wall clock displaying the logo of Aster Medical Logistics.
The same contractor Noah had worked for before disappearing.
Emma stared at the logo.
"That company shut down."
One detective looked up.
"When?"
"Seven years ago. Two months after Noah disappeared."
The detective wrote something down.
"Then we'll check its current corporate connections."
Julian asked to speak with Emma that afternoon.
This time she entered his room with anger burning beneath her exhaustion.
"Did you send me the photograph?"
He looked genuinely confused.
"What photograph?"
She held out her phone.
Julian studied it.
His expression changed.
"Where did you get this?"
"Someone sent it an hour after you ordered people to leave me alone."
His jaw tightened.
"That's not one of my messages."
"How am I supposed to know?"
"You aren't."
The answer stopped her.
Julian continued.
"But I want you to ask the police to preserve it. And I want to tell you something that might help."
Emma folded her arms.
"Then tell me."
Julian looked toward the window.
"Seven years ago, a transport company was moving patients between private medical facilities without proper authorization."
"Aster?"
He nodded.
Emma went cold.
"My brother worked there."
"I know."
She stared.
"You knew?"
"I knew a transport employee named Richardson disappeared after raising concerns about falsified patient movements."
Emma gripped the back of a chair.
"And you never told the police?"
Julian's expression darkened.
"I didn't know his name until after he vanished. The information came through people in the docks. I didn't know he was your brother until Tomas began checking the threat."
"Why would Aster have anything to do with your shooting?"
Julian hesitated.
"Because I found evidence that the same network is operating again."
Emma stared at him.
"And you were trying to stop it?"
"I was trying to understand how one of my companies became involved."
She almost laughed.
"You expect me to believe a mafia boss didn't know what his own businesses were doing?"
"No."
He met her eyes.
"I expect you to question everything I say."
Later that evening, Emma returned to the medical record to review an ordinary clinical detail.
Julian had asked her to sign her work.
At first, she'd dismissed the request as a strange rich man's whim.
Now she understood something else.
The transfer order had been entered shortly after she documented his arrival.
Whoever accessed the record knew exactly which nurse had cared for him.
And the false authorization had attached her electronic signature to a transport assessment she never completed.
She immediately reported the discrepancy through the hospital's clinical and information-security channels.
The audit log showed that somebody had copied her credentials into a document connected to Saint Catherine's Private Recovery Center.
Emma stared at the screen.
Her signature.
Her professional identity.
Used without permission.
Then another message arrived.
IF YOU WANT NOAH BACK, STOP LOOKING AT THE TRANSFER RECORDS.
A second photograph followed.
Noah stood beside a window.
In his hands was a piece of white paper.
May you like
Three words were written across it.
DON'T TRUST TOMAS.
