Chapter 4 - THE CHILDREN PAMELA BURIED WITHOUT BODIES
Pamela went back to St. Anselm.
Not alone.
Not with Roman’s armed men.
With an attorney.
That distinction mattered.
Rachel Stein specialized in medical fraud.
She requested Pamela’s entire chart.
The hospital delayed.
Then produced hundreds of pages.
Rachel noticed the problem within an hour.
The neonatal death notes were printed.
No physician signatures.
Only digital authentication.
All three timestamped during a thirty-second window.
“That normal?” Pamela asked.
“No.”
The neonatal unit logs showed three premature infants admitted under temporary identifiers.
Baby A Hayes.
Baby B Hayes.
Baby C Hayes.
Then twelve hours later, their records vanished from the standard patient system.
Not marked deceased.
Transferred.
To where?
A restricted administrative category.
External continuity placement.
Rachel stared.
“That is not a neonatal medical disposition.”
Roman’s independent investigators found the receiving account.
A private pediatric clinic.
Owned by a corporation linked to Julian Kane.
The triplets had remained there for nine days.
Then transferred into Roman’s care.
Alive.
Pamela stared at the timeline.
Nine days.
Nine days during which she lay at home believing her children were dead.
She stood.
Walked into the bathroom.
Vomited.
Roman waited outside.
He did not follow.
Good.
When Pamela emerged, he handed her water.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at him.
“For what?”
“I brought them home.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“How?”
He had no answer.
Pamela sat.
Roman said:
“I paid without questioning.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“Because money normally makes uncomfortable details disappear.”
He flinched.
True.
“You were told three abandoned babies needed a home.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted them.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't ask enough.”
“No.”
That honesty helped.
Pamela looked through the glass at the hospital corridor.
“I didn't ask enough either.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“No.”
“I stopped fighting.”
“You were recovering from hemorrhage.”
“I signed—”
“While medicated.”
“I still stopped.”
Roman leaned forward.
“They built the system so exhausted people would stop.”
Pamela stared at him.
That was exactly right.
Poor grieving mother.
Rich grieving widower.
Different vulnerabilities.
Same machine.
St. Anselm had taken advantage of both.
The medical examiner later confirmed something worse.
The three death certificates used physician license numbers copied from unrelated neonatal cases.
The doctor whose name appeared had never treated Pamela’s babies.
The social worker who supposedly witnessed Pamela’s cremation consent had retired six months earlier.
Everything was constructed.
Then Rachel found Pamela’s original request.
Handwritten.
Dated two days after she woke.
I want to see my children before any cremation. Do not proceed without me.
Marked:
CLOSED — PATIENT COUNSELED.
Pamela touched the page.
“I wrote that.”
Roman said nothing.
“I remember.”
For fourteen months she had wondered whether grief invented the memory.
It had not.
She fought.
Someone simply buried the fight in a file.
Roman’s phone rang.
Donovan.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Julian.”
“Where?”
“Office.”
Roman looked confused.
“He didn’t run?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Donovan paused.
“He says he wants to speak with you.”
Roman’s face changed.
Pamela stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
She stared.
Roman caught himself.
Wrong.
He tried again.
“I don't think you should.”
“Still wrong.”
He exhaled.
“It may be dangerous.”
“Better.”
Pamela grabbed her coat.
“I’m still coming.”
Roman looked at Rachel.
Rachel shrugged.
“Not my client.”
Pamela smiled.
“Exactly.”
Julian Kane waited inside his downtown office.
Seventy-one.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
Roman’s father had hired him.
Julian had known Roman since he was nineteen.
When Pamela entered, Julian’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“Miss Hayes.”
She stopped.
“You know me.”
Julian sighed.
Roman became terrifyingly still.
“How does he know you?”
Pamela answered:
“He shouldn't.”
Julian folded his hands.
“This can be explained.”
Pamela laughed.
“That sentence should be illegal.”
Roman sat opposite him.
“Explain.”
Julian looked at Pamela.
“The children would have had a better life.”
Silence.
Pamela could not process the words.
Roman did first.
“A better life?”
“Roman, be realistic.”
Julian gestured toward Pamela.
“She was single. Insolvent. No family support. Medical debt.”
Pamela’s skin went cold.
“You stole my children because I was poor.”
“I facilitated an outcome.”
Roman’s hand tightened against the chair.
Julian continued too quickly.
“The children received world-class care. Security. Education. Wealth.”
“They needed their mother,” Pamela whispered.
Julian looked almost impatient.
“They needed stability.”
Roman stood.
Everyone in the room tensed.
Pamela said:
“Roman.”
One word.
He stopped.
Julian saw.
Interesting.
Then Roman asked:
“How many?”
Julian’s face changed.
“How many children?”
Silence.
Roman repeated:
“How many?”
Julian finally said:
“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer.
Because it meant more than three.
May you like
Much more.
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