Chapter 5 - THE BOY IN THE WAITING ROOM
The fluorescent lights of the emergency room hummed with a sickly, yellow glow. I walked through the sliding glass doors, Daniel and Emily flanking me like bodyguards. Melissa had stayed behind at the house; she was too terrified of being seen by the police, and frankly, I didn't want her here.
Frank Vance, seventy-five and leaning heavily on a cane, was sitting in a vinyl chair in the waiting area. When he saw me, he struggled to stand.
“Frank,” I said, rushing over to support his arm. “What happened? How did you know about the accident?”
“The police called me,” Frank rasped, his face pale. “Richard had my business card in his wallet listed as an emergency contact. He hit a patch of black ice on the overpass. The car flipped.”
“Where is he?” Daniel asked, his tone devoid of any son’s typical concern.
“Still in surgery,” Frank said. “They say it’s touch and go. Internal bleeding.”
I felt a strange, hollow sensation in my chest. For thirty-four years, the thought of Richard dying would have brought me to my knees. Now, all I could think about was the life insurance policy, the forged loan, and the ruin he was leaving behind.
“Where is the boy?” Emily asked gently.
Frank pointed down the hall toward the pediatric observation wing. “Room 3. The nurses said he only has a concussion and a broken wrist. But Linda… he gave them your name.”
“My name?” I asked, confused.
“He told the nurses his mother was Linda Parker,” Frank said, his eyes filled with sorrow. “He thinks you’re his mother.”
I stared at Frank, the world tilting violently. “That’s impossible. Chloe Vance is his mother.”
Frank flinched. The name struck him like a physical blow. He looked down at his cane, his knuckles white.
“Frank?” I pressed, stepping closer. “You know Chloe Vance. She was at my father’s funeral. You were my father’s partner. Who is she?”
Frank closed his eyes, a tear escaping the deep wrinkles of his face. “She’s my daughter, Linda. My estranged daughter.”
The air rushed out of the hallway.
Daniel grabbed my shoulder to steady me. “Your daughter? Richard has been sleeping with your daughter?”
“I didn't know until a year ago,” Frank whispered, looking entirely broken. “Chloe ran away when she was eighteen. She got involved in drugs, bad crowds. I cut her off. I didn’t know Richard had found her. I didn’t know they… I swear to God, Linda, I didn’t know about the boy until tonight.”
It all made a sick, twisted kind of sense. Richard, the ambitious young protege, working for my father and Frank. He had access to everything. Including Frank’s troubled, vulnerable daughter.
“Why did the boy ask for me?” I demanded.
“I don’t know,” Frank said. “You have to talk to him.”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I walked down the sterile hallway, Emily and Daniel trailing behind. I pushed open the door to Room 3.
Sitting on the hospital bed was a boy who looked about fifteen. He had dark hair, just like Chloe’s, but his jawline—the set of his shoulders—was all Richard. His left arm was in a blue cast, and a bandage covered a nasty cut on his forehead.
When he saw me, his eyes widened. But it wasn't a look of recognition. It was a look of profound confusion.
“Who are you?” the boy asked. His voice was a raw, adolescent crack.
“I’m Linda Parker,” I said softly, staying near the door. “You asked the nurses for me.”
The boy shook his head frantically. “No. I asked for my mom. Her name is Linda Parker.”
Emily let out a small gasp behind me.
“Thomas,” I said, guessing his name from the passport in the safe. “Your mother’s name is Chloe. Chloe Vance.”
Thomas recoiled as if I had slapped him. “No! My mom is Linda Parker. My dad is Richard Parker. They live in Connecticut. She’s an interior designer.”
I froze.
I looked back at Daniel. He was staring at the boy in absolute horror.
Richard hadn't just given his mistress a fake ID to steal my trust fund.
He had stolen my entire identity to build his second family.
“Thomas,” I said, my voice trembling but gentle. I stepped closer to the bed. “Where do you live? When you’re not at boarding school?”
“Naples,” he said defensively, clutching his good arm to his chest. “In the condo. With Mom and Dad.”
“And what does your mom look like?”
“She has dark hair. Blue eyes.” Thomas was starting to panic, realizing something was terribly wrong. “Where is my dad? Where is my mom?”
Richard had raised this boy believing his mother was Linda Parker. He had erased Chloe’s name completely from the boy’s life. Why?
“Mom,” Daniel whispered, stepping into the room and handing me his phone. He had pulled up the public records for the Naples condo. “Look at the secondary owner on the deed.”
I looked at the screen.
Owner: Parker Family Holdings LLC.
Co-Signer: Linda Parker.
Not Chloe Vance. Linda Parker.
The puzzle pieces violently snapped together. Richard hadn't just forged my name for the $450,000 house loan. He had forged my name on the $612,000 condo deed. He had used my pristine credit score, my name, and my family’s trust fund backing to finance his second life.
And Chloe Vance had played along, posing as me, using the fake ID to sign legal documents in my name in Florida, effectively making herself my legal shadow.
“If Chloe defaults on that condo, or commits fraud under your name…” Emily whispered, realizing the trap.
“I go to jail,” I finished. “Not her. Me.”
Suddenly, the door to the hospital room burst open.
A woman stood in the doorway. She was out of breath, her dark hair a mess, her blue eyes wild with panic. She was wearing a trench coat over pajamas.
It was the woman from the ID. The woman from the funeral.
Chloe Vance.
Thomas lit up. “Mom!”
Chloe ignored the boy. She looked straight at me.
“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice shaking with rage. “Where is Richard?”
“He’s in surgery,” I said coldly. “I suggest you sit down, Chloe.”
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, glancing nervously at Thomas.
“Oh, we’re done playing games,” Daniel stepped forward, towering over her. “We know who you are. Frank is in the waiting room.”
Chloe paled. “My father is here?”
“Yes,” I said. “And we know about the fake ID. We know about the forged loan. We know you’ve been pretending to be me for fifteen years.”
Chloe let out a bitter, desperate laugh. “Pretending to be you? You think I wanted this?”
May you like
She reached into her trench coat pocket and pulled out a heavy, folded document, slamming it onto the rolling tray table at the end of Thomas’s bed.
“I didn't steal your identity, Linda,” Chloe sneered, tears streaming down her face. “Richard forced me into it. And if you don't help me get into that safety deposit box at Oakwood Depository tomorrow morning, he’s going to kill us both.”
