Chapter 5 - THE BASEMENT ARCHIVES
The sub-basement of Mercy General Hospital smelled of damp concrete, old paper, and industrial bleach.
It was an area of the building where patients never went—a labyrinth of abandoned steam pipes, electrical junction boxes, and rusted metal filing cabinets that stretched out into the dim shadows.
Ethan led the way with a small flashlight app glowing on his phone. I followed closely behind, my hand resting protectively over my belly as we navigated the narrow corridor.
"According to my father’s map, Locker 402 is down this hall past the laundry chutes," Ethan whispered, checking over his shoulder to make sure no hospital security guards were following us.
The air grew colder the deeper we walked.
We finally stopped in front of a heavy steel door marked ARCHIVE STORAGE - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
The brass padlock hanging from the latch was old and tarnished.
Ethan pulled a small, heavy brass key from his pocket—the key his father had hidden inside the safety deposit box alongside the locket and the letter.
He slid the key into the padlock. With a muffled clack, the lock sprang open.
We slipped inside the tiny archive room.
Rows of metal shelves lined the walls, crammed with dusty cardboard boxes labeled with faded marker pen dates: 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998...
"Look for Box 41-B," Ethan instructed, scanning the shelf labels.
My fingers traced the dusty cardboard boxes until I stopped at a box marked OB-GYN ADOPTIONS & TRANSFERS: OCT 1998.
"Here," I whispered, pulling the heavy box off the shelf and setting it down on a metal folding table in the center of the room.
Ethan flicked on the overhead desk lamp, casting a yellow pool of light over the dusty cardboard.
We lifted the lid.
Inside were dozens of manila folders, each tied with brittle pink or blue ribbons.
"Let's look for October 14, 1998," I said, flipping rapidly through the tabs. "That's the date stamped on the back of the Polaroid in the locket."
"Here it is," Ethan said, pulling out a thick folder marked with red ink: CASE #88-B: BROOKS, MARTHA.
My mother's name.
My breath hitched in my throat as I opened the folder. The pages inside were yellowed with age.
There was a birth certificate.
A medical intake form.
And a signed adoption relinquishment document.
Except...
I stared at the signature at the bottom of the relinquishment form, and the room seemed to tilt sideways.
"Ethan..." I whispered, pointing a shaking finger at the paper. "Look at this signature."
Ethan leaned over the table. "That's your mother's signature... but look at the witness line."
Written in neat, elegant cursive was the name of the witness who had allegedly overseen my mother’s signature on the day I was born:
DR. ARTHUR STERLING.
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And right beneath his signature, stamped in bold red ink, was the name of the adoptive recipient family:
THE STERLING FAMILY TRUST.
