30 Chapter 30- The Forged Photo and the Discarded Cure
30 Chapter 30 – The Forged Photo and the Discarded
Cure
“No game,” I said firmly. “I am Dr. Wilson–that wasn’t a lie. And I have no idea where that photo came from.”
“You’re certain about this?” he asked, flipping through the pages.
In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The forged photo. Old Mrs. Sterling’s insistence that Beatrice was my mother. The strange way Beatrice had looked at me in the restaurant when I’d revealed my identity.
She swallowed the pill.
I sighed, knowing this wasn’t a social call. As Arthur’s cousin and right–hand man, Lewis had been investigating me since I’d entered Arthur’s life. The timing of his message, coming just hours after my Dr. Wilson revelation, couldn’t be coincidence.
I closed my eyes briefly. My carefully constructed walls were beginning to crumble. How much longer could I keep my separate lives from colliding?
“I don’t want your charity,” he said, turning to me. “And I don’t want you anywhere near my wife. Is that clear?”
“What are you suggesting, sir?”
“Get out,” he said coldly. “And take your worthless pills with you.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, taking the phone from her trembling hands. “This photo… it’s not real.”
My phone buzzed with a text from Lewis Sterling: “Need to speak with you. Urgent.”
She stared at the small white pill in her palm, aware she was taking an enormous risk. This could be nothing–or worse, it could harm her.
Philip shifted uncomfortably, “Should I inform Mr. Sterling?”
One pill twice daily with food, Elara had said. But food was the last thing on Beatrice’s mind as she twisted open the cap with shaking fingers.
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30 Chapter 30 – The Forged Photo and the Discarded Curo
Her confused eyes searched mine. “Photo–what?”
I bit back a sharp retort. “It’s for her cough. It will help.”
Sure enough, across town in his office, Lewis was connecting dots I’d hoped would remain separate.
Lewis Sterling frowned at the report his assistant had just handed him.
“Grandma, you should rest,” he said. “Let’s get you back home.”
Later that night, in her hospital room, Beatrice Hayes struggled to breathe. Each cough tore through her chest like fire, leaving her gasping and weak. The medication the doctors had prescribed did little to ease her suffering.
He studied me for a long moment. “For someone who claims to hate liars, you seem to
have many secrets.”
“Not until I understand what’s happening,” she insisted, her gaze fixed on me. “Elara, who gave me this picture if not you?”
Arthur took the phone from my hands, examining the image. His eyes narrowed slightly, the only indication that he found something amiss.
Old Mrs. Sterling frowned. “What do you mean it’s not real? You sent it to me yourself,
dear.”
With that cryptic warning, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my
confusion.
“This is precisely why she doesn’t need visitors,” he said pointedly, looking directly at
- me.
“And what’s that?” He strode forward, snatching the bottle from the nightstand. “Are you trying to poison my wife now?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Such a small thing.”
I looked past him to Beatrice, whose eyes were filled with apology and something else -desperation. She needed that medicine, whether Alistair believed it or not.
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“Didn’t you?” His eyes were calculating, assessing. “First you claim to be Dr. Wilson, now there’s a mysterious photo connecting you to the Dubois family. What game are you playing, Elara?”
“Alistair!” Beatrice cried.
“I was just leaving,” I said, stepping away from the bed.
“Something I developed,” I said, careful not to reveal too much. “It should help with the inflammation in your lungs.”
“Or she’s somehow connected to Dr. Wilson,” Philip finished. “But that’s absurd, isn’t it? She’s just the illegitimate daughter of the Dubois family.”
She turned, surprise evident on her tired face. “Elara? What are you doing here?”
“I’ll look into it,” he said quietly.
Unaware of Lewis’s suspicions, I packed a small bag with medicine I’d developed specifically for Beatrice’s condition. It had taken years of research, countless trials, and a deep understanding of her unique symptoms–knowledge I’d gained through careful observation during my years in the Dubois household.
Lewis tapped his fingers against his desk. “Is she? We’ve found very little information about her past. No birth certificate, minimal school records, almost like someone went to great lengths to erase her existence.”
We fell into silence, the weight of years of unspoken words between us. There was so much I wanted to ask her–about the photo, about her reaction to my revelation, about the strange connection Old Mrs. Sterling seemed convinced we shared.
The hospital was quiet when I arrived. I’d timed my visit deliberately, knowing Alistair would be at his evening business meeting and Fiona would be dining with Caleb.
“Crystal clear,” I said, meeting his gaze steadily before walking out.
She eyed the unmarked container skeptically. “What is it?”
As I left the hospital, my phone buzzed again. Another text from Lewis: “My office.
Tomorrow. 9 AM.”
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Philip Mercer nodded. “Yes, sir. Elara Dubois was at Riverview Restaurant yesterday at precisely the same time the Dubois family had their meeting with Dr. Wilson–who, as you know, never showed up.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. I risked a glance at Beatrice, who had turned her face away, her fingers nervously plucking at her blanket.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Lewis leaned back in his chair. “So either she was there by coincidence…”
“I brought you something.” I approached her bed cautiously, removing the small bottle from my bag. “For your cough.”
I slipped into Beatrice’s room, relieved to find her alone.
With trembling hands, she reached for the call button, then hesitated. What could the doctors do that they hadn’t already tried? Years of specialists and treatments had yielded no results.
“No, I didn’t.” I studied the image closer, noticing the telltale signs of manipulation around the edges of our figures. “This is photoshopped.”
Beatrice reached for the bottle, her fingers brushing against mine. The brief contact sent an unexpected warmth through me.
“It wasn’t small to me.”
“Everyone has secrets,” I countered. “Even you.”
Something flickered in his eyes–not anger, but something more complex. “Be careful, Elara. You’re stepping into dangerous territory.”
“Alistair, please,” Beatrice protested weakly. “She was just bringing me medicine.”
His eyes darted from me to the pill bottle, then back to me. “What are you doing here?”
Before I could respond, Arthur appeared beside his grandmother, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“But why would anyone do such a thing?” the elderly woman asked, genuinely puzzled.
Old Mrs. Sterling patted my hand. “Well, whoever sent it must have known something I didn’t.” She glanced between Beatrice and me. “The resemblance is uncanny, you know.
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30 Chapter 30 The Forged Photo and the Discarded Cure
Around the eyes especially.”
Nothing made sense.
785
Carefully, mindful of the IV in her arm, Beatrice slipped from her bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she made her way to the trash can. She reached in, retrieving
the small bottle.
“You developed it?” Her eyes searched mine. “As Dr. Wilson?”
“Why would you help me?” she asked quietly. “After how this family has treated you?”
She glanced at the trash can where her husband had discarded Elara’s pills hours earlier. Alistair was asleep in the chair beside her bed, his breathing deep and even–so unlike her own tortured gasps.
He thrust the bottle at me, but when I didn’t move to take it, he walked to the trash
can and dropped it in with deliberate force.
“I think that’s enough excitement for one day,” Alistair Dubois interjected, his voice
cold. “My wife needs rest.
“It’s been digitally altered,” I explained gently, glancing over at Beatrice who watched us with an unreadable expression. “Someone combined two separate photos to make it look like we were together.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Because you were kind to me when no one else
was.”
I stared at the photograph in Old Mrs. Sterling’s hands, my mind racing. The image showed me and Beatrice standing together in a garden, smiling like we were the closest of family–a moment that had never happened.
“I’m not suggesting anything yet.” Lewis closed the file. “But I find it interesting that she appears in Arthur’s life just as Sterling Energy is negotiating with Dr. Wilson, don’t
you?”
But as another cough ripped through her body, bringing tears to her eyes and sending pain radiating through her chest, Beatrice made her decision.
Later that evening, I sat in my small apartment, researching Beatrice’s condition. Her chronic cough had worried me for years, but I’d never been in a position to help. Now, as Dr. Wilson, I had resources and knowledge that could make a difference–if only
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they’d let me.
I stepped back, knowing when I wasn’t wanted. “I’ll go.”
Lewis thought for a moment. “No. Not until we have something concrete. Keep digging.”
“Quite a performance in there,” came Arthur’s voice, startling me from my thoughts.
I nodded, placing the bottle on her nightstand. “One pill twice daily with food. It’s completely safe–I promise.”
“I’ll see you soon, dear,” Old Mrs. Sterling called as Arthur gently guided her toward the
door. “We have much to discuss!”
“Mrs. Dubois?” I called softly.
As if on cue, Beatrice began to cough–a deep, rattling sound that shook her entire frame. Alistair was at her side instantly, holding a glass of water to her lips.
Another coughing fit seized her, this one worse than before. She pressed a tissue to her mouth, pulling it away to find it spotted with blood.
Her gaze returned to the trash can.
Before I could form the words, the door opened. Alistair Dubois stood in the doorway, his meeting evidently finished early.
“Medicine?” He scoffed. “From her? The girl can barely take care of herself, let alone prescribe medication.”
Elara’s words echoed in her mind: “It should help with the inflammation in your lungs.”
I straightened. “I had nothing to do with that photo.”
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