CHAPTER 2 — THE WOMAN WEARING MY COAT
CHAPTER 2 — THE WOMAN WEARING MY COAT
By sunrise, nobody was allowed to enter the NICU without being cleared by my grandfather's security team.
Not nurses.
Not administrators.
Not doctors.
Not even family.
The policy was humiliating for everyone except me.
For the first time since Noah and Elise had been born, I could breathe without wondering who might be standing outside the glass.
But the question remained.
Who had used my grandfather's identity to access my son's medical file?
And why?
I sat beside Noah's incubator with my arms folded across my hospital gown.
My eyes burned from lack of sleep.
Every few seconds, I looked at the monitor.
His heartbeat was steady.
His oxygen level had improved.
Elise was stable too.
Two miracles.
Two tiny lives surrounded by machines.
I reached through the incubator opening and touched Noah's foot.
“Mommy's here.”
His fingers curled.
I smiled.
Then the NICU door opened.
A nurse entered.
She stopped when she saw the security guard.
“I'm here for the morning medication rounds.”
The guard checked her identification.
She nodded.
He allowed her through.
I watched her carefully.
Maybe I was becoming paranoid.
Maybe I should have been.
Because five minutes later, my grandfather's head of security entered the room.
“Ms. Vance.”
I looked up.
“Yes?”
“We have a problem.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
He placed a photograph on the table beside me.
I looked at it.
Vanessa.
Standing outside the hospital.
Still wearing my ivory coat.
My coat.
The one with the initials N and E stitched inside.
“How did she get back in?”
“She didn't.”
He placed another photograph beside the first.
Vanessa was standing in the parking garage.
Then another.
She was inside a service elevator.
Then another.
She was entering a restricted hallway.
My blood ran cold.
“When were these taken?”
“Between 1:48 and 2:11 this morning.”
The same night someone accessed Noah's file.
I looked at him.
“Where is she now?”
“That's the problem.”
He tapped the final photograph.
“She disappeared.”
My grandfather entered ten minutes later.
He looked furious.
Not loudly furious.
That was worse.
His anger was quiet.
Controlled.
“Tell me everything.”
The security chief handed him the photographs.
My grandfather studied each one.
“Who authorized her access?”
“No one.”
“Then how did she enter?”
“She used an employee access card.”
My grandfather looked up.
“Whose?”
“We're still identifying it.”
I stood.
“She was here when Noah's file was accessed.”
“Yes.”
“Then find her.”
“We're trying.”
I looked at my grandfather.
“She came here wearing my coat.”
He glanced at me.
“Why does that matter?”
I touched the fabric.
“Because this coat has something inside.”
He frowned.
I reached beneath the collar.
My fingers found the small stitched initials.
N.
E.
Then I remembered something.
When the coat had been delivered, there had been a small electronic tag sewn into the lining.
I had assumed it was a security device from the designer.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I looked at my grandfather.
“Can we scan it?”
He immediately called security.
Five minutes later, a technician arrived.
He carefully examined the coat.
Then his expression changed.
“Mr. Vance.”
“What?”
“There is a micro-transmitter inside.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“A tracker?”
“Yes.”
My grandfather looked at me.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Who gave you the coat?”
“Grant.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
The technician continued examining it.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The device isn't transmitting anymore.”
“Why?”
“It was deactivated remotely.”
My grandfather's eyes narrowed.
“When?”
The technician checked.
“Last night.”
I felt cold.
“After Vanessa wore it?”
“Yes.”
I looked at my grandfather.
“So she didn't steal my coat.”
“She was using it.”
“For what?”
The technician turned the device over.
“There's a storage chip.”
I stared.
“What does it contain?”
“We don't know yet.”
My grandfather nodded.
“Extract it.”
The chip contained seventeen files.
Photos.
Dates.
Hospital room numbers.
Medical records.
And one document.
My name was at the top.
EMMA VANCE — PREGNANCY SURVEILLANCE
I felt sick.
I scrolled.
The report had been created six weeks before my twins were born.
There were entries for every doctor's appointment.
My blood pressure.
My weight.
The babies' estimated weights.
My medication.
Even my private conversations with doctors.
I looked at my grandfather.
“Someone was monitoring me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
I opened another file.
NOAH VANCE — GENETIC PRIORITY
Another.
ELISE VANCE — GENETIC PRIORITY
My hands trembled.
“Why are my children labeled like this?”
My grandfather took the tablet.
He read silently.
Then he closed his eyes.
“There's something I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“Beacon Crest has a genetic research division.”
“I know.”
“You don't know what it studies.”
I waited.
“Rare hereditary disorders.”
I frowned.
“My children aren't sick.”
“No.”
“Then why would they be interested in them?”
My grandfather looked at me.
“Because of your family.”
I didn't understand.
“What about my family?”
“Your grandmother carried a genetic mutation.”
“What kind?”
“A rare one.”
“Was she sick?”
“No.”
“Then why does it matter?”
He hesitated.
“Because it was valuable.”
The word made my stomach turn.
“Valuable to whom?”
“Pharmaceutical companies.”
I stared at him.
“You're telling me someone wants my children's DNA because of a mutation?”
“Yes.”
“Does Grant know?”
“I don't know.”
I remembered his behavior.
The divorce.
The insistence that I sign immediately.
The way he had talked about the babies as if they were liabilities.
Maybe he wasn't simply abandoning us.
Maybe he was trying to remove himself from something.
Or perhaps he was trying to gain access to it.
I couldn't tell anymore.
At noon, the hospital's legal department requested a meeting.
My grandfather insisted on attending.
Three executives sat across from us.
The first was Dr. Martin Hale.
I recognized him from the photograph.
He smiled politely.
“Emma, I'm sorry you're dealing with this.”
I didn't smile.
“You accessed my file.”
His expression froze.
“I did not.”
“Your account did.”
“My credentials may have been compromised.”
“Convenient.”
He shifted.
My grandfather leaned forward.
“Dr. Hale, who has administrative access to genetic records?”
“Several people.”
“Names.”
Hale hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
He swallowed.
“Dr. Victor Lang.”
My grandfather's expression changed.
“Lang?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Hale looked down.
“Vacation.”
“Since when?”
“Three weeks.”
My grandfather looked at me.
Three weeks.
Exactly when the surveillance had begun.
I asked:
“Where is he now?”
Hale hesitated.
“We don't know.”
I felt a chill.
“Then why haven't you reported him missing?”
Nobody answered.
My grandfather stood.
“Meeting over.”
Hale rose quickly.
“Mr. Vance—”
“My granddaughter's medical information was stolen.”
He looked at the others.
“My great-grandchildren's records were accessed.”
His voice became deadly quiet.
“And one of your senior physicians has disappeared.”
Hale's face went pale.
“You're suspending operations.”
“What?”
“Until I know who is inside my organization.”
“You can't shut down the network.”
“I own it.”
Silence.
Hale sat down.
My grandfather looked at him.
“You have twenty-four hours to give me every access log, every security recording, and every financial transaction connected to Dr. Lang.”
“And if I can't?”
“Then you won't be here tomorrow.”
That afternoon, I received another visitor.
Vanessa.
She was escorted into my room by security.
She no longer wore my coat.
Her hair was wet.
Her face was pale.
She looked nothing like the confident woman who had walked into the NICU beside Grant.
I stared at her.
“Why are you here?”
She looked at the guards.
“Can I speak to Emma alone?”
“No.”
My grandfather's security chief answered immediately.
Vanessa swallowed.
“Then I need to say this in front of everyone.”
I nodded.
She looked at me.
“I didn't know.”
“Didn't know what?”
“What Grant was doing.”
I almost laughed.
“You were pregnant with my husband's child.”
“Yes.”
“You wore my clothes.”
“Yes.”
“You stood beside him while he called my babies a burden.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
“And now you want me to believe you're innocent?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“I want you to believe I'm scared.”
I studied her.
“Of Grant?”
She shook her head.
“Of the people behind him.”
My grandfather's security chief stepped closer.
“Explain.”
Vanessa looked at me.
“Grant didn't ask me to steal your medical records.”
“Then who did?”
“I don't know his name.”
“Try.”
She closed her eyes.
“He called himself Mr. Gray.”
My grandfather's face changed.
I noticed.
“You know him.”
“No.”
It was too quick.
I looked at him.
“Grandfather?”
He didn't answer.
Vanessa continued.
“He contacted me four months ago.”
“What did he want?”
“You.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He said Grant needed to divorce you.”
“Why?”
“He said you would never give Grant what he wanted while you were married to him.”
“What does he want?”
Vanessa looked toward the door.
Then whispered:
“Your children.”
My blood ran cold.
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“Then tell me everything.”
Vanessa's voice broke.
“He wanted me to make sure you believed Grant hated the babies.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He wanted you emotionally destroyed.”
“Why?”
“So you would sign away your parental rights.”
The room became silent.
My grandfather's hands tightened into fists.
I whispered:
“Why would anyone want my children?”
Vanessa looked at me.
“Because they aren't ordinary heirs.”
“What does that mean?”
She began crying.
“I don't know.”
“Vanessa.”
“I swear.”
She covered her face.
“I only knew one thing.”
“What?”
“He said if you ever discovered why the twins mattered…”
She looked at me.
“…people would kill to get them.”
That night, I couldn't stop thinking about her words.
I watched Noah and Elise through the NICU glass.
They were sleeping.
Peaceful.
Unaware of everything happening around them.
I placed my hand against the glass.
“I won't let anyone hurt you.”
A voice came behind me.
“You shouldn't make promises you can't keep.”
I turned.
Dr. Martin Hale stood in the corridor.
Alone.
I froze.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked at the incubators.
“I came to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For what is about to happen.”
My heart started racing.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“You need to leave Beacon Crest.”
“Why?”
“Because this hospital is no longer safe.”
“You said that before.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
He stepped closer.
“There are people inside this building who don't work for your grandfather.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
“I can't tell you.”
“You accessed my file.”
“No.”
“Your account did.”
“Yes.”
“Then prove it.”
He looked at me.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because the person using my credentials has something on me.”
“What?”
“My daughter.”
Silence.
“They have my daughter.”
I stared at him.
“Who?”
He looked toward the security cameras.
Then whispered:
“Mr. Gray.”
My grandfather's security team arrived behind me.
Hale stepped back.
“Listen to me.”
“What?”
“Don't trust the hospital administrator.”
“Who?”
He swallowed.
“Not Hale.”
I frowned.
“You're Hale.”
His eyes filled with fear.
“I know.”
Then he looked directly at me.
“But I am not the person you think I am.”
Before I could ask what he meant, every light in the corridor went out.
The NICU doors locked automatically.
The monitors inside began flashing red.
An alarm screamed through the building.
I ran toward the glass.
“Noah!”
A security guard grabbed me.
“Ma'am, stay back!”
“My children!”
Inside the NICU, nurses were scrambling.
The incubators remained powered.
But the electronic doors had sealed.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A message appeared.
YOU WERE WARNED.
Another message followed.
THE COAT WAS NEVER FOR VANESSA.
I stared at the screen.
Then a third message appeared.
IT WAS FOR YOU.
I looked down at my hospital gown.
My heart stopped.
Someone had placed a small white envelope inside my bed.
I hadn't noticed it before.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed me sleeping in my hospital room.
Taken from inside the room.
On the back, someone had written:
WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU SINCE BEFORE THE TWINS WERE BORN.
My hands began shaking.
Then I noticed the date printed beneath the photograph.
Three months before I had ever entered Beacon Crest.
Three months before I had even known I was pregnant.
I looked toward my grandfather.
“Someone knew.”
He took the photograph.
His face went completely still.
“What?”
I pointed at the timestamp.
He whispered:
“Emma…”
“What?”
He turned the photograph over.
There was one final line.
ASK YOUR GRANDFATHER WHY HE NEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT YOUR MOTHER'S LAST PATIENT.
I looked at him.
“My mother's last patient?”
He said nothing.
“Grandfather?”
His eyes met mine.
And I knew immediately.
He had been hiding something from me.
Something about my mother.
Something about Beacon Crest.
And possibly something about my children.
“Who was my mother's last patient?”
My grandfather looked toward the locked NICU.
Then he whispered:
“The first child I ever lost.”
I stared at him.
“What child?”
Before he could answer, the hospital announcement system came alive.
A woman's voice echoed through the corridor.
Calm.
Professional.
Familiar.
“Security breach in neonatal intensive care.”
I looked at the NICU.
The doors were still locked.
The nurses were trapped inside.
My babies were inside.
Then the voice continued:
“All authorized personnel are instructed to evacuate immediately.”
My grandfather grabbed my arm.
“Emma.”
I turned.
“What?”
His face was pale.
“That isn't the hospital's emergency system.”
“Then whose voice is it?”
He looked toward the ceiling.
“The woman who died seven years ago.”
And suddenly I understood.
The person inside Beacon Crest wasn't merely using stolen identities.
May you like
They were using the voices of dead people.
And they had just taken control of the NICU.
