Chapter 3 - A Name That Shouldn’t Be There
Isabella wanted to drive to the clinic.
Elias called the police instead.
By dawn, they knew Lena Ortiz had been found conscious in her office. She had a concussion and a broken wrist. Her laptop and two boxes of records were gone.
“She needs protection,” Isabella said.
“She has officers outside her room,” Elias replied. “For now, she’s safer if you stay away.”
Isabella hated the phrase for now. It had followed her through her son’s short life. He was stable for now. His breathing was better for now.
She called an attorney named Mara Chen, who had handled a dispute for the foundation years ago and had never once softened bad news.
Mara arrived at the apartment carrying coffee and a legal pad.
“I can help you separate from Dante,” she said. “I can help you report the foundation transfer. The hospital record is a different matter. We follow the evidence.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Mara’s gaze fell on the bracelet in Isabella’s hand. “Because a number ending in two doesn’t tell us your son survived.”
Isabella closed her fingers around the band. “Lena was attacked after she looked it up.”
“That tells us someone cares what she found.”
Together, they called the county records office. The clerk could not discuss a sealed transfer over the phone, but confirmed that a record existed under Isabella’s maiden name, Bellini.
Mara asked for the filing date.
The clerk gave it.
It was three years and eleven hours after Isabella had entered the hospital to give birth.
Isabella sat down.
“Can a transfer be filed that fast?” she asked.
“Some can,” Mara said. “Depends what was transferred.”
They filed an emergency request to see the record. Then Mara checked the foundation accounts while Elias traced the eight million dollars.
The money had moved through three companies. The first was listed as a construction supplier. The second claimed to buy medical equipment. The third had no public office and an address belonging to a vacant lot.
“The clinic was supposed to serve families who couldn’t afford care,” Isabella said. “They stood onstage last winter and showed pictures of it.”
Elias turned his laptop toward her. “Those were drawings. No building permit was ever issued.”
Mara was watching Isabella.
“You have two choices,” she said. “We can give the financial records to investigators today. It may alert whoever attacked Lena. Or we can hold them while we seek the hospital record.”
“How long?”
“Could be days.”
Isabella thought of the parents who had donated twenty dollars at a time because they believed the clinic would open.
“Send the financial records.”
Mara nodded and reached for her phone.
By noon, a state investigator had accepted their report. By two, Dante had called Isabella seventeen times.
At four, a courier delivered an envelope to the apartment building. Elias brought it upstairs unopened.
Inside was a copy of the hospital transfer request.
Most of it was blacked out. One line was visible.
Parent authorizing release: Isabella Bellini Moretti.
Beneath it was a signature that looked like hers.
Mara placed the paper on the table. “We’ll get the original.”
May you like
Isabella turned it over. Someone had written six words on the back.
Ask your husband who took him.
