Chapter 6: The Doctor Who Knew Too Much
My father read the name three times.
Then he sat down on the edge of the bed as if his legs could no longer support him.
“Marcus,” he whispered.
I stared at the paper.
Dr. Bell had been our family doctor since I was a baby. He had treated me for ear infections, set my wrist after I fell off a bicycle, and sat beside Dad in the hospital when Mom was dying.
He had held my hand at Mom's funeral and promised that I would always have people looking after me.
I had trusted him.
“Maybe it's a different Marcus Bell,” I said.
Dad looked at the page again.
“It's his name. And the clinic's address is written beside it.””
Denise stepped closer.
“I remember Tiffany meeting him.””
Dad's head lifted.
“When?””
“About a month ago. She said she was arranging a routine medical review because you were worried about Ariana's stress levels.””
I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach.
“A medical review?””
Denise nodded.
“She asked me to find Ariana's old school reports and any medical paperwork we had in the filing cabinet. She said the doctor needed background information.””
Dad stared at her.
“And you gave them to her?””
“I gave her the school reports. I didn't know what she intended to do with them.””
“Did she take Ariana to see Dr. Bell?””
Denise hesitated.
“Not that I know of.””
I thought back to the previous month.
Dr. Bell had called the house one afternoon while Dad was away. Tiffany had answered the phone in the kitchen, and when I entered the room, she'd abruptly ended the call.
Later that week, she'd asked whether I had been feeling anxious at school.
I'd said yes, because I had been.
I'd barely slept. I was struggling with algebra. I'd started flinching whenever I heard her footsteps.
She had nodded sympathetically and told me that grief could cause all sorts of problems.
Then she'd asked whether I ever heard voices when I was stressed.
I'd laughed because the question seemed absurd.
Now I remembered the way she'd watched my face.
She hadn't been checking whether I was okay.
She had been collecting information.
“Dad,” I said, “she asked me strange questions about my mental health.””
He looked at me sharply.
“What kind of questions?””
“Whether I heard voices. Whether I thought people were talking about me. Whether I ever felt like someone was following me.””
His expression hardened.
“Did she tell you why?””
“She said she was worried about me.””
Denise covered her mouth.
“Oh, Ariana.””
I looked down at the papers.
“She also asked whether I'd ever taken medication for anxiety.””
Dad frowned.
“Have you?””
“No.””
“Have you ever been diagnosed with anything?””
“No.””
He nodded slowly.
“Then we will find out exactly what she has been doing.””
He took out his phone and called Dr. Bell's office.
It was after nine, but the clinic's after-hours service answered. Dad identified himself, explained that he needed to speak with the doctor about an urgent concern, and requested a callback.
Then he called his attorney again.
I sat on the bed while he described the documents he'd found.
The attorney told him not to sign anything, not to confront anyone else until the paperwork had been reviewed, and to preserve every document exactly as it was.
Dad listened carefully.
“Yes,” he said.
“We'll keep everything.””
When he ended the call, he looked at me.
“I'm going to have the documents examined. We'll also contact the bank and make sure no one has accessed your trust without authorization.””
“Can she take my money?””
“Not because of these papers alone. Your inheritance has protections in place, and we're going to verify every one of them.””
I nodded, trying to absorb his words.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me.
“Did you really sign anything?””
Dad shook his head.
“Not that I remember.””
He looked down at the copied signature.
“But I did sign some wedding-related paperwork last month. Tiffany said it was a change to the insurance beneficiary forms.””
My heart lurched.
“What?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“I was exhausted. I had just returned from a business trip, and she had several documents waiting for me. She said they were routine updates.””
“Did you read them?””
“I read the first page. I didn't read every attachment.””
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Dad had not deliberately signed away my inheritance.
But he had trusted Tiffany enough to sign documents he hadn't fully reviewed.
And she had apparently used that trust to get what she wanted.
“I should have been more careful,” he said quietly.
I reached for his hand.
“You didn't know.””
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't bear.
“I should have known.””
Before I could answer, his phone rang.
The caller ID showed Dr. Bell's name.
Dad answered immediately and put the call on speaker.
“Marcus, thank you for calling back.””
“Of course, Khalil. Is everything all right?””
The doctor's voice sounded exactly as I remembered it: warm, calm, reassuring.
That made the next few minutes even worse.
“No,” Dad said.
“I need to ask you about a psychological evaluation involving my daughter.””
There was a brief pause.
“What evaluation?””
Dad glanced at the papers.
“Tiffany told Denise you were conducting a medical review. I found documents suggesting a petition might be filed to have Ariana declared mentally unstable.””
The silence on the other end lasted too long.
Then Dr. Bell cleared his throat.
“I think there may be a misunderstanding.””
“What kind of misunderstanding?””
“Tiffany contacted me because she was concerned about Ariana's adjustment to the upcoming marriage. She described some behavioral difficulties and asked whether an assessment might be appropriate.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“Did you evaluate my daughter?””
“No formal evaluation.””
“Did you examine her medical records?””
Another pause.
“I reviewed some historical notes.””
“Which notes?””
“Her medical history.””
Dad leaned forward.
“Did you give Tiffany copies of my daughter's medical records?””
“No, not directly.””
“Then how did she obtain them?””
“I can't discuss another person's access to medical information without reviewing the circumstances.””
“Marcus, I'm her father.””
“And I'm her physician. There are confidentiality rules I have to follow.””
Dad's face darkened.
“Don't lecture me about confidentiality while refusing to tell me whether someone has been using my daughter's medical history to fabricate a case against her.””
“I never fabricated anything.””
“Did you write a report claiming she was mentally unstable?””
“No.””
“Did you recommend that she be declared incapable of making decisions?””
“No. I would never make such a recommendation without an appropriate clinical assessment.””
Dad looked at me.
I felt a strange mixture of relief and dread.
At least the doctor wasn't admitting to writing the report.
But he hadn't explained the handwritten note.
“Then why does your name appear on these documents?”” Dad asked.
Silence.
Finally, Dr. Bell said, “I think we should discuss this in person.””
“Why?””
“Because I need to understand what documents you're referring to before I can respond.””
Dad's voice became cold.
“You can understand them right now. I have a note that says the medical records are already arranged, and your name appears beside it.””
A long silence followed.
Then Dr. Bell spoke more quietly.
“Khalil, please don't make any decisions tonight. Let me review my files and call you in the morning.””
“Did you provide Tiffany with information about Ariana?””
“I can't answer that without checking.””
“Did you?””
“I need to check my records.””
Dad ended the call.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Denise said, “He knows something.””
Dad looked at her.
“Yes.””
“Do you think he helped Tiffany?””
“I don't know yet.””
He gathered the papers into a neat stack.
“But I intend to find out.””
I looked at the note again.
The medical records are already arranged.
The words seemed to crawl across the page.
If Dr. Bell hadn't written a report, someone else might have.
If he hadn't provided the records, Tiffany might have found another way to obtain them.
And if she had been planning to make me look mentally unstable, how far had she already gone?
A knock sounded at the front door.
Dad glanced at the clock.
“That must be my attorney.””
He left the bedroom.
I followed him downstairs with Denise close behind.
A tall man in a charcoal suit stood on the porch, holding a leather briefcase. His name was Robert Hayes, and he had represented my father in business matters for nearly fifteen years.
Dad ushered him into the living room.
“Robert, thank you for coming.””
Robert looked at the broken photograph, the scattered clothes, and my swollen eyes.
“What happened?””
Dad gave him a brief explanation.
Robert listened without interrupting. When Dad showed him the copied signature, he removed his glasses and examined the page under the light.
“This is concerning,” he said.
“Can you tell whether it's authentic?”” Dad asked.
“I can tell you that it should not be treated as proof that you signed the document. We need the original, and we need to determine how this copy was produced.””
He turned to the proposed guardianship papers.
“Who prepared these?””
“We don't know.””
“And has anything been filed with the court?””
“Not that we're aware of.””
Robert nodded.
“Then the first priority is to verify that. The second is to protect Ariana's trust and make sure no one has authority they shouldn't have.””
He examined the medical notes next.
His expression changed.
“Where did this come from?””
“The false panel in Tiffany's desk,” I said.
Robert looked at me.
“You found it?””
I nodded.
He studied the handwritten note.
“This reference to medical records is particularly important. We need to preserve it and establish who wrote it.””
Dad paced toward the window.
“I want the wedding canceled.””
Robert looked up.
“That's your decision. But before you confront Tiffany again, I'd advise you to secure your financial accounts, review every document she asked you to sign, and make sure Ariana has appropriate legal protection.””
“Do that,” Dad said.
“All of it.””
Robert took out a notebook.
“Have you signed anything in the last two months that you haven't reviewed carefully?””
Dad hesitated.
“Yes.””
“What?””
“Insurance forms. Wedding paperwork. Some documents related to household finances.””
Robert's pen stopped moving.
“Did Tiffany present them to you?””
“Yes.””
“Did you keep copies?””
“I don't know.””
Robert exhaled slowly.
“Then we need to obtain copies from every institution involved.””
I sat on the couch, feeling as though the floor beneath me had become unstable.
The wedding was supposed to be a celebration.
Now it seemed to be the deadline for something I couldn't yet understand.
Robert continued asking questions, and Dad answered each one.
Then Denise suddenly spoke.
“There may be another document.””
Everyone turned toward her.
“What document?”” Dad asked.
Denise looked terrified.
“Tiffany showed me a letter two weeks ago. She said it was proof that Ariana's mother had wanted someone else to raise her if anything happened to Khalil.””
My entire body went cold.
“What?””
Dad stared at Denise.
“My wife never made any such arrangement.””
“I know that now,” Denise whispered.
“But Tiffany said the letter had been found among your old family papers.””
I stood up.
“My mother wanted me to live with Dad. She told me that herself.””
“I believe you,” Dad said immediately.
Denise nodded.
“Tiffany said the letter would make everything easier after the wedding. She told me not to mention it because it would upset Ariana.””
Robert closed his notebook.
“Did you see the letter?””
“Yes.””
“Where is it now?””
Denise's eyes moved toward the staircase.
“In Tiffany's bedroom. She keeps it in a blue folder inside the locked jewelry cabinet.””
Dad stared at her.
“Why didn't you tell me this before?””
“Because I thought it was real,” Denise said, tears slipping down her face.
“And because Tiffany told me your wife had changed her mind shortly before she died.””
My father looked as though someone had struck him.
Mom had spent her final months fighting to stay alive.
She'd talked about my future, about school, about the places she wanted me to visit when I was older.
She had never told me she wanted another family to raise me.
And she'd certainly never said she wanted Tiffany to replace her.
Robert stood.
“We won't touch anything that could compromise the investigation. I'll arrange for the relevant records to be obtained properly.””
Dad nodded.
But I could see the storm gathering behind his eyes.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
Dad opened it.
I watched his expression change as he read.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
He turned the screen toward Robert.
The message contained a photograph of a document.
At the top was my mother's name.
Below it was a statement claiming that she had requested a change to the arrangements for my care.
And at the bottom was a signature.
My mother's signature.
I recognized it instantly.
It looked exactly like the handwriting on the birthday cards she'd left me.
But beneath the signature was a date.
A date that made my father grip the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.
The document claimed Mom had signed it *four months after her funeral*.
Robert stared at the screen.
Then he looked at Dad.
“Who sent this?””
Dad checked the number.
No name.
No contact information.
Just one final message beneath the photograph.
Ask Tiffany who really wanted Ariana gone before the wedding.
May you like
And before Dad could respond, another message appeared.
Because she wasn't the one who started this.
