Chapter 2 - The Stolen RecordsMarcus drove me straight to Mercy General Hospital, refusing to take no for an answer despite my state of deep shock.
"I saw her hit you," Marcus said, his hands tight on the steering wheel. "I saw you drop under that water and stay down for almost three minutes while they stood there laughing. That wasn't a family dispute, Miss Brooks. That was attempted murder."
"They have the police in their pocket," I said, my voice hollow, staring out at the passing streetlights of Charlotte. "My father is the senior partner at Brooks & Vance Legal. My mother sits on the hospital board at Mercy General..."
My words trailed off. The hospital board.
A chilling realization struck me like a lightning bolt. Dr. Harrison—the obstetrician who had been handling my pregnancy for the past eight months—was appointed directly by my mother's committee.
When we arrived at the emergency room, Marcus helped me inside. The ER doctor on duty, Dr. Vance (no relation to my father's partner, fortunately), immediately rushed me into an examination room after seeing my pale skin and signs of severe shock and hypothermia.
"We need an immediate ultrasound and abdominal CT scan," Dr. Vance ordered the head nurse.
An hour later, Dr. Vance walked back into the room, holding a file. His expression was a horrifying mix of confusion and pity.
"Miss Brooks... I've reviewed your scans," he began slowly. "Physically, your uterus shows significant signs of recent hormonal stimulation and slight distension, but... there is no fetus. Furthermore, there are trace amounts of heavy synthetic paralyzing agents and high-grade hallucinogens in your blood system."
My breath hitched. "What did you say?"
"Someone has been administering a combination of Bungarotoxin derivatives and concentrated hormonal mimicry drugs to you," Dr. Vance revealed, leaning in closely. "Drugs designed to mimic late-stage pregnancy symptoms while suppressing muscle control—and causing severe retrograde amnesia and sensory distortion."
The room spun. "No... no, that's impossible! I felt my baby kick! I saw the ultrasound scans every month at Dr. Harrison's clinic!"
"Did you ever see the baby on the screen directly without Dr. Harrison turning the monitor toward herself first?" Dr. Vance asked gently.
I froze. Memories flooded back. Every single appointment, my mother had insisted on coming along. Every single appointment, Dr. Harrison had kept the monitor angled toward her and my mother, claiming the screen had a glare, showing me printed black-and-white photos after the appointment was over.
It wasn't my baby on those photos. It had never been my baby.
"They were drugging me," I whispered, the horror washing over me in suffocating waves. "They made me believe I was pregnant... but why? Why put me through eight months of a fake pregnancy?"
"There's something else," Dr. Vance added, pulling out a printout of my blood work. "The heavy sedatives in your system didn't just come from ingested medication. They were injected. And according to your medical registry, a medical record update was filed three hours ago under your name at Mercy General Main Clinic."
He handed me the paper.
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My eyes scanned the medical release form. It stated that I, Sarah Brooks, had officially surrendered all maternal rights to a surrogate infant born via private home delivery to my twin sister, Emily Brooks—and assigned my entire $18,000 trust fund, along with my late grandmother's $2.5 million inheritance trust, directly to Emily's legal guardianship due to my 'certified mental incapacitation.'
The hit to my stomach wasn't meant to kill a baby. It was the trigger signal to stage my breakdown and activate the legal conservatorship.
