Chapter 4 - The Psychiatrist’s Ledger and the Forgotten WardThe rain had cleared, leaving the city skyline gleaming under a pale, unforgiving sun. Emma’s chauffeured town car pulled up outside St. Jude’s Sanatorium, a crumbling, brutalist stone monolith tucked away in the pine forests three hours north of the city.
According to the encrypted tip and Celeste’s tearful confession, this was where the truth of her father’s disappearance had been buried.
Emma walked through the heavy oak doors, her heels clicking rhythmically against the checkered floor. The reception desk was abandoned, smelling of antiseptic and damp dust. She pulled out a master access badge—provided by Marcus from internal county records—and swiped through the security turnstile leading down to the basement archives.
Rows upon rows of steel shelving held decades of patient logs. Emma walked down aisle fourteen, her gloved fingers trailing along the spines of rusted binders until she found the year: 1998.
She pulled binder 98-B off the shelf and laid it on a metal examination table beneath the harsh fluorescent light.
Page 112: Patient: Arthur Sterling. Admission Date: October 14, 1998. Diagnosis: Induced Paranoid Schizophrenia (Chemically Induced).
Emma’s breath hitched in her throat as she read the attending physician’s notes. Her father hadn't died in a boating accident. He had been drugged, declared legally incompetent by a corrupt probate judge—none other than Victor Vance’s late brother—and quietly committed to this private facility while Nathan’s family systematically stripped the Sterling estate of its assets.
And right at the bottom of the page, in bold ink, was the discharge status: “Transferred to Ward 7, Maximum Security Wing, under direct orders of Director Victor Vance. Status: Living.”
“Looking for someone, my dear?”
A raspy, elderly voice echoed from the end of the dark aisle. Emma spun around, her hand tightening around the heavy metal flashlight in her pocket.
May you like
An old man in a faded orderly’s uniform stepped out of the shadows, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. His milky eyes stared directly into hers.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” the old man wheezed, smiling faintly. “And your father’s stubborn jaw. He’s been waiting in Room 704 for a very long time, Emma. But you’ll have to hurry. Victor knows you’re here.”
