Chapter 6: What Patricia Knew
Patricia arrived at the hospital at seven the next morning.
She was a small woman with silver hair cut close and reading glasses pushed up on her head.
She carried a leather folio and wore the expression of someone who had already been working for two hours before she walked through the door.
She shook Daniel's hand.
She looked at me in the bed, at the monitors, at my stomach.
"How is she?" she asked Daniel, but she was looking at me.
"Stable," I said.
"Both of us."
She nodded once, pulled a chair to the bedside, and opened her folio.
"I made three calls last night," she said.
"I want to tell you what I found, and then I need you to tell me everything — from the beginning.
Don't leave out anything you think is small."
"Tell us what you found first," Daniel said.
Patricia looked at him.
Then she looked at me.
"Dr.
Alan Mercer.
He lost his medical license four years ago.
Prescription irregularities — that was the official reason.
The real reason involved a civil case that was settled quietly.
A woman in her third trimester." She let that sit for a moment.
"He still operates.
Not as a physician.
He consults.
Privately.
For people who need things done that licensed doctors won't do."
The room was very quiet.
"You're saying my mother hired him," I said.
"I'm saying his name came up in connection with a compound that has appeared in two prior cases involving pregnancy complications that were never fully explained." Patricia's voice was precise and even.
"I'm also saying that the lab results from your bloodwork this morning — which your doctor shared with me after Daniel authorized it — are consistent with what was used in one of those cases."
Daniel's hand found mine on the blanket.
"How long?" I asked.
"Based on the concentration levels — the doctor estimates six to eight weeks of low-dose exposure."
Six to eight weeks.
I thought about the tin.
The weekly visits.
My mother's hands around a teacup, passing it to me with a smile.
*Drink it while it's hot, sweetheart.
It's good for you both.*
"She told me it was herbal," I said.
"She said she'd had it specially made.
For the pregnancy."
"I know," Patricia said.
"And that is exactly what makes this not a family dispute."
She closed her folio.
"What I need from you now is a full account.
Every visit.
Every meal.
Every time the tea was given to you and who was in the room.
I also need the contact information for your cousin Kayla, and I need her to speak to someone I trust before she speaks to anyone in your family."
"She's seventeen," I said.
"I know.
She'll be treated accordingly.
But her testimony — and that recording — are the two most important things you have right now."
I looked at Daniel.
He looked at me.
"There's something else," I said.
"My mother took documents from the scene.
Inheritance documents.
That's what the argument was about."
Patricia's pen stopped moving.
"What kind of inheritance documents?"
"A trust.
My grandmother's estate.
The terms were changing once Lily was born — once she was registered.
My sister and my parents stood to lose a significant portion."
Patricia looked at me for a long moment.
"How significant?"
"Enough," I said, "that my sister kicked me in the stomach in front of witnesses."
Patricia set her pen down.
She folded her hands on top of the folio.
"Rachel," she said.
"I need you to understand something.
What began as a family conflict has evidence of criminal coordination, a known bad actor, deliberate harm to a pregnant woman, and financial motive.
This is no longer something that gets resolved at a kitchen table." She paused.
"Are you prepared for what comes next?"
I thought about Lily.
About six to eight weeks of something dissolving into my tea.
About my mother's face in the doorway the night before — warm, practiced, slightly wounded.
"Yes," I said.
Patricia picked up her pen.
"Then let's start from the beginning."
Outside in the hallway, I heard my mother's voice again.
She was talking to a nurse.
Her tone was soft and worried and utterly convincing.
"We're just so concerned about her.
May you like
She's been under so much stress.
Sometimes stress makes people confused about what they remember."
