Chapter 3 - My Brother’s Name
I read Nathan’s signature three times.
The first time as a physician.
The second as his sister.
The third as someone who had just realized this case had been brought to me on purpose.
Nathan Jenkins, M.D.
The signature looked good.
Too good.
The long downward stroke in the J.
The tight N.
The little slash he used after his middle initial.
I had seen it on birthday cards, prescriptions, old fellowship paperwork and the consent forms from the hospital where he died.
“This was copied,” I said.
Clara nodded.
“Probably.”
Marcus stared at the screen.
“Who knows enough about you to know your brother was a doctor?”
“That isn’t exactly private.”
But his specialty was.
And his signature certainly wasn’t.
I told Clara to preserve the uploaded document exactly as it existed in the record.
Then I asked security to bring Martha back.
She entered with her chin high.
No tears now.
She had rebuilt herself.
I turned the monitor toward her.
“Who gave you this?”
She didn’t look surprised.
That told me enough.
“This is Leo’s orthopedic instruction.”
“My brother was not an orthopedist.”
Silence.
“He was a cardiologist.”
Martha shrugged.
“Then maybe the clinic made a mistake.”
“My brother died three years ago.”
For the first time since the cast opened, genuine shock crossed Marcus’s face.
Martha remained still.
I stood.
“You used a dead physician’s signature to prevent emergency staff from removing your son’s cast.”
“I didn’t create that.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“You uploaded it.”
“Someone sent it to me.”
“Who?”
“My husband.”
Leo stirred.
“Dad didn’t.”
Martha spun.
“You don’t know what your father did!”
Leo shrank against the pillow.
I stepped between them.
“Do not shout at him.”
Martha laughed bitterly.
“You think you know my son because you cut off a cast?”
“No.”
“You have no idea what that boy has put me through.”
Marcus’s expression hardened.
“He’s eight.”
“And you know nothing.”
She looked at me again.
“Neither do you.”
I pointed at Nathan’s forged signature.
“I know my dead brother didn’t write that.”
Something in Martha’s face changed when I said Nathan’s name.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“You knew him,” I said.
“No.”
“You reacted.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Where did you get his signature?”
“I told you. My husband.”
“What’s your husband’s name?”
She hesitated.
That was odd.
“Daniel.”
“Daniel Harris?”
“Yes.”
Leo whispered, “Dad’s name is Ethan.”
The room went completely silent.
Martha closed her eyes.
Marcus whispered, “Oh, hell.”
I looked at Leo.
“What is your father’s full name?”
“Ethan Harris.”
Martha snapped, “Daniel is his middle name.”
Leo frowned.
“No, it isn’t.”
Clara moved closer to the computer.
I asked Martha, “Where is Ethan?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told triage his father was traveling.”
“He is.”
“Leo says he hasn’t seen him since before his arm was broken.”
“That’s true.”
“How long ago?”
“Seventeen days.”
I remembered her first answer.
Six weeks.
Nothing aligned.
I said, “You’ve given us multiple dates for this cast, a forged note from my dead brother and two different names for Leo’s father.”
Martha stepped toward me.
Security moved too.
Her voice dropped.
“You are making a serious mistake.”
“Which part?”
“Thinking this has anything to do with you.”
I almost laughed.
“My brother’s signature is on your document.”
“That doesn’t mean the document was meant for you.”
“Then why did you specifically request me twelve days ago?”
She stared.
I waited.
Her silence became an answer.
A phone began ringing inside her cream sweater.
One of the security officers glanced at her.
Martha didn’t move.
The ringtone stopped.
Then started again.
And again.
Finally she whispered, “You shouldn’t have taken the cast off.”
“Why?”
“Because Ethan made rules.”
Leo’s face changed at his father’s name.
“What rules?”
Martha’s eyes remained on me.
“If Leo ever ended up in your hospital, you weren’t supposed to touch anything.”
“Why me?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
“You think that card is evidence?”
She smiled.
Cold.
Almost pitying.
“You don’t even know what it opens.”
I hadn’t called it evidence.
And I hadn’t told her we recognized it as a memory card.
I said, “Then tell me.”
“No.”
Her phone rang again.
This time she looked frightened.
“Who keeps calling?”
“No one.”
Security had logged her belongings after the struggle.
The officer checked the screen without answering.
“Martha, the caller is saved as ‘D.H.’”
Leo spoke before anyone else.
“Uncle David.”
Martha shut her eyes.
I asked, “Who is David?”
Leo looked at me.
“Mom’s brother.”
Martha whispered, “Leo.”
He ignored her.
“He put the black cast on me.”
My stomach tightened.
I looked at Martha.
“You said a private orthopedist did it.”
No answer.
“Is David Harris a physician?”
“He knows medical supplies.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Leo’s voice came quietly from the bed.
“He said Dad couldn’t find the card if it was inside me.”
I felt the room change.
Inside me.
The phrase was too specific to be innocent.
I crouched beside him.
“Leo, did David say those exact words?”
He nodded.
Martha began crying again.
This time there was no performance in it.
She covered her face.
“I told him not to say it like that.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew.”
Her shoulders shook.
“I knew about the cast.”
“The card?”
“No.”
“Your reaction says otherwise.”
“I knew something was hidden.”
“By your brother?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
Her phone rang again.
The officer showed her the screen.
D.H.
Martha looked at it.
Then at me.
“He knows you removed it.”
My skin went cold.
“How?”
May you like
She whispered, “Because he’s been watching the hospital entrance since we arrived.”
📖 Find out who David Harris was, why he needed Leo’s cast left intact, and what happened when hospital cameras showed his car outside Trauma Room 2—in CHAPTER 4. 👇
