Back at the bedside, I received a call on my phone, the ringtone sharp against the quiet.
“Ms. Carter?” a voice asked, official and clipped.
I swallowed. “Yes?”
“We’ve located a set of documents in the box you found. They appear to be legal papers transferring ownership of the Carter Enterprises to you.”
My heart hammered. “Carter Enterprises? That’s my father’s company.”
The voice hesitated. “It seems Mr. Gerald Carter was listed as a trustee, but the papers name you as the sole heir.”
“He hid this from me all these years?” I felt the sting of betrayal and a sudden rush of possibility.
The line clicked. “Police will be arriving shortly to question you about a missing heirloom linked to the business.”
I stared at Gerald’s still face, his hand slightly curled around the blanket.
“He’s not the only one keeping secrets,” I muttered, half to the nurse who had just entered the room.
She glanced at the monitor, then at me. “Police will need the box. It’s evidence.”
My thoughts spiraled—heritage, wealth, a future I never imagined. Yet the box also held the letters, the photographs, the proof of his betrayal.
A sharp knock sounded at the door, followed by the rustle of uniforms.
Two officers entered, flashlights flickering, eyes scanning the room.
“We need to see the box, ma’am,” one said, his tone firm.
Before I could answer, the door burst open again, and a figure stepped in, clutching a dark pistol.
“Hands where I can see them!” the stranger barked, aiming the gun straight at my chest.
“Give me the box,” he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.
The nurse gasped, the officers froze, and the monitor’s beeping seemed louder than ever.
