The room smelled of antiseptic and expensive coffee.
Dr. Whitmore closed the door.
“I assume this concerns your mother's treatment.””
“It does.””
He sat behind his desk.
“It's been many years.””
“Twenty-five.””
He nodded.
“I'm sorry for your loss.””
I placed the medical authorization on his desk.
“Did you approve this medication change?””
He examined the document.
Then he looked at me.
“I don't remember.””
“Your signature is here.””
“Medical records from that period were not always maintained electronically.””
He removed his glasses.
“Your mother was very ill.””
“Was she?””
He frowned.
“What do you mean?””
I placed another document beside the first.
It was the original treatment plan Rebecca had kept.
The medication dosage was different.
“Why was this changed?””
Dr. Whitmore leaned back.
“I'd need to review the complete medical file.””
“Then review it.””
He shook his head.
“I no longer have access to the hospital's archived records.””
“Then tell me who does.””
He looked toward the door.
“Ms. Carter, I don't think this conversation is appropriate without legal representation.””
I leaned forward.
“You treated my mother. I am her daughter. I am asking why her medication was changed three days before her death.””
He said nothing.
Rebecca finally spoke.
“Samuel, look at her.””
He avoided her eyes.
“She deserves the truth.””
He removed his glasses again.
“Your mother was experiencing complications. Her condition was deteriorating.””
“Was the medication change medically necessary?””
“I was instructed to authorize it.””
He looked down.
“Richard Carter.””
My heart sank.
“Did my father explain why?””
“He said Eleanor had requested a change in treatment.””
“Did you speak to her?””
“Did she sign anything?””
“I was told that she had.””
I felt anger rise.
“So you changed my mother's medication without speaking to her?””
“I followed the instructions provided by the patient's authorized representative.””
“Was my father her authorized medical representative?””
Dr. Whitmore didn't answer.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“He wasn't. Eleanor had explicitly named me.””
The doctor closed his eyes.
“I was not aware of that.””
“Then who told you he had authority?””
He stared at the desk.
“Margaret Langford.””
I felt my stomach turn.
“Why was Margaret involved in my mother's medical treatment?””
“She said she was assisting the family.””
“Did you believe her?””
“I was told she had power of attorney.””
“Did you verify it?””
I sat back.
The silence was unbearable.
Then I asked the question I had been afraid to ask.
“Did the medication change contribute to my mother's death?””
Dr. Whitmore looked genuinely distressed.
“I cannot determine that without reviewing the complete medical record.””
“Then why was the final report altered?””
He froze.
I placed a printed copy of the final report on the desk.
At the bottom was his signature.
The date was November 19.
My mother had died on November 16.
He stared at it.
“Where did you get this?””
“This document should not be in circulation.””
He picked it up with trembling fingers.
“I didn't sign this.””
Rebecca stood.
“I didn't sign this report.””
I felt the room tilt.
“Are you certain?””
“Absolutely.””
“Then who did?””
He looked at me.
“Someone copied my signature.””
“Who had access to your medical records?””
“Margaret.””
The room fell silent.
I looked at Rebecca.
Then back at the doctor.
“Can you provide a written statement?””
“If I do, my professional reputation could be destroyed.””
“My mother is dead. My family was torn apart. An employee was falsely accused of theft.
A company was stolen. And you're worried about your reputation?””
His face reddened.
“You signed a medical authorization without verifying it. You allowed someone else to alter your records. And now you're asking me to protect you?””
He lowered his eyes.
“I was afraid.””
“Of whom?””
Rebecca shook her head.
“You were a doctor, Samuel. You were supposed to protect patients.””
He looked as though he might cry.
He opened a drawer and removed a small black notebook.
“This is my private treatment log.””
I took it.
“What's in it?””
“Notes from the days before Eleanor died. I kept copies because I disagreed with the medication changes.””
I opened the notebook.
Several entries were written in small handwriting.
One dated November 14 caught my attention.
Patient alert. Mentally competent. Refuses proposed medication adjustment. Requests sister Rebecca be contacted before any changes.
“My mother refused?””
Dr. Whitmore nodded.
“She was very clear.””
“Then why was the medication changed?””
He stared at the floor.
“Margaret told me Eleanor had changed her mind.””
“Did you ask Eleanor?””
I closed the notebook.
“Who was present when the medication was administered?””
“A private nurse.””
“Name?””
“Patricia Moore.””
Rebecca spoke quietly.
“Patricia disappeared after Eleanor's funeral.””
I looked at the doctor.
“Did she work for Margaret?””
I felt my pulse quicken.
“Then we need to find her.””
“I can give you her last known address.””
He wrote it on a piece of paper.
Before handing it to me, he looked directly into my eyes.
“Ms. Carter, there is something else I need to tell you.””
“Your mother wasn't supposed to die that week.””
I gripped the desk.
“Her condition was serious, but she was stable. Based on her test results, I believed she had several more months.””
“Then what happened?””
“On the night of November 15, I received an emergency call from the hospital. I was told Eleanor had suffered a sudden reaction.””
“Were you there?””
“No. I was out of the country.””
“Who treated her?””
“Another physician.””
He looked at Rebecca.
Then at me.
“Dr. Alan Mercer.””
Rebecca covered her mouth.
“Do you know him?””
She nodded slowly.
“He was Thomas Langford's personal physician.””
I looked back at Whitmore.
“Did you ever investigate the reaction?””
“I tried. But when I returned, the official report had already been completed.””
“Margaret's legal team had submitted the final documentation.””
“Why didn't you report the falsified signature?””
“Because I was told the original records had been destroyed.””
“Then you should have known someone was hiding something.””
“I did.””
He finally handed me the paper with Patricia's address.
“I'm sorry.””
“I'm not asking you to be sorry. I'm asking you to tell the truth.””
“I will.””
As we left the clinic, Rebecca caught my arm.
“Evelyn.””
“There's something I haven't told you.””
She looked frightened.
“Patricia wasn't just your mother's nurse.””
“Who was she?””
Rebecca swallowed.
“She was Margaret's daughter.””
“Margaret had a daughter?””
“Why has nobody mentioned her?””
“Because Margaret told everyone she died in infancy.””
I felt a cold shiver.
“Was that true?””
She looked toward the street.
“Patricia was adopted by another family after a custody dispute. Margaret never wanted anyone to know she existed.””
I struggled to process it.
“Why would her own daughter help her?””
“Because Margaret told her Eleanor had stolen her father's company and destroyed their family.””
So the nurse who had administered my mother's medication might have been manipulated by her own mother.
Or something worse.
It was my legal adviser, Daniel Foster.