Chapter 7 - Behind the Oxygen Panel
Caleb drove to North River Medical Center alone.
He left Margaret shouting from the front steps and Victor speaking urgently into his phone. Caleb did not know whether either would follow.
He assumed both would.
The hospital’s east wing had remained closed since the fire. Temporary fencing surrounded the entrance, but the main gate stood open. A demolition truck waited near the loading dock, its engine running.
No workers were visible.
Caleb parked behind an ambulance and entered through a side door whose lock had been broken.
The corridor smelled of dust, wet plaster, and old smoke.
Black stains climbed the walls toward a collapsed ceiling. Plastic sheeting moved softly in the ventilation draft. Each step echoed through the abandoned wing.
Room 814 stood at the far end.
The warning placard had been removed, but lighter paint marked the place where it had once hung.
Caleb tried the handle.
Locked.
He searched a nearby maintenance cart and found a short steel bar. The first strike against the latch sent pain through his wrists. The second bent the metal frame. The third opened the door.
Inside, pipes and control valves filled the narrow room.
A damaged oxygen panel covered the back wall.
Caleb remembered Lena’s instruction.
The wall behind the oxygen panel.
He pulled at the panel cover.
It resisted.
He used the steel bar to loosen two screws, then dragged the metal casing outward. Dust spilled across his shirt.
Behind it, someone had cut a rectangular opening into the plaster and sealed it with a thin board.
Caleb pried the board loose.
A small waterproof case sat inside the wall.
His phone rang.
Margaret.
He ignored it.
Then Victor.
He ignored that too.
Caleb removed the case.
Inside were three objects.
A flash drive.
A hospital identification badge belonging to Dr. Martin Vale.
And a sealed blood-sample tube labeled only with a number.
C-32.
Caleb touched the label.
Thirty-two years.
His age.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor.
He closed the case and backed away from the door.
“Caleb?” a man called.
Samuel Kline appeared in the doorway wearing a charcoal suit beneath a construction vest. His silver hair was neatly combed, his expression calm.
Too calm.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Samuel said.
Caleb gripped the steel bar.
“Neither should you.”
Samuel raised both hands.
“Your mother called me.”
“Lena told me not to trust you.”
A shadow moved across Samuel’s face.
“So you spoke to her.”
“Why were you waiting for this room to be demolished?”
“I came to stop the demolition.”
“Who ordered it?”
“The hospital board.”
“You represent the board?”
“I represent several donors.”
“My mother.”
“Among others.”
Caleb held the case against his side.
Samuel’s eyes dropped to it.
“You found something.”
“What happened to my father’s boat tracker?”
Samuel’s expression remained steady.
“Victor has been talking.”
“Answer me.”
“Daniel’s death was an accident.”
“Then why remove the tracker?”
“Because it showed he met someone before the accident.”
“Who?”
Samuel stepped closer.
“That information would have destroyed your mother.”
“Who did he meet?”
“Your biological father.”
Caleb tightened his grip on the bar.
“You know his name.”
“I know what he called himself.”
“Tell me.”
Samuel glanced behind him.
The demolition truck’s engine grew louder outside.
“You need to leave now.”
“Not without the truth.”
“The truth is why you’re in danger.”
A heavy impact shook the corridor.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
Caleb looked toward the window.
The demolition truck was moving.
Its steel arm swung toward the east wall.
No warning siren sounded.
No workers cleared the building.
Samuel grabbed Caleb’s arm.
“They know you’re inside.”
The mechanical arm struck the outer wall.
May you like
Concrete cracked.
And Samuel shouted over the collapsing plaster, “The man you’re looking for is the one who sent Lena her medal.”
