"But I am her daughter!" Jennifer shouts, her voice high-pitched. I stop her from standing up.
"You are Jennifer McCourtney, Miss. But you are not Sophia McCourtney's biolo—"
"How dare you say that I'm not her daughter?!" Jennifer snaps, cutting the nurse off.
"Babe, calm down," I whisper, pulling her into my arms and rubbing her back. Her breathing is still heavy, but she doesn't say another word. "Please, continue," I say to the nurse.
"Her husband came after we called him. When he found out he had lost his child and almost lost his wife, he was devastated. He blamed himself for letting her go to the supermarket alone," the nurse explains, sighing before continuing.
"When Mrs. McCourtney woke up, she didn't know she had lost the baby. Her husband begged us not to tell her. Given her fragile condition, we agreed it was best to wait. Mr. McCourtney insisted on taking her home the very day she woke up. The doctor strongly advised against it, but he didn't listen. The next day, he returned to the hospital, requesting his daughter's body. He said he wanted to give her a proper funeral. Of course, we allowed it."
"Last year, when we migrated our database to a new server, we conducted a cross-check with the national medical records. That's when we discovered cases of birth certificate fraud. One of them was yours," Mr. Bradley adds.
"Why didn't you contact me or do something about it?" Jennifer demands.
"It became a federal case, and according to them, yours was considered low-priority. So, the feds skipped over it and pursued the more serious cases," Mr. Bradley replies, sighing. "That's all we can tell you, Miss."
-
"Do you think my mom was involved in this?" Jennifer asks, staring at me with an expression that pleads for the answer she wants to hear.
I smile at her. "I don't know, Babe. I'm trying not to assume anything. But based on the facts we have now, she probably didn't know," I answer truthfully.
She sighs, and I hold out a french fry in front of her mouth.
"I'm full," she refuses.
I glance at her barely touched meal. She's only taken two bites of her burger, and her fries are still sitting in the container.
"You're going to need energy to tear your house apart later. I doubt we'll get another meal before dinner. Unless… you wanna have my sausage as a—Aaw!"
She hurls the salt shaker at me, her eyes wide.
"Pervert!" she scowls.
I burst out laughing.
"I may be a pervert, but I'm not the one blushing right now," I tease, quickly shielding my face when she picks up the pepper shaker.
Still pouting, she munches on a fry. I chuckle inwardly—my trick worked.
After finishing breakfast, we head to her parents' house. It isn't completely abandoned—Jennifer apparently hires someone to clean and maintain it once a week.
"The power switch is at the corner of the wall," Jennifer tells me while searching for the key. I walk over and flip the switch. The terrace light flickers on.
I follow her inside.
"Nice house," I compliment, looking around. It's not extravagant, but it's well-designed and cozy.
"Thanks," she replies, placing the key on the table.
"My father's office is on your left," she says, pointing at a closed door.
I nod. "What did your father do?" I ask as I approach the door.
"Property contractor," she answers, following behind me.
I open the door to find a neat yet dusty office.
"After my father died, my mom and I never touched this room. We barely entered it when he was alive anyway," she explains.
"When did he pass away?"
"2008," she says curtly. She picks up a framed photo of the three of them. I watch her closely.
"The overdose you had…"
She nods, offering me a wry smile. "Sleeping pills. I had trouble sleeping after my dad died. I secretly took his prescription sleeping pills. Then one day, I took one too many," she admits with a shrug.
"Why trouble sleeping?"
She sighs heavily, sitting on a small sofa. "My father… ended his own life," she says bitterly. My jaw drops.
"A few days before he died, we had an argument. You see, as a contractor, he was barely home. Then suddenly, about six months before he died, he decided he had enough and wanted to be a house husband. My mom supported him completely—she was a teacher, and he had saved enough money. Financially, we were fine.
"But I was irritated. He was always strict and distant, barely involved in my childhood. Then, all of a sudden, he was around all the time, making new rules—one of them was forbidding me from going to my boyfriend's prom. I was furious.
"I told him… it was better if he wasn't around at all." She looks up, blinking rapidly to stop her tears from falling.
"I… I never spoke to him again. Not until his last breath." A single tear escapes down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly.
"I felt so guilty when I found out he committed suicide. I thought it was because of me. That's why…" Her voice catches as she starts sobbing.
I pull her into my arms, letting her rest her head against my chest.
After a moment, she continues, her voice steadier. "When I woke up from my overdose, my mom told me the truth. My father had terminal brain cancer. That's why he quit his job. That's why he took his own life. He didn't want the disease to win—he wanted to go on his own terms."
"A man with dignity," I say softly. She nods.
"Anyway, the reason he didn't let me go to prom was that he didn't want me to have sex before marriage."
"Ahh… so that's why you were a virgin up until—" I narrow my eyes at her. "Wait… does this mean I have to marry you?" I tease.
She throws a pillow at me.
"Dream on! I'm not even your girlfriend. How could I marry you?" she mocks, standing from the sofa. "We need to start looking." She turns to me. "Wait… what exactly are we looking for?"
I chuckle. "Any lead about who you really are. Where or how your father got you. Maybe even clues about your biological parents."
"Okay, Boss," she smirks and winks.
-
Mr. McCourtney's office isn't big. Besides his desk, the only storage units are a tall bookshelf and a thigh-high cupboard. We start with the bookshelf—it's meticulously organized.
While Jennifer sifts through piles of documents, I inspect his book collection. His books are arranged alphabetically. I pull them out one by one, shaking them to check for anything hidden. His collection spans various subjects—Economy, Medicine, even Military Strategy.
"Your dad had an impressive library," I comment as I flip through a book that catches my interest.
"He loved reading. He could spend an entire day in here, just buried in books," Jennifer says, lips curling into a small smile.
After a couple of hours, I ask, "Find anything?"
"Nope. Just work documents—contracts, agreements, blueprints, bills," she sighs, nearly drowning in paperwork.
"Same here. Some books have notes and highlights—your dad liked taking notes directly on the pages."
We put everything back in place, except for a few books I decide to borrow. Then we move to the cupboard. It has nine drawers.
When I pull open a middle drawer, something seems off. The drawer is about ten inches shorter than the actual depth of the cupboard.
"There's something hidden here," I say, pulling out all the middle drawers. Just as I suspected—they're all ten inches short. But the back appears to be just a plain board.
"Move aside a bit?" I ask Jennifer as I push the cupboard away from the wall. It's lighter than expected, and the space is wide enough to shift it easily.
As soon as I move it, something interesting is revealed.