The Death Certificate Is Fake

OPHELIA

“Mrs Whitmore, I’m sorry. This death certificate is fake.” The officer at the medical records department informed me.

It was mid-morning, and I was standing at the medical records department of the same hospital where I’d lost my baby. Holding the very death certificate they'd issued then.

I blinked once and then let out a small, disbelieving laugh.

“Hmm, what do you mean fake? This was issued by the hospital itself.” I lengthened my smile. “Could you please check again?”

The young officer shot me an annoyed glance before turning back to her computer, typing away on it. A minute later, she looked up again and repeated. “I’m sorry, the death certificate is fake.” She scrutinized the screen one more time. “There’s no one with the name Adilia Whitmore that was born or died in this hospital. Are you sure that certificate was issued here?” She looked at me weirdly like I was some mad woman with an imaginary dead child.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I remembered Julius handing me the certificate two days after our child was supposedly buried.

My trembling fingers nervously tapped on her desk several times. “How about the records of that day? Can I see it? Can I get the records of the births that day?” Anything at all.

“Ma’am, I think you’re at the wrong hospital. Perhaps…”

“I’m not crazy,” I whispered. I just needed answers. “Please help me.” Desperation was laced in my tone and even my gaze. “Records of that day, CCTV. Anything.”

She cleared her throat and let out a sigh before she began to type in her computer again.

The seconds stretched and I shifted my weight from one foot to another, my pulse pounding with each tap of the keyboard.

Her frown deepened “Mrs Whitmore. The records from that day were cleared. There’s nothing here.” She faced the computer toward me.

Blank screen. No birth records, no death records. Nothing.

My shoulders fell. I nodded stiffly and reached for my purse on the table. “Thank you.”

Slowly, I turned away and began to head for the door. But as I curled my fingers around its handle, the young officer’s voice sounded from behind.

“Wait. I know someone who can help.”

I sharply turned, a tiny tinge of hope rising in my chest.

“Hmm.” She looked to either side secretly before whispering. “Only he could have those records you are finding.”

“Who is that?”

“The hospital’s chairman. Ronan Throne.”

And just like that, my hope disappeared into thin air.

I walked out of the hospital, the officer’s words playing in my mind over and over again. The death certificate was fake.

How was that even possible?

Julius had brought the death certificate. He couldn’t….

I quickly shook my head in denial. He had no reason. At least not a reason I could think of. I needed answers urgently and there was only one man who could give me those answers.

The same man I had a grudge against for refusing to call on emergency skilled doctors when my birth became complicated. All these years, we’d blamed him for my child’s death.

But it didn’t count anymore, right? That same child was alive.

I was already in my car before I even finished the thought, driving toward the Throne Automotive and afterward, entering into the elevator that led to the CEO’s office.

“Do you have an appointment, Mrs Whitmore?” His secretary asked once I got to the CEO’s floor, staring at me from over his glasses.

“I don’t. I’m a family member.”

“I’m sorry, more reason you have to book an appointment first, Mrs Whitmore.”

Ohh.

How had I forgotten that Ronan Throne didn’t give a damn about his family members?

“It’s urgent. I need to see him urgently. At least tell him first.”

“Mrs Whit…”

“Ophelia.” I cut in. That trashy name was beginning to ick me. I didn’t want the name of a cheating, pretentious bastard beside mine. “Just Ophelia.”

His gaze sharpened even further. “Miss Ophelia, you…” This time, his words were interrupted by the loud ring of the telephone.

He didn’t take more than a second before he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes sir.” Once he dropped the phone, he stood up and walked to the large double doors of the CEO’s office.

“You can go in.” He pushed the door open just enough for me to get in.

My heels clicked loudly against the polished floor with each step that I took into the office. My steps slowed at the sight that welcomed me. Ronan Throne’s office could pass as a company on its own. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the sides of the room, overlooking the city below, spotless and in place just like everything in the office.

A sleek desk sat at the center, with not a single document out of place. My gaze shifted to the man behind it, his chair turned away from me.

“Mr Throne,” I called.

Only then did the chair swivel.

“I give you two hours to finish that up,” he spoke into the phone pressed against his ear. But while he spoke, his eyes scrutinized my appearance and his brow shot up.

I crossed a hand over my chest. The red dress that I wore clung tightly to my skin, barely reaching my knees. It had been years since I last dressed like this and somehow, it felt strange.

After our wedding, Julius had suddenly voiced his hatred for my wardrobe. Now, it was wondrous, considering the woman he cheated with wore far less.

“If you don’t get it, you’re fired.” Finally, he ended the call and dropped the phone on the table. Leaning back on his chair, he crossed his legs.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mrs Whitmore?”

I strolled further into his office.

“Mr Throne, I need your help.”