Chapter 5 - The Hand in the Safe
Down the corridor, behind the heavy double doors of the private consultation alcove, Leanne Corbett was moving fast.
Through the glass observation partition, Petra watched her through a gap in the horizontal blinds. Leanne was dressed in an expensive camel-hair trench coat, her designer sunglasses pushed up into her bleached-blonde hair. She was clutching a large leather diaper bag under one arm and scanning the empty hallway with frantic, darting glances.
She entered the alcove.
Inside sat a single stainless steel hospital bassinet. The infant inside was swaddled tightly in yellow flannel, asleep beneath the shadow of the canopy. The card on the front of the cart read: ROSALIND DUCHAMP.
Leanne didn't hesitate. She didn't check the infant's face. She didn't look for the birthmark on the left temple. She reached straight for the handle of the mobile bassinet, unlocking the wheel brakes with the toe of her designer shoe, intending to push the cart directly toward the service elevators at the end of the east corridor.
She took two steps before the emergency exit door swung wide, blocking her path.
Petra stepped out, flanked by Detective Miller from the county sheriff's department and Mrs. Vance.
“Going somewhere, Leanne?” Petra asked pleasantly, leaning against the doorframe.
Leanne jumped, a sharp shriek tearing from her throat as she yanked her hands back from the bassinet handle. “What—what is this? Who are you? Where is Elliot?”
“Elliot is currently answering questions regarding wire fraud, identity theft, and attempted child swapping,” Detective Miller said, stepping forward with his badge exposed on his belt. “And right now, ma'am, I suggest you take three steps back from that cart.”
Leanne’s eyes darted between the officer and the baby. Her chest heaved beneath her coat. “This is ridiculous! This is my baby! I’m being discharged! Elliot had the clearance papers!”
“Your baby?” Petra stepped forward, pulling a high-resolution printout from her sleeve. “That’s interesting, Leanne. Because according to the hospital intake forms you signed yesterday morning, your daughter was delivered at 11:15 p.m., weighed six pounds two ounces, and was assigned to room 428 under the name Chloe Corbett. This bassinet carries the label of Rosalind Duchamp.”
“The—the nurse put the wrong card on it!” Leanne stammered, her voice pitching up into a shrill, hysterical whine. “You people are incompetent! I know my own child! I’m taking my daughter home!”
“Then by all means,” Petra said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the crib with an open palm. “Pull back the blanket. Show the detective the face of the child you claim to have carried for nine months.”
Leanne froze. Her hands hovered over the yellow flannel, trembling violently.
“Go ahead,” Detective Miller urged softly. “If that’s your baby, pull down the wrap. Show me her face.”
Leanne’s eyes filled with tears—not of remorse, but of cornered, desperate panic. She knew what was under that blanket. She believed with every fiber of her being that the child in that cart was Rosalind—the heir to the Duchamp estate, the golden ticket that would guarantee her rent-free estates, trust payouts, and a life of untouchable luxury.
With a ragged sob, Leanne reached down and peeled back the yellow flannel.
The baby inside was not Rosalind.
It was a plastic medical training doll, weighted to simulate an infant, its blank rubber face staring up at the ceiling beneath the fluorescent lights.
Leanne stumbled backward, hitting the wall with a hollow thud, her knees buckling beneath her.
“Where is she?” Leanne screamed, sliding down the wallpaper until she was sitting on the floor, clutching her purse to her ribs. “Where did you put her?! Elliot said it was done! He said she wouldn't know!”
“Clare knew,” Petra said, standing over her like an avenging fury. “Clare watched you from behind the cabinet. She heard every single word of your vile little conversation. And while you were planning to steal her life, our forensic team was opening the floor safe in the Elm Street guest house.”
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Leanne looked up, her face draining of all color. “The... the safe?”
“The safe behind the framed landscape in the master closet,” Petra continued, her voice dripping with ice. “The one where you and Elliot stored the duplicate birth registry certificates, the forged power of attorney documents, and the pre-signed adoption papers meant to legally strip Clare of her child if she ever suspected the truth. Did you really think my firm wouldn't find them, Leanne?”
