Chapter 4: The Names On The List
Karen stood in the doorway of the locker room, staring at the paper in my hands.
For the first time since I met her, she looked afraid.
Not angry.
Not annoyed.
Afraid.
That told me everything.
She knew exactly what I was holding.
I quickly folded the paper and slipped it behind my back.
"Why does a death certificate request for Mrs. Carter scare you?""
Karen's face hardened.
"It doesn't.""
"Then why did you ask where I got it?""
She stepped into the room.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like she was approaching something dangerous.
"You don't understand what you're looking at.""
"Then explain it.""
She laughed softly.
"You really think you can walk in here for one week and uncover some giant conspiracy?""
"I think I found paperwork saying a living woman was dead.""
Karen looked away for half a second.
That tiny movement bothered me more than anything.
Because it wasn't confusion.
It was calculation.
"You need to stop.""
"Stop what?""
"Digging.""
I held her gaze.
"Mrs. Carter was terrified of you.""
Karen's jaw tightened.
"Mrs. Carter was confused.""
"She told me you stole from residents.""
"She was old.""
"She told me people disappear here.""
Karen took another step closer.
"And you believed her?""
"Yes.""
The answer came out immediately.
Her eyes narrowed.
"That's your problem.""
"What is?""
"You think kindness makes you smart.""
I shook my head.
"No. I think cruelty makes people careless.""
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Karen smiled.
But it wasn't her usual arrogant smile.
It was colder.
"You don't know who you're fighting.""
I placed the paper into my pocket.
"Maybe you should tell me.""
She stared at me.
Then she whispered,
"You have no idea how many people have tried to be you.""
"What happened to them?""
Karen didn't answer.
Instead, she walked past me.
At the doorway, she stopped.
"Check your car before you leave tonight.""
I froze.
"What?""
She looked over her shoulder.
"Just a warning.""
Then she walked away.
I waited until Karen disappeared down the hallway.
My heart was racing.
Was she threatening me?
Or warning me?
I hated that I couldn't tell anymore.
That was the worst part about Palm Harbor.
Everyone seemed guilty.
Everyone seemed scared.
Even the people who might have been trying to help me.
I went back to work, but my mind wasn't there.
Every resident I helped felt like a reminder.
How many people had been ignored before me?
How many employees had seen something and stayed quiet?
At three in the afternoon, I found Denise organizing medication carts.
I walked toward her.
She immediately looked uncomfortable.
"What happened?""
I lowered my voice.
"You told me to check my locker.""
Her hands stopped moving.
"What did you find?""
I studied her face.
"You already know something was there.""
Denise looked around.
"No.""
"Denise.""
She sighed.
"Not here.""
She walked into the empty supply room.
I followed.
She closed the door.
"What did you see?""
I pulled out the photocopy.
The second Denise saw the document, her expression changed.
She sat down.
Slowly.
"Where did you get this?""
"My locker.""
"Who put it there?""
"I don't know.""
Denise rubbed her forehead.
"Emily...""
"Tell me the truth.""
She stayed silent.
"How many people?""
Her eyes lifted.
"What?""
"How many residents have disappeared?""
Denise looked like she wanted to leave.
But she didn't.
Finally, she whispered,
"I don't know.""
"That's not an answer.""
"It's the truth.""
She looked exhausted.
"I've worked here for six years.""
"And?""
"And I stopped counting.""
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
"Counting what?""
"The transfers.""
"How many?""
Denise looked at the floor.
"At least eleven.""
I stared at her.
"Eleven?""
"Over three years.""
"All transfers?""
"That's what the paperwork said.""
"But you don't believe it.""
She shook her head.
"No.""
"Why?""
"Because some of those residents had family members who called afterward.""
"What did they say?""
"That they never requested a transfer.""
The room went quiet.
"Why didn't you report it?""
Denise looked at me.
A painful expression crossed her face.
"You think I didn't try?""
"What happened?""
She laughed bitterly.
"The first time, I went to Richard.""
"And?""
"He told me I was mistaken.""
"Then?""
"I went higher.""
"Corporate?""
She nodded.
"Two weeks later, I was called into a meeting.""
"What did they say?""
Her voice became smaller.
"They showed me my employee file.""
I frowned.
"What was wrong with it?""
"Nothing.""
She swallowed.
"That was the problem.""
"I don't understand.""
"They had prepared a termination package.""
My eyes widened.
"They were going to fire you?""
"Yes.""
"Why?""
"They said I was creating a hostile environment by making accusations.""
I couldn't believe it.
"So you stayed.""
"I have two kids.""
She looked away.
"I needed the job.""
The honesty in her voice made me feel ashamed for judging her.
"What about Karen?""
Denise's expression changed.
"Karen is dangerous.""
"But she's not in charge.""
"No.""
"Then who is?""
Denise didn't answer.
That silence was enough.
That night, I followed Henry's advice.
I didn't go home.
I went to the bank.
Bayside Community Bank was fifteen minutes from Palm Harbor.
A small building hidden between a grocery store and a pharmacy.
Nothing about it looked important.
That was probably why Mrs. Carter chose it.
I walked to the front desk.
"Hi. I need access to a safety deposit box.""
The employee smiled.
"Do you have the box number?""
I handed over the key.
She examined it.
"Box 317?""
I nodded.
"And your identification?""
I gave her my driver's license.
She typed something into the computer.
Then her expression changed.
"Are you Emily Parker?""
My stomach tightened.
"Yes.""
She looked at the screen again.
"That's unusual.""
"What is?""
She lowered her voice.
"The authorization was updated yesterday.""
My blood ran cold.
"Updated by who?""
She turned the monitor slightly away.
"I can't give you account information.""
"Please.""
She hesitated.
Then whispered,
"Someone attempted to remove access.""
"Who?""
She looked at me.
"I can't say.""
"Was it Palm Harbor?""
Her eyes widened slightly.
That was an answer.
"Can I access the box?""
She nodded.
"Yes. Your name is still authorized.""
A security guard escorted me downstairs.
The vault door opened with a heavy metallic sound.
Inside was a small private room.
The employee unlocked the box.
Then left.
I opened it.
Inside were documents.
Dozens.
Bank statements.
Copies of legal forms.
Resident records.
Photographs.
My hands shook as I looked through them.
The first file belonged to Margaret Cole.
A woman who supposedly transferred three years ago.
Inside was a power-of-attorney form.
The signature looked suspicious.
The second file belonged to Walter Bennett.
Same thing.
Changed beneficiary.
Changed medical decisions.
Changed everything.
Someone had been taking control of elderly residents' lives.
But then I found the folder at the bottom.
A folder with my name on it.
*EMILY PARKER*
I stopped breathing.
I opened it slowly.
Inside was a printed photo of me.
Not from social media.
Not from my driver's license.
A photograph taken recently.
Outside Palm Harbor.
My blood turned cold.
Someone had been watching me before Mrs. Carter disappeared.
Under the photo was a note.
Not from Mrs. Carter.
Different handwriting.
Three sentences.
*You should have left after the first day.*
*You were warned.*
*Now we know you found the box.*
I dropped the paper.
The bank suddenly felt too quiet.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?""
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then a weak voice whispered,
"Emily?""
My entire body froze.
I knew that voice.
"Mrs. Carter?""
A shaky breath came through the phone.
"Don't say my name.""
I looked around.
"Where are you?""
"I don't have much time.""
"Are you safe?""
"No.""
The answer was immediate.
My heart pounded.
"Where are you?""
A pause.
Then she whispered,
"They didn't transfer me.""
I gripped the phone.
"Then what did they do?""
Her voice cracked.
"They moved me to a place where nobody would look.""
"Where?""
I heard something in the background.
A door opening.
Mrs. Carter gasped.
"Emily, listen to me.""
"I'm listening.""
"If you want to survive...""
Her voice dropped.
"Do not trust the police.""
I froze.
"Why?""
A man's voice shouted somewhere near her.
"Who are you talking to?""
The phone shook.
Mrs. Carter whispered one final sentence.
"The person behind this is someone you already met.""
Then the call ended.
I stood inside the bank vault holding the phone.
Someone I already met.
My mind raced through every person at Palm Harbor.
Karen.
Richard.
Denise.
The nurses.
The aides.
Then my phone received a message.
A picture.
Sent from the same unknown number.
I opened it.
And my blood went cold.
It was a photograph of Mrs. Carter.
She was sitting in a dark room.
Alive.
Terrified.
May you like
And standing behind her with one hand on her shoulder...
was someone wearing a Palm Harbor uniform.
