Chapter 6
Dr. Nathan Hoffman's private practice was nestled in an upscale medical plaza—all glass walls and abstract art in the waiting room.
I walked in without an appointment.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, the doctor is fully booked today—" the receptionist started.
"Tell him Elena Reed is here," I said. "Or rather, Elena Cross. Tell him it's about the patient file he's been maintaining without ever seeing the patient."
The receptionist blinked, confused, but picked up the phone. Thirty seconds later, she said nervously, "He'll see you now."
Dr. Hoffman was already standing when I entered his office. Mid-fifties, silver-haired, expensive watch. The kind of doctor who treated wealthy clients and knew how to keep secrets—for the right price.
"Mrs. Reed." His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed him. "This is unexpected."
"I imagine it is." I sat down without being invited. "Given that you've never actually met me before today."
He lowered himself back into his chair slowly.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I have extensive records of our sessions—"
"Sessions that never happened." I crossed my legs and stared at him. "You've been documenting fake therapy visits, prescribing antidepressants I never took, and building a psychiatric profile that my husband intended to use to have me committed—or to explain away my death."
Dr. Hoffman's face remained carefully neutral. "These are serious allegations, Mrs. Reed. I'd be careful—"
"My husband was arrested last night for fraud and conspiracy. His mother is in federal custody. His mistress is being charged as a co-conspirator."
I let that sink in.
"You have exactly one chance, Dr. Hoffman, to get on the right side of this before the investigation reaches your doorstep. And trust me—it will reach your doorstep."
His composure finally cracked. His hand reached for his desk drawer—then stopped.
"What do you want?" he asked quietly.
"A signed confession stating that Marcus Reed paid you to fabricate my psychiatric records. Dates, amounts, everything."
"If I do that, I lose my license."
"If you don't do that, you go to prison." I leaned forward. "Conspiracy to commit fraud. Falsifying medical documents. Aiding and abetting a murder plot. How many years do you think that adds up to?"
Dr. Hoffman swallowed hard.
"He told me it was just for a custody dispute," he whispered. "He said you were going through a divorce and he needed documentation to get favorable terms. I didn't know about—"
"About the murder? About the balcony railing? About the plan to make my death look like a suicide using your fake records as evidence of my mental state?"
He went gray.
"My God."
"Your God isn't going to help you here." I slid a piece of paper and a pen across his desk. "But cooperating with the DA might. Sophie Park from the forensic accounting team will be in touch. Write your statement now, and I'll recommend leniency."
His hand trembled as he picked up the pen.
Twenty minutes later, I walked out with a signed four-page confession and a USB drive containing the original fabricated files—complete with metadata proving they'd been created in bulk on a single afternoon.
In the parking lot, I sat in my car and exhaled.
One more weapon neutralized.
But as I started the engine, my phone lit up with an unknown number. I answered.
"You think you're clever?"
Vanessa Holt's voice. She'd somehow gotten access to a phone despite being in custody.
"They can't hold me," she continued, her voice tight with fury. "I'm out on bail in two hours. And when I am, I'm going to make sure everyone knows what kind of woman you really are."
"And what kind is that?"
"The kind who drove her husband to cheat because she was so goddamn boring. The kind who can't keep a man satisfied. The kind who's so pathetic that she has to destroy people's lives just because she couldn't handle being second best."
I gripped the steering wheel but kept my voice level.
"Enjoy your two hours of freedom, Vanessa. It's the last you'll have for a while."
I hung up.
But her words planted a seed of unease. Vanessa was smart—dangerously so. She'd managed Marcus's company operations for years, which meant she knew how to manipulate systems and people.
If she was getting out on bail, that meant she was planning something.
And I needed to be ready.
I walked in without an appointment.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, the doctor is fully booked today—" the receptionist started.
"Tell him Elena Reed is here," I said. "Or rather, Elena Cross. Tell him it's about the patient file he's been maintaining without ever seeing the patient."
The receptionist blinked, confused, but picked up the phone. Thirty seconds later, she said nervously, "He'll see you now."
Dr. Hoffman was already standing when I entered his office. Mid-fifties, silver-haired, expensive watch. The kind of doctor who treated wealthy clients and knew how to keep secrets—for the right price.
"Mrs. Reed." His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed him. "This is unexpected."
"I imagine it is." I sat down without being invited. "Given that you've never actually met me before today."
He lowered himself back into his chair slowly.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I have extensive records of our sessions—"
"Sessions that never happened." I crossed my legs and stared at him. "You've been documenting fake therapy visits, prescribing antidepressants I never took, and building a psychiatric profile that my husband intended to use to have me committed—or to explain away my death."
Dr. Hoffman's face remained carefully neutral. "These are serious allegations, Mrs. Reed. I'd be careful—"
"My husband was arrested last night for fraud and conspiracy. His mother is in federal custody. His mistress is being charged as a co-conspirator."
I let that sink in.
"You have exactly one chance, Dr. Hoffman, to get on the right side of this before the investigation reaches your doorstep. And trust me—it will reach your doorstep."
His composure finally cracked. His hand reached for his desk drawer—then stopped.
"What do you want?" he asked quietly.
"A signed confession stating that Marcus Reed paid you to fabricate my psychiatric records. Dates, amounts, everything."
"If I do that, I lose my license."
"If you don't do that, you go to prison." I leaned forward. "Conspiracy to commit fraud. Falsifying medical documents. Aiding and abetting a murder plot. How many years do you think that adds up to?"
Dr. Hoffman swallowed hard.
"He told me it was just for a custody dispute," he whispered. "He said you were going through a divorce and he needed documentation to get favorable terms. I didn't know about—"
"About the murder? About the balcony railing? About the plan to make my death look like a suicide using your fake records as evidence of my mental state?"
He went gray.
"My God."
"Your God isn't going to help you here." I slid a piece of paper and a pen across his desk. "But cooperating with the DA might. Sophie Park from the forensic accounting team will be in touch. Write your statement now, and I'll recommend leniency."
His hand trembled as he picked up the pen.
Twenty minutes later, I walked out with a signed four-page confession and a USB drive containing the original fabricated files—complete with metadata proving they'd been created in bulk on a single afternoon.
In the parking lot, I sat in my car and exhaled.
One more weapon neutralized.
But as I started the engine, my phone lit up with an unknown number. I answered.
"You think you're clever?"
Vanessa Holt's voice. She'd somehow gotten access to a phone despite being in custody.
"They can't hold me," she continued, her voice tight with fury. "I'm out on bail in two hours. And when I am, I'm going to make sure everyone knows what kind of woman you really are."
"And what kind is that?"
"The kind who drove her husband to cheat because she was so goddamn boring. The kind who can't keep a man satisfied. The kind who's so pathetic that she has to destroy people's lives just because she couldn't handle being second best."
I gripped the steering wheel but kept my voice level.
"Enjoy your two hours of freedom, Vanessa. It's the last you'll have for a while."
I hung up.
But her words planted a seed of unease. Vanessa was smart—dangerously so. She'd managed Marcus's company operations for years, which meant she knew how to manipulate systems and people.
If she was getting out on bail, that meant she was planning something.
And I needed to be ready.