Chapter 2 - The Name on My Birth Certificate
“He was looking for you, too.”
For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood Dominic Farrow.
The storage room was too quiet.
The overhead light hummed.
The baby shifted against my chest, making a soft sound in his sleep, completely unaware that six armed men stood outside the door and that the most dangerous man I had ever met had just told me something that made no sense.
I stared at Dominic.
“Why?”
He did not answer immediately.
That frightened me more than if he had.
Dominic Farrow did not look like a man who hesitated often.
He sat opposite me on a metal chair, one elbow resting on his knee, his expensive black coat draped over the back of another chair as though this were a business meeting instead of an interrogation in a warehouse.
The bruise on my jaw throbbed.
I tightened my arm around the child.
“Why was he looking for me?”
Dominic’s eyes moved to the closed door.
Then back to me.
“Because Detective Rourke believes you know something.”
“I don't.”
“I know.”
“You don't know anything about me.”
“That is no longer true.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you do?”
“I had people check.”
My anger came quickly.
“You investigated me?”
“You disappeared with my nephew for four months.”
“I saved your nephew.”
“Yes.”
His answer was so immediate that it silenced me.
“I am aware of that.”
The edge left my anger slightly.
Dominic leaned back.
“Your name is Bernadette Collins. Twenty-nine. Registered nurse for six years. Northwestern Memorial for four. No criminal record. No known connection to organized crime.”
He paused.
“Your father died when you were twelve.”
I went still.
“My mother died when I was twenty-one.”
“I know.”
“You had no right.”
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
Most men like Dominic, I imagined, never admitted to crossing lines.
He continued.
“But I needed to know whether your arrival in this was an accident.”
“It was.”
“I believe you.”
I looked down at the baby.
He had one fist curled against my scrub top.
During the past sixteen weeks, I had learned every small thing about him.
He rubbed his left ear when he was tired.
He hated cold formula.
He calmed down when I hummed badly.
He liked ceiling fans.
And when he woke frightened in strange rooms, he always reached for my chin.
I knew none of those things mattered legally.
But they mattered to me.
“What is his name?” I asked.
Dominic’s expression shifted.
“Elias.”
The name landed inside me.
Elias.
I had called him Ben.
Not because I knew his name.
Because the motel clerk in Indiana had asked what to write on the emergency contact form, and I had panicked.
Ben had been the first name that entered my head.
I looked down at him.
“Elias.”
The baby blinked awake.
For one ridiculous second, I expected recognition.
Instead, he yawned.
Dominic watched him.
Something softened in his face.
“My sister named him.”
The room changed.
Until then, the woman who had died in my emergency department had been a frightened stranger.
Now she was someone’s sister.
“What was her name?”
“Anna.”
I swallowed.
“Anna Farrow.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
Dominic’s gaze hardened.
“I am still determining that.”
“She was shot.”
“I know.”
“And the detective was in the hospital before she died.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he was supposed to make sure she did.”
The blood drained from my face.
Dominic spoke quietly.
“Rourke has worked with people inside the police department, municipal offices, and private security firms for years. Most of what he does looks legitimate from a distance.”
“What does he do?”
“He sells information.”
“To you?”
“No.”
The answer came coldly.
“To anyone?”
“To whoever pays enough.”
I thought of the scar above the detective’s eyebrow.
The gun.
The way he had asked where the infant was.
Evidence processing.
My stomach turned.
“Why would anyone pay him to kill a baby?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“That is the question.”
“You don't know?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You're supposed to know everything.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
Not quite a smile.
“That rumor has caused me a great deal of unnecessary administrative work.”
I almost laughed.
The reaction startled me.
Maybe exhaustion had finally damaged my brain.
Dominic noticed.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You still remember how.”
“How what?”
“To laugh.”
I looked away.
“I haven't had much reason.”
“No.”
Silence settled between us.
Then I asked, “Why didn't you find us earlier?”
His expression changed.
“I didn't know Elias was alive.”
I looked at him sharply.
“What?”
“Anna was declared dead at the hospital. The infant was recorded as missing. Then, twelve hours later, someone changed the report.”
“To what?”
“That the infant died before arrival.”
I felt cold.
“That wasn't true.”
“I am looking at him.”
“Who changed it?”
“A clerk in the records department.”
“Why?”
“She was paid.”
“By Rourke?”
“We believe so.”
“And you believed the baby was dead?”
“For seven weeks.”
Seven weeks.
I imagined Dominic receiving news that his sister was dead.
Then believing her child had died too.
“How did you find out?”
“A pediatric resident remembered treating him.”
My breath caught.
“Dr. Shah.”
Dominic nodded.
I remembered her.
Young.
Smart.
Terrified.
She had watched me leave the emergency department carrying the baby beneath a trauma blanket.
She had not stopped me.
“She said there was a nurse,” Dominic continued. “She did not know whether you had taken Elias willingly or under pressure. She only remembered your first name.”
“So you started looking.”
“Yes.”
“And Rourke was looking too.”
“Yes.”
“But you said he wanted me.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“That is where things become complicated.”
I wanted to tell him that four months of hiding in motels with a baby and a corrupt detective chasing me already qualified as complicated.
Instead I waited.
“Three weeks after you disappeared,” Dominic said, “Rourke accessed your employment file.”
“How do you know?”
“We found the digital record.”
“And?”
“He also accessed your birth certificate.”
I stared at him.
“My birth certificate?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That is what I want to know.”
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Maybe he was verifying my identity.”
“He downloaded the long-form certificate.”
My heart began beating faster.
“What does that mean?”
“It includes information not shown in most electronic summaries.”
“My parents.”
“Yes.”
“My parents are dead.”
“I know.”
I shifted Elias higher on my shoulder.
“So what?”
Dominic’s eyes stayed on me.
“Your father’s name is recorded as Patrick Collins.”
“Yes.”
“He was not your biological father.”
For one second, I heard nothing.
Then the overhead light seemed suddenly too bright.
“What did you say?”
Dominic did not look away.
“Patrick Collins adopted you when you were eleven months old.”
“No.”
“It is in the county record.”
“No.”
“Bernie—”
“No.”
My voice rose.
Elias startled.
Immediately I lowered my tone.
“My father was my father.”
“I didn't say otherwise.”
I glared at Dominic.
“My mother would have told me.”
“Possibly.”
“She did not lie to me.”
“I am not accusing her of anything.”
“You're telling me a stranger adopted me before I could walk.”
“I am telling you what the document says.”
My thoughts were racing.
My childhood.
Family photographs.
My father teaching me to ice-skate badly.
My mother cutting coupons at the kitchen table.
Nothing about my life had ever felt mysterious.
We were not wealthy.
Not powerful.
Not complicated.
We were ordinary.
Painfully ordinary.
I had spent most of my life being invisible.
That was why this entire nightmare felt absurd.
“Who was my biological father?”
Dominic was silent.
I hated that silence immediately.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze moved toward Elias.
Then back.
“His name was Matthew Vale.”
Nothing.
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who was he?”
Dominic looked almost reluctant.
“A federal investigator.”
I stared at him.
“What kind?”
“Organized crime.”
A strange laugh escaped me.
“This is ridiculous.”
“I agree.”
“No. I mean literally ridiculous.”
I stood too quickly.
The room tilted.
Dominic rose immediately but did not touch me.
“You should sit.”
“I have been living in motels with a baby because a corrupt police detective wants us dead, and now you're telling me my biological father investigated organized crime?”
“Yes.”
“And somehow that matters?”
“I don't know yet.”
“That is becoming your favorite sentence.”
“So I have been told.”
I began pacing.
Elias rested against my chest.
“Matthew Vale.”
“Yes.”
“When did he die?”
Dominic paused.
“Thirty years ago.”
I stopped.
“I am twenty-nine.”
“Yes.”
The calculation happened automatically.
“He died before I was born.”
“Three months before.”
My mouth went dry.
“How?”
Dominic’s expression became unreadable.
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“Car accident.”
The word officially remained between us.
“And unofficially?”
“We don't know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“Bernie.”
“What?”
“You need to understand something.”
I turned toward him.
“Rourke did not access your birth record randomly.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because two hours after he downloaded it, he accessed an archived case file with Matthew Vale’s name attached.”
My skin prickled.
“What case?”
“An investigation that disappeared before it reached prosecution.”
“Into who?”
Dominic held my gaze.
“My father.”
The room became completely still.
I looked at Dominic.
Then Elias.
Then Dominic again.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Matthew Vale spent fourteen months building a case against Vincent Farrow.”
“And you're a Farrow.”
“Yes.”
“The mafia boss.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“So my biological father tried to arrest your father.”
“Essentially.”
“And now I'm sitting here holding your nephew.”
“Yes.”
“This is insane.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“Also yes.”
I walked toward the far wall.
I needed space.
The room was too small for this.
I could feel four months of fear rearranging itself inside me.
Rourke had not simply been hunting a nurse who witnessed something.
He had searched my family history.
He had found my biological father.
A federal investigator connected to Dominic Farrow’s family.
But why?
“What happened to Matthew’s investigation?”
“Evidence vanished.”
“Who destroyed it?”
“No one knows.”
“Your father?”
“Possibly.”
The lack of defensiveness surprised me.
“What did your father say?”
“He died eight years ago.”
“And before that?”
“He never discussed Matthew Vale with me.”
“Maybe he killed him.”
Dominic’s expression did not change.
“Maybe.”
I stared at him.
“You can say that?”
“If my father did it, pretending otherwise would not make him innocent.”
That answer disturbed me less than it should have.
Maybe because it was honest.
“Did you know my name before tonight?”
“No.”
“My mother?”
“No.”
“Patrick?”
“No.”
“So none of this connects.”
“Not yet.”
I sat down again.
My legs suddenly felt weak.
Dominic returned to his chair.
For the first time, I noticed how tired he looked.
There were faint shadows beneath his eyes.
He had probably been awake as long as I had.
“When did you learn who I was?” I asked.
“Two days ago.”
“And you sent men after me.”
“To bring you somewhere secure.”
“One of them hit me.”
His face changed immediately.
“I know.”
There was something cold in those two words.
I almost felt sorry for the man who had struck me.
Almost.
“I thought they were going to kill us.”
“They were told not to touch either of you.”
“They cornered me in a motel parking lot.”
“I said they were told not to touch you. I did not say they were competent.”
I looked at him.
“You're making jokes.”
“I am attempting not to frighten you further.”
“That's not working.”
“Noted.”
Elias stirred.
He began fussing.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I rocked him.
Shushed him.
Checked his diaper.
Dominic watched.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“You know him.”
“I've been with him for sixteen weeks.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“You know him.”
I looked down at Elias.
“I had to.”
“You didn't.”
“What was I supposed to do? Keep him alive mechanically?”
“No.”
Dominic’s eyes lingered on the child.
“I am saying you did more than survive.”
I did not know what to say.
So I asked, “Does he have anyone else?”
Dominic’s expression darkened.
“No.”
“His father?”
“Dead.”
“How?”
“Before Elias was born.”
“Your sister?”
“You know.”
“Grandparents?”
“Our mother died when Anna and I were teenagers. Our father died eight years ago.”
“So it's just you.”
“Yes.”
I hated the relief that moved through me.
Not because Dominic was good.
I did not know that.
But because Elias was not going to be passed between strangers.
“He needs a pediatrician.”
“He will have one.”
“He needs his vaccines checked.”
“Done.”
“You already—”
“A doctor is waiting upstairs.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“And you didn't tell me?”
“You were accusing me of stealing him.”
“You are planning to take him.”
His face became serious again.
“He is my family.”
“He's also a baby.”
“Yes.”
“And he doesn't know you.”
“No.”
That answer stopped me.
Dominic looked at Elias.
“He knows you.”
The truth of it made my chest ache.
“He cries when I leave the room.”
“I noticed.”
“If you take him suddenly—”
“I am not going to.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I said I am not going to take him suddenly.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
He stood.
“Which is why I am going to show you.”
“Show me what?”
“Where you will both stay.”
I stiffened.
“I am not staying anywhere with you.”
“Then choose somewhere else.”
“What?”
“You cannot go back to the motel.”
“Obviously.”
“You cannot go to a shelter.”
“Why?”
“Because Rourke monitors missing-person databases and likely hospital systems.”
“A hotel?”
“Same problem.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
“My house.”
I laughed.
“No.”
“A secured property.”
“No.”
“A residence with medical staff, independent exits, and no official paper trail.”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You rejected that one quickly.”
“You said ‘my house.’”
“It is a house.”
“It is your house.”
“Yes.”
“You're a mafia boss.”
“Apparently.”
“And armed men work for you.”
“Yes.”
“And you kidnapped me.”
He paused.
“Technically—”
“Do not say technically.”
His mouth closed.
Good.
I stood.
“I am not taking Elias into your home.”
Dominic looked at me for several seconds.
Then he asked, “Why?”
“Because I don't know you.”
“Reasonable.”
“And because I don't know if the person who wants Elias dead is connected to you.”
His face changed.
That was the first time I saw genuine approval in his eyes.
“What?”
“You finally asked the correct question.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
Dominic walked to the metal table near the wall.
He opened a folder.
Inside were photographs.
Bank statements.
Call logs.
He spread three pages in front of me.
“I spent sixteen weeks investigating my sister’s death.”
I stepped closer.
“Rourke was paid forty-eight hours before Anna was shot.”
“By who?”
“That account.”
He pointed.
The name listed was an LLC.
Harbor Lake Consulting.
“What's that?”
“A shell company.”
“Whose?”
“That is what I couldn't determine.”
He slid another page toward me.
“Until this morning.”
I looked.
A corporate filing.
The controlling partner was hidden behind several entities.
But one familiar name appeared as the registered attorney.
Andrew Vale.
I froze.
Vale.
“Who is Andrew Vale?”
Dominic’s eyes were on me.
“Matthew Vale’s younger brother.”
My mouth went dry.
“My biological uncle?”
“Yes.”
“Why would my uncle pay a detective to hurt Anna?”
“I don't know.”
“And why would he want Elias?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at the paperwork.
Then something else caught my attention.
A second payment.
Same company.
Different recipient.
A hospital employee.
I recognized the name.
My former supervisor.
“Janice?”
Dominic nodded.
I stepped closer.
“Janice Holloway?”
“Yes.”
“She runs emergency nursing.”
“I know.”
“She helped Rourke?”
“She gave him your schedule.”
I felt sick.
“She told me to take time off after Anna died.”
“I know.”
“She said the police wanted to question me.”
“I know.”
“She knew I had the baby?”
“Possibly.”
I pressed one hand to my forehead.
Janice had trained me.
She brought cupcakes on birthdays.
She once covered three shifts when my mother was dying.
Suddenly I felt as though every safe memory in my life had hidden doors.
“Why?”
Dominic said quietly, “That is what we need to learn.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“This is not my world.”
“It became your world the night Anna handed you Elias.”
“I didn't ask for that.”
“No.”
“And I want out.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His calm irritated me.
“Then let me go.”
Dominic looked at the sleeping child.
“Where?”
I hated him for the question.
Because I had no answer.
I could not return home.
Rourke knew my identity.
My bank accounts had been untouched for months.
My license had probably expired.
I had no family left.
Most of my friends believed I had vanished.
One had filed a missing-person report.
I had become a fugitive without committing a crime.
Dominic did not press.
He let reality make the argument.
Finally I said, “I want to speak to a lawyer.”
“I already arranged one.”
I stared at him.
“Not your lawyer.”
“Independent.”
“Someone who doesn't work for you.”
“Yes.”
“Someone I choose.”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“What do you want from me?”
His answer came quietly.
“Keep Elias safe.”
“I already did.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
My voice shook.
“I slept sitting against motel doors because the locks didn't work.”
Dominic said nothing.
“I learned which convenience stores kept formula behind the counter.”
My throat tightened.
“I stopped using my phone. I stopped talking to anyone. I cut my own hair because salons had cameras. I spent three nights in my car because I thought someone followed us.”
Dominic’s expression had changed.
“I know you kept him alive.”
“No.”
I looked at Elias.
“I kept him happy.”
Silence.
That was the truth that broke me.
Because somehow, despite everything, Elias smiled.
He laughed when I sneezed.
He loved bath water.
He had learned to roll over in a motel outside Joliet.
His first real laugh happened in a laundromat while our clothes spun behind us.
I had given him something resembling a childhood in rooms rented by the night.
Dominic’s voice softened.
“Then I owe you more than I can repay.”
“I don't want money.”
“I know.”
“I don't want protection.”
“You need it.”
“I want my life back.”
He looked at me with something close to sadness.
“That may be the one thing I cannot give you exactly as it was.”
I closed my eyes.
I already knew.
The Bernie Collins who had once worried about hospital scheduling and whether her rent would increase had disappeared somewhere between the emergency department and the first motel.
A knock sounded.
Dominic opened the door.
A woman in her fifties entered wearing jeans and a wool sweater.
No weapon.
No guards.
“Bernie,” Dominic said, “this is Dr. Lena Morris.”
The woman smiled gently.
“I am a pediatrician.”
I tightened my grip on Elias.
She did not approach.
“May I examine him?”
I looked at Dominic.
Then at her.
“Where?”
“Wherever you're comfortable.”
That answer mattered.
“Here.”
She nodded.
The examination took twenty minutes.
Elias was healthy.
Slightly underweight.
Mild iron deficiency.
Nothing severe.
“You did very well,” Dr. Morris said.
I looked at her.
“With him.”
My eyes burned.
“Thank you.”
She packed her equipment.
Before leaving, she touched my arm gently.
“You should also see someone.”
“I'm fine.”
She looked at my bruised jaw.
“That was not what I meant.”
I almost laughed.
After she left, Dominic said, “There is a bedroom upstairs.”
“For Elias?”
“For both of you.”
“I am not sleeping here.”
“You have not slept properly in months.”
“I sleep.”
“You flinched when the air conditioner started.”
I glared at him.
He did not apologize.
“Stay tonight,” he said. “Meet the lawyer in the morning. Then decide.”
I wanted to refuse.
But Elias had already fallen asleep again.
And for once, no headlights waited outside.
No motel clerk was watching.
No police cruiser was parked across the road.
For once, there was a locked building full of people who seemed more afraid of Dominic than interested in me.
“One night,” I said.
“One.”
“And the door locks from inside.”
“It does.”
“And nobody enters without asking.”
“Yes.”
“And Elias stays with me.”
Dominic hesitated only a second.
“Yes.”
That hesitation did not escape me.
But he agreed.
I picked up the small bag that contained everything we owned.
Three onesies.
Formula.
Diapers.
A bottle.
My wallet.
A photograph of my parents.
Sixteen weeks of life condensed into one canvas bag.
Dominic led me upstairs.
Before I entered the room, he said, “Bernie.”
I turned.
“There is something else.”
I was too tired for anything else.
“What?”
He held up a photocopy.
My birth certificate.
“Matthew Vale’s name is not the only unusual thing.”
I stared.
“What now?”
“Your adoption was witnessed by two people.”
I looked at the names.
One belonged to a lawyer.
The other—
I stopped breathing.
Vincent Farrow.
Dominic’s father.
I looked up.
Dominic’s face had gone pale.
“My father signed your adoption papers.”
I could barely hear him.
“And there is one more thing.”
“What?”
He turned the document over.
Attached was an old handwritten note from the sealed county file.
Dominic read it once.
Then again.
“What does it say?”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“Matthew Vale asked my father to protect you if anything happened to him.”
My pulse hammered.
“Why?”
Dominic swallowed.
“Because according to this note, Matthew Vale believed someone inside law enforcement had discovered what he was investigating.”
I looked at Elias sleeping against me.
“What was he investigating?”
Dominic’s voice dropped.
“My father wasn't the target.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“Matthew was using the Farrow case as cover.”
“For what?”
Dominic held my gaze.
“A network of police officers, judges, and city officials.”
My skin went cold.
Then he said the name that turned everything inside me upside down.
“And the youngest officer named in Matthew Vale’s notes was Patrick Collins.”
May you like
My father.
The man who raised me.
