Chapter 2 - The Hospital Corridor
The neon lights of St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital buzzed with an irritating, mechanical rhythm that echoed down the sterile hallway.
Ethan sat in a plastic waiting room chair that felt like it had been molded out of concrete, his tailored tuxedo jacket discarded on the floor, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Across from him, Lucy sat huddled in an oversized hospital blanket, a nurse having finally convinced her to change out of her soaked clothes. She held a styrofoam cup of hot cocoa between her palms, staring blankly at the beige floor tiles.
The heavy double doors at the end of the hall swung open, and Victoria’s father, Arthur Hale—the patriarch of Hale Enterprises and the man who held half the commercial real estate in the city—strode into the ward like he owned the building. Behind him hurried two corporate attorneys carrying leather briefcases.
“Ethan!” Arthur boomed, his voice echoing off the walls. He marched up to Ethan, his face flushed with righteous fury. “What the hell is going on? My daughter is sitting in a bridal suite in hysterics because you abandoned your wedding to chase after a street urchin and some wild conspiracy theory! Have you lost your mind?”
Ethan didn't stand up. He slowly raised his head, his eyes bloodshot and dead.
“Arthur,” Ethan said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Shut your mouth.”
Arthur blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to? Without Hale capital, your tech firm goes under by the end of the quarter—”
“My tech firm has three billion in liquid assets and zero debt,” Ethan interrupted softly, standing up slowly to tower over the older man. “And your daughter is currently facing federal wire fraud, extortion, and criminal conspiracy charges.”
“That’s an absurd lie!” one of the attorneys barked, stepping forward. “We will sue you into oblivion for defamation before the sun sets—”
“Sue me for what?” Ethan turned his phone around, sliding it across the waiting room chair. On the screen was a high-resolution photograph of the eleven checks Lucy had brought to the chapel, cross-referenced with bank routing numbers from Hale Enterprises’ primary corporate account, dated precisely nine years, eleven months ago. “Every single check was drawn from a subsidiary account controlled directly by Victoria. The routing numbers match her private secretary’s desk. We already pulled the transaction logs from the clearinghouse an hour ago.”
Arthur stared at the screen, his bluster evaporating in a fraction of a second. He looked at the attorneys, who suddenly found the ceiling tiles very interesting.
Before Arthur could speak, the emergency ward doors swung open again. Dr. Marcus Vance—no relation to the scandal, just an exhausted emergency room physician—stepped out of Room 412, pulling down his surgical mask.
Ethan’s heart slammed against his ribs. He left the Hales standing in the hallway and bolted toward the doctor.
“Are you Mr. Pierce?” Dr. Vance asked wearily.
“Yes. How is she?”
May you like
The doctor looked down at his clipboard, then up at Ethan with a solemn, sympathetic expression. “She’s awake. But her organs are shutting down, Mr. Pierce. Pneumonia on top of advanced-stage renal failure. She’s been ignoring medical treatment for months because she couldn't afford the medications. If you want to talk to her... you need to go in right now. She doesn't have many hours left.”
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