Chapter 6 - A Billionaire Outside Room 1517
The glass door closed in Beckett's face.
He could see Celeste.
That made it worse.
Doctors moved around her.
A nurse adjusted leads.
Another checked medication.
The monitor continued sounding.
Violet stood beside Beckett with both hands pressed over her mouth.
He reached for her automatically.
She let him.
Eight months of anger disappeared beneath one instinct.
Don't let her stand alone.
“What happened?” Violet whispered.
“I don't know.”
“Her rhythm was normal.”
“I know.”
“What if—”
“Don't.”
Violet looked at him.
He wasn't ordering her.
He was begging.
“Don't finish that sentence.”
She nodded.
Minutes became unbearable.
Beckett had negotiated under pressure for most of his life.
Pressure was manageable when action existed.
There was nothing to do here.
Money could not enter the room.
Authority could not enter the room.
His name could not enter the room.
Only doctors could.
So he waited.
At some point Violet began shaking.
Beckett removed his jacket and wrapped it around her.
She did not protest.
After seventeen minutes, Dr. Ramirez emerged.
Violet rushed toward her.
“Is she okay?”
“She is stable.”
Both parents exhaled.
“What happened?” Beckett asked.
“She experienced supraventricular tachycardia. Her heart rate became extremely elevated.”
“Cause?”
“We're investigating.”
“Treatment?”
“The episode responded quickly.”
“Long-term?”
“Possibly medication. In some infants, the issue resolves as the electrical system matures.”
Violet's knees weakened.
Beckett caught her.
Elena continued.
“We are keeping her here at least another forty-eight hours.”
“Fine,” Beckett said.
Violet looked at him.
He wasn't deciding.
He was agreeing to anything that kept Celeste safe.
When they were allowed back inside, Violet immediately went to the bassinet.
Beckett remained near the door.
He suddenly felt like an intruder.
Violet noticed.
“You can come closer.”
He did.
Celeste looked impossibly normal.
That offended him.
Something so small shouldn't be able to terrify two adults simply by changing numbers on a screen.
Beckett touched her foot gently.
“She scared ten years off my life.”
Violet gave a tired laugh.
“You'll survive.”
“I’m reconsidering that five-hour sleep schedule.”
“You should.”
He glanced at Violet.
“You and Simon would get along.”
“Who?”
“My doctor.”
“The person you were supposed to see yesterday?”
He checked the time.
Technically, it was now yesterday.
“Yes.”
“You missed your appointment.”
“I found a more important one.”
Violet's expression softened.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen and stiffened.
“Who is it?”
“My landlord.”
Beckett frowned.
“Answer.”
She stepped into the hallway.
He didn't intend to listen.
But the door remained open.
“Yes, Mr. Tanner… I know… I told you I’ll have it Friday.”
Pause.
“I understand.”
Another pause.
“No, please don't do that. I have a newborn.”
Beckett's expression changed.
When she returned, he was waiting.
“You're behind on rent.”
Violet bristled.
“Don't.”
“How much?”
“None of your business.”
“You have our daughter living there.”
“My apartment is safe.”
“I didn't say it wasn't.”
“You're thinking it.”
“I’m thinking that if money is causing you stress while Celeste is in the hospital, I can remove that stress.”
“I don't want your money.”
“It isn't charity.”
“I know exactly what money from you becomes.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Control.”
That stopped him.
“You think I would use money to control you?”
“I think you use solutions to avoid emotions.”
He looked away.
Again, accurate.
Violet softened slightly.
“I had savings. The pregnancy was complicated. I couldn't work as much. Celeste came early. Hospital expenses…”
“You had insurance.”
“It doesn't cover everything.”
“How much?”
“Beckett.”
“How much?”
She sighed.
“Enough.”
He reached for his phone.
“No.”
He stopped.
“If you pay my rent behind my back, I will move.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Try me.”
He believed her.
“Fine.”
He put the phone away.
“But we're discussing this later.”
“No.”
“We're discussing my financial responsibility for Celeste.”
“That is different.”
“Good.”
He accepted the distinction.
Violet looked almost disappointed that he hadn't argued.
At noon, Claire Donovan arrived.
She was tall, dark-haired, and immediately hostile.
She saw Beckett.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Oh.”
Beckett stood.
“You must be Claire.”
“You must be the reason Violet cried for six months.”
“Claire,” Violet warned.
“What? We're pretending?”
Beckett surprised everyone.
“No. She's right.”
Claire stared.
Violet stared harder.
Beckett offered his hand.
“Thank you for taking care of them.”
Claire didn't take it.
“I didn't do it for you.”
“I know.”
“You hurt her.”
“I know.”
“If you hurt her again—”
“Claire.”
Beckett lowered his hand.
“You won't need to find me. I’ll deserve whatever you do.”
Claire looked suspicious.
“Who replaced the billionaire?”
“Apparently a six-pound infant.”
Claire almost smiled.
Almost.
Later that afternoon, while Violet showered in the family facilities, Claire approached Beckett.
“There's something you don't know.”
His attention sharpened.
“About Celeste?”
“About Violet.”
“What?”
Claire glanced toward the hallway.
“She didn't only disappear because of what you said about children.”
Beckett's chest tightened.
“What else happened?”
Claire hesitated.
“You need to ask her about the letter.”
“What letter?”
“The one someone sent her three days before she left you.”
Beckett stood slowly.
“What was in it?”
Claire looked toward Violet's empty chair.
“Something that made her believe having your baby wouldn't just ruin your life.”
She lowered her voice.
“It made her believe someone inside your world would make sure she never became part of it.”
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And suddenly Beckett understood that Violet's disappearance might have involved far more than one terrible conversation.
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