Chapter 9 - Martha’s Secret
Martha didn’t tell Maxwell.
That was her first mistake.
She went to the address alone.
That was her second.
The building was an abandoned clinic.
Celia waited inside.
No weapon.
No guards.
Only a folder.
“You came.”
“You know about my patient.”
“I know you didn’t make the error.”
Martha stopped breathing.
Celia slid the folder across the table.
Years earlier, Martha had administered medication based on a chart entry.
The dosage was wrong.
She accepted responsibility because her login appeared in the system.
But Celia had obtained archived audit records.
Someone else altered the chart.
“Why do you have this?”
“Because I researched you before bringing you to Maxwell.”
“You hired me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you notice what others ignore.”
“You used me.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to kill me.”
Celia’s expression tightened.
“The security-room fire wasn’t mine.”
“Vale?”
“Yes.”
Martha didn’t know whether to believe her.
“Why poison Maxwell?”
“I didn’t.”
“You put drugs in his tea.”
“I replaced what Vale gave him.”
Martha froze.
“What?”
“Vale’s doses were higher.”
Celia claimed she had secretly reduced them.
She wanted Maxwell weak enough for Julian to believe the plan was working, but alive long enough to discover the truth.
“You expect me to believe you protected him?”
“No.”
Celia’s eyes filled with tears.
“I hurt him.”
For the first time, revenge no longer looked powerful.
It looked exhausted.
“My mother died believing the Rourkes had destroyed her life,” Celia said. “I wanted Arthur’s sons to destroy each other.”
“And they almost did.”
“Yes.”
“Was it worth it?”
Celia looked down.
“No.”
Police sirens approached.
Celia smiled faintly.
“You told him.”
“I didn’t.”
“I did.”
Martha stared.
Celia had called investigators herself.
She handed Martha the folder.
“Take your life back.”
The police entered.
Celia surrendered.
Maxwell arrived minutes later.
He was furious.
“You came alone?”
“Yes.”
“That was reckless.”
“Yes.”
“You could have been killed.”
“Yes.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
Martha almost laughed.
Then she handed him the folder.
He read it.
“You didn’t make the mistake.”
“I signed the report.”
“You didn’t alter the chart.”
“I should have checked.”
“Martha.”
She looked at him.
“You have spent years punishing yourself for someone else’s crime.”
The words broke something inside her.
Tears came.
Maxwell reached for her hand.
She let him take it.
“You told me once,” he said, “that I didn’t get to be proud during rehabilitation.”
She laughed through tears.
“I remember.”
“Then you don’t get to hide behind guilt.”
Their eyes met.
For a moment, the abandoned clinic disappeared.
No crime empire.
No wheelchair.
No scandal.
Just two damaged people who had both mistaken punishment for responsibility.
Then Maxwell whispered:
“Come home.”
Martha squeezed his hand.
May you like
And for the first time, Rourke House sounded less like a prison.
