Chapter 2 - Four Blocks From the Hospital
Victor did not sleep well.
He would later tell himself it was because of Daniel’s fleet report, the unanswered questions, the possibility that Samuel’s route changes had compromised something important.
That was easier than admitting the truth.
The little pink hearing aid had bothered him.
At two in the morning, Victor went downstairs in his townhouse and found it where he had left it on the kitchen counter.
At two fifteen, he searched pediatric hearing loss.
At two thirty, he closed the page.
At two thirty-two, he reopened it.
The words blurred together.
Audiology.
Fittings.
Follow-up appointments.
Speech therapy.
Device adjustments.
Children adapting.
Families adapting.
Victor had dealt with contracts worth millions without blinking. Yet the sight of a photograph showing a seven-year-old wearing a device similar to the one in his hand made something in his chest tighten.
Who was L.R.?
At seven the next morning, Marcus Vale waited outside Victor’s townhouse with the company SUV.
Marcus was thirty-two, competent, respectful and visibly nervous.
Samuel had never been visibly nervous.
Victor got in.
Marcus checked the mirror.
“Office?”
“Yes.”
Three blocks later, Victor said, “Take Ashland.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Ashland?”
“Yes.”
“It’s slower this time of day.”
“I know.”
Marcus turned.
Victor watched the city move past the window.
Wet sidewalks.
Delivery trucks.
People wrapped in dark coats.
Chicago in November had a way of looking tired before the day even began.
Victor kept the hearing aid in his pocket.
As the hospital complex approached, he said, “Pull over.”
Marcus slowed.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
Victor got out.
“Wait.”
He crossed the street.
The hospital entrance was nothing like Victor’s office.
Too bright.
Too warm.
Walls painted with animals and clouds.
A plastic train table in one corner.
Parents carrying backpacks and coffee cups.
A toddler crying because someone had taken away a sticker.
Victor felt ridiculous.
He had no reason to be there.
That was what he told himself.
Then he saw Samuel.
Across the lobby.
Victor stopped.
Samuel wore jeans and a dark green sweater.
Victor almost did not recognize him.
For eighteen years, Samuel existed in Victor’s memory in black suits, dark ties and winter coats.
Now there was no driver.
Just a man.
Samuel carried a purple backpack over one shoulder and a paper bag in his left hand.
Beside him walked a little girl.
Seven, maybe eight.
Yellow knit cap.
Pink coat.
One hand tucked inside Samuel’s.
Victor’s eyes moved immediately toward her ear.
A small hearing device curved behind it.
Pink.
The same shade as the one in his pocket.
The girl looked up and said something.
Samuel bent down.
She repeated herself.
Samuel smiled.
Not the polite half-smile Victor occasionally saw in the rearview mirror.
A real smile.
Open.
Unprotected.
The child tugged Samuel toward a row of chairs.
He laughed.
Victor had heard Samuel laugh before.
He realized he had never heard him laugh like that.
A woman approached from the hallway.
Early thirties.
Dark hair pulled back.
Hospital scrubs under a winter coat.
She hugged Samuel.
His daughter, Victor guessed.
The girl reached into Samuel’s paper bag and pulled out a muffin.
Samuel said something.
She made a face.
Victor could not hear the words, but he could read the exchange.
Breakfast first.
Muffin later.
The girl disagreed.
Samuel lost.
The muffin stayed.
Victor almost smiled.
Then Samuel crouched.
He reached behind the child’s ear and adjusted the hearing device carefully.
His hands were steady.
Patient.
The same hands that had spent eighteen years on Victor’s steering wheel.
The little girl tapped Samuel’s nose.
Samuel pretended to be offended.
She giggled.
Then Samuel checked his watch.
Victor’s smile vanished.
Ten seconds later, Samuel checked it again.
The woman noticed.
She said something.
Samuel shook his head.
A minute later, he checked again.
Victor felt something cold move through him.
Samuel had been fired.
He had nowhere Victor expected him to be.
No sedan downstairs.
No meeting to reach.
No schedule to maintain.
Still, he kept checking the time.
Victor looked away.
Suddenly he felt as if he were witnessing something private.
He stepped outside.
Marcus opened the rear door when Victor returned.
“Everything okay?”
Victor got in.
“Drive.”
“Office?”
Victor looked back toward the hospital.
“Yes.”
At Bellini Imports, Victor called Peter Wallace.
Peter answered immediately.
“You fired Sam.”
News traveled quickly.
Victor did not bother asking how Peter knew.
“I need his payroll file.”
Peter sighed.
“Why?”
“Send it.”
“You know, normal people start phone calls with hello.”
“Peter.”
“Fine.”
Peter Wallace had been Victor’s accountant and unofficial conscience for twenty-seven years. He was sixty-one, bald, permanently irritated and one of the few people who spoke to Victor without filtering every sentence.
The payroll file arrived.
Victor opened it.
Emergency Contact: Rachel Reed.
Relationship: Daughter.
Victor searched the name.
Nothing useful.
Then he looked at the hearing aid.
L.R.
Lucy Reed.
He called Peter again.
Peter answered, “I’m beginning to regret giving you my number in 1999.”
“Does Samuel have a granddaughter named Lucy?”
Silence.
Then Peter said, “Yes.”
Victor leaned back.
“How old?”
“Seven, I think.”
“You’ve met her?”
“At a Christmas party.”
Victor’s face hardened.
“What Christmas party?”
“The company one.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Victor had been there.
He remembered shaking hands with two hundred people.
He did not remember Lucy.
Peter’s tone changed.
“What is this about?”
“Lucy’s being treated at Lakeshore Children’s.”
A pause.
“Ah.”
Victor hated that sound.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You knew?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Peter hesitated.
“Samuel asked me something about six months ago.”
Victor straightened.
“What?”
“He asked whether drivers could have fixed end times.”
Victor stared at the wall.
“What did you say?”
“That schedules for your personal staff were handled by your office.”
“Did he ask you to speak to me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Peter went quiet.
“Peter.”
“He said forget it.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“What exactly did he say?”
Peter sighed.
“He said he couldn’t afford to make himself less useful.”
The office went silent.
Victor looked at the rain beyond the glass.
For eighteen years, he had thought Samuel’s availability was part of Samuel’s character.
Reliable.
Dependable.
Always there.
He had never wondered whether “always there” required Samuel to be somewhere else less often.
“Did you tell him I’d fire him?”
“No.”
“Did I ever tell anyone that?”
“No.”
Victor rubbed his forehead.
“Then why would he think it?”
Peter’s response came quickly.
“Maybe because you reward people for never becoming a problem.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“That sounds dramatic.”
“So does firing an eighteen-year employee before asking why he was near a children’s hospital.”
Victor said nothing.
Peter softened.
“Victor, I’m not saying Sam handled it correctly.”
“He didn’t.”
“No. He should’ve told you.”
Victor looked at the hearing aid.
“But?”
“But you’ve built a company where the most praised people are the ones who solve their personal problems before they reach your desk.”
Victor leaned back.
“That’s business.”
“Maybe.”
Peter paused.
“But people eventually hear something else.”
“What?”
“Don’t bring me your life.”
Victor ended the call.
He sat alone for several minutes.
The anger had mostly drained away now.
In its place came embarrassment.
He did not enjoy that emotion.
Victor opened Samuel’s route reports again.
He began listing the dates beside Lucy’s likely appointments.
Most aligned.
Not perfectly.
Enough.
October eleventh.
Seventeen.
Twenty-sixth.
November third.
November ninth.
Victor looked at his own calendar.
Something caught his attention.
October eleventh, Daniel had arranged a lunch with a development consultant.
Victor had missed the first twenty minutes because of Samuel’s detour.
October seventeenth, Daniel wanted Victor at a downtown club earlier than usual.
Samuel took the long route.
By the time Victor arrived, two bank representatives had already left.
October twenty-sixth, Daniel had called three times asking Victor’s arrival time at an industry dinner.
Victor remembered being irritated.
November third, Samuel’s detour caused Victor to miss an “accidental” meeting with Uncle Carlo.
Victor sat forward.
He opened every date.
A pattern appeared.
Not every hospital detour overlapped with Daniel.
But too many did.
Victor picked up the fleet audit Daniel had provided.
For the first time, he examined the document itself instead of Samuel’s routes.
The report contained mileage deviations.
Route deviations.
Time changes.
Nothing about maintenance.
Nothing about fuel.
Nothing about vehicle condition.
Why would a routine fleet audit care only about Samuel’s movements?
Victor called Peter.
Again.
Peter answered, “You know texting exists.”
“Who requested the fleet audit?”
“I thought you did.”
Victor went still.
“I didn’t.”
A pause.
“Then I’ll find out.”
“Now.”
“I know.”
Victor hung up.
Twenty-three minutes later, Peter walked into Victor’s office carrying a folder.
His face told Victor enough.
“Daniel.”
Peter closed the door.
“The request came through Daniel’s operations assistant.”
Victor said nothing.
“Three months ago.”
“Authority?”
“Your account.”
“I didn’t approve it.”
“I know.”
Victor stared at the document.
Peter sat.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
Peter spread several calendar printouts across the desk.
“I checked Daniel’s meeting requests.”
Victor looked.
“Five of the days Samuel changed the route, Daniel had people waiting near your expected destination.”
“I saw that.”
“Did you see this?”
Peter pointed.
On each date, Daniel had sent private messages to staff asking for Victor’s approximate arrival window.
Victor felt his pulse slow.
That was how his anger worked.
It became quieter.
“What was he doing?”
Peter shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Victor looked through the glass wall.
Daniel stood across the office laughing with two managers.
As if sensing Victor, he looked up.
Their eyes met.
Daniel smiled.
Victor did not.
For the first time, Samuel’s route changes looked less like evidence of betrayal.
They looked like something else.
Samuel had been hiding hospital visits.
That much Victor now understood.
May you like
But somebody else had been studying Victor’s schedule with extraordinary interest.
And unlike Samuel, that person had never been sitting behind the wheel.
