Chapter 3 - The Girl My Mother Saved
We did not go home that night.
Mommy argued with Damian for eleven straight minutes about it.
I counted.
At five, eleven minutes felt like an entire school day.
“I am not staying in your hotel,” she said.
“You’re not staying in your house.”
“You don’t decide that.”
“Correct. The person photographing your front door apparently did.”
“That doesn’t mean I move my child into a hotel owned by a man I met twenty minutes ago.”
“You met me seven months ago.”
“No. I treated your daughter seven months ago. That is not the same thing.”
“You stayed awake with her for eighteen hours.”
“That was my job.”
“You held her hand when I couldn’t get there.”
“That was my job.”
“You threatened a cardiologist.”
Mommy paused.
“I did not threaten him.”
Damian looked at her.
“You told him, and I quote, ‘If you dismiss her symptoms again, I will personally make sure every administrator in this building learns your name before sunrise.’”
Mommy stared.
“You heard that?”
“I was outside the room.”
Lily raised her hand.
“She was scary.”
Mommy looked betrayed.
“I was advocating.”
Damian nodded solemnly.
“Terrifyingly.”
That was the first time I saw my mother smile at him.
It lasted less than a second.
Then she remembered she was angry.
Eventually Damian won, but only because Mommy called our neighbor, Mrs. Ellis.
Mrs. Ellis walked across the street to check our house.
She called back immediately.
“Anna, your back door is open.”
Mommy stopped speaking.
She had locked it.
She always locked it.
Damian took the phone gently.
“Mrs. Ellis, don’t go inside.”
“Who is this?”
“A friend.”
Mommy gave him a look.
He corrected himself.
“An acquaintance with excellent advice.”
Mrs. Ellis apparently accepted that.
Damian had security sent to the neighborhood and contacted the police.
Mommy insisted on that part.
He agreed without argument.
We spent the night in a large suite several floors above the city.
Lily thought it was an adventure.
I didn’t.
I slept beside Mommy.
Or tried to.
At 2:07 in the morning, I opened my eyes and found her standing by the window.
Damian was on the balcony outside.
They were talking through the partially open door.
I pretended to sleep.
“You really think someone broke into my house because of Lily’s hospital chart?” Mommy asked.
“I think somebody wants something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t very reassuring.”
“I’m not trying to reassure you.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“Keep you alive long enough to understand what’s happening.”
There was silence.
Mommy folded her arms.
“You say things like that too casually.”
Damian looked out at the city.
“I’ve had practice.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
“No.”
Another silence.
“Who are you really?” she asked.
There it was.
The question everybody probably asked Damian Cross eventually.
He took his time answering.
“My father built a business that mixed legitimate companies with things that were considerably less legitimate.”
“That’s a careful sentence.”
“It’s a careful subject.”
“And you?”
“I inherited both.”
“Do you still run both?”
He glanced toward her.
“I’ve spent years separating them.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m giving tonight.”
Mommy shook her head.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re right.”
That surprised her.
“You shouldn’t.”
He looked through the glass toward Lily and me.
“But neither should she.”
Mommy followed his gaze.
“I don’t understand why Lily was targeted.”
“Neither do I.”
“You said it distracted you from business.”
“I had a meeting the night she collapsed.”
“What kind?”
“A vote involving Cross Holdings.”
“Why would anyone care whether you attended?”
“Because I controlled enough shares to stop a merger.”
Mommy frowned.
“With what company?”
“Northstar Medical Logistics.”
She turned sharply.
“What?”
Damian noticed.
“You know it?”
“St. Catherine uses them.”
“For?”
“Medication distribution. Equipment. Storage. Half the hospital’s supply chain.”
Damian’s expression changed.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
He pulled out his phone.
His fingers moved quickly.
Mommy watched.
“What?”
“The merger I blocked would have given Northstar access to Cross transportation infrastructure.”
“And?”
“Ports. Warehouses. Customs contracts.”
“Why did you block it?”
“Because their numbers didn’t make sense.”
Mommy went quiet.
Damian looked at her.
“What?”
“Evelyn.”
“Your charge nurse?”
“She complained about Northstar.”
“When?”
“A few weeks before she died.”
Damian stepped closer.
“What did she say?”
Mommy struggled to remember.
“She said medication inventory was wrong. Controlled medications, mostly. The system showed shipments arriving that she couldn’t account for.”
“Did she report it?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Administration.”
“And then?”
“She became paranoid.”
“About what?”
“She thought someone was accessing patient records to hide inventory discrepancies.”
Damian went still.
“Patient records.”
“Yes.”
“How would that help?”
“If medication is recorded as administered to a patient, inventory appears used rather than missing.”
He stared at her.
“So if somebody wanted to steal medication—”
“They could falsify administration records.”
“Would that explain Lily’s altered chart?”
Mommy inhaled slowly.
“Yes.”
Suddenly the pieces were no longer separate.
Northstar.
The altered medication record.
Evelyn.
The man in gray.
Room 417.
Damian’s failed merger.
Lily’s illness.
Mommy looked sick.
“If someone used Lily’s chart to hide missing medication…”
“They may not have harmed her.”
“But they changed her record while she was critically ill.”
“Yes.”
“And Evelyn noticed.”
“Yes.”
Mommy looked toward the bedroom.
“And now Evelyn is dead.”
Damian didn’t respond.
“How did she die?” he asked.
“Car accident.”
“Where?”
“Interstate 9.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Was anyone else involved?”
“I don’t know.”
Damian began typing.
Mommy watched him.
“You have people who can investigate this?”
“I have people who can find public records.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No.”
“Damian.”
He put the phone away.
“Anna, you’re safer not knowing some things about me.”
“You don’t get to decide what I’m safer knowing.”
The words hung between them.
He studied her.
Then nodded once.
“That’s fair.”
Mommy seemed surprised.
“So tell me.”
“My father’s organization used information as currency. When he died, I inherited people who are very good at finding things other people hide.”
“And the criminal part?”
“Still being dismantled.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It isn’t.”
“Have you hurt people?”
His face changed.
He did not dodge the question.
“Yes.”
Mommy went very still.
“Do you hurt innocent people?”
“No.”
“How do I know that?”
“You don’t.”
That answer bothered her more than a lie would have.
Damian looked toward the sleeping area.
“You should rest.”
“I won’t.”
“Then pretend. Mia will know if you’re afraid.”
“I am afraid.”
“So am I.”
Mommy stared at him.
“You?”
He looked at Lily.
“Constantly.”
For the first time, Mommy understood something about Damian that the rumors never mentioned.
Everything he feared had one name.
Lily.
The next morning, police confirmed our house had been entered.
Nothing obvious was stolen.
Drawers had been opened.
Closets searched.
Mattresses moved.
The intruder had ignored jewelry and electronics.
They were looking for something specific.
One officer asked Mommy whether she kept confidential hospital records at home.
“No.”
“Any patient files?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Medication?”
“No.”
“USB drives?”
Mommy shook her head.
Then stopped.
I remember the way she froze.
Damian noticed immediately.
“What?”
She stared at the carpet.
“Evelyn gave me something.”
“When?”
“Two days before she died.”
Damian stood.
“What did she give you?”
“A flash drive.”
His voice sharpened.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I never opened it.”
“Why?”
“Because she told me it had staffing records on it. I thought she wanted me to review schedules for a complaint she was filing.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I put it in my work bag.”
“And then?”
Mommy closed her eyes.
“I forgot about it.”
Damian stared at her.
“Anna.”
“I was working doubles. Mia was sick that week. Evelyn died two days later. Everything became chaos.”
“Do you still have the bag?”
Mommy looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
Damian was already reaching for his coat.
“No.”
Mommy stepped in front of him.
“I’m going.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s my house.”
“It was searched twelve hours ago.”
“And you don’t know where the drive is.”
“Neither do you.”
“I know the bag.”
He looked irritated.
“So describe it.”
“Black canvas. Broken zipper.”
“Where do you keep it?”
“I don’t know.”
Damian stared.
Mommy lifted her chin.
“That’s why I’m going.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in two SUVs heading toward our house.
Damian’s security checked everything first.
Then Mommy entered.
I stayed in the vehicle with Lily.
Through the window, I watched Mommy and Damian disappear inside.
They were gone seven minutes.
Then ten.
Then fifteen.
When they finally emerged, Mommy carried an old black bag.
Damian held a tiny silver flash drive.
But his expression told me something was wrong.
He opened the SUV door.
“Anna.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“This wasn’t the only thing in the bag.”
He held up a folded piece of paper.
Mommy took it.
Her face changed as she read.
“What does it say?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
Years later, she showed me that note.
It was written in Evelyn Shaw’s handwriting.
Only two lines.
If something happens to me, don’t trust St. Catherine administration.
And beneath it:
May you like
Lily Cross was not the first child whose record they changed.
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