Chapter 3
Did David not know she was dead? No way. If he could find out about Lucy Quinn, there was no way he had missed something so major.
So why would he still send me there?
Was his info just outdated? Or... did he deliberately lead me into a dead end?
No, that wasn't right.
If he had wanted to hurt me, he wouldn't have given me 200 thousand dollars.
I forced myself to steady my nerves and looked at the receptionist. "So... which department was Dr. Quinn in? Did she have any close friends among the staff?"
The receptionist sighed, clearly impatient. "She was in cardiac surgery. As for colleagues, I really can't say—it's been ages."
"Thanks," I said quietly.
I turned away from the front desk, my thoughts all tangled up.
Just like that, the lead was gone.
What should I do? Should I stay in Seaview, or head somewhere else?
The drive was still in my hands—a hot potato, but right then, it was all I had.
I couldn't just give up.
I headed up to the cardiac surgery floor and found Lucy's photo on a staff board.
It was a black-and-white shot of a young woman, her features soft and gentle, framed by gold-rimmed glasses.
Her bio was simple: born and raised in Seaview, earned a PhD from the local medical university, and was the youngest chief physician in the department back then.
I stared at her face, searching for any hint or clue.
Then, I noticed right next to Lucy's photo was another doctor—William Carter, the deputy chief. The bio under his picture mentioned he and Lucy had been college classmates.
Suddenly, hope sparked inside me.
I rushed to the nurse's station to find out when Dr. Carter would be seeing patients.
The receptionist told me he'd be seeing patients that afternoon.
I sat on the bench in the hallway, waiting from noon all the way until two o'clock, time crawling by as I watched the clock.
At last, patients started filing in and out of Dr. Carter's office, one after another.
I waited until the very last patient left, then took a steadying breath and knocked on the door.
"Come in," came a voice from inside.
I opened the door and stepped in. Behind the desk sat a man in his early fifties, streaks of gray in his hair, head down as he scribbled notes in a patient chart.
This was Dr. Carter himself.
I began, "Dr. Carter, I..." my voice faltering.
As soon as his eyes met mine, his pen slipped from his hand and hit the desk with a sharp clatter.
His eyes were glued to my face, pure shock and disbelief in his gaze.
He looked like he'd just seen a ghost.
"Who... who are you?" His voice shook.
His reaction told me I'd found the right person.
My face must have been a dead ringer for someone.
Was it Lucy? Or... is it my real mom?
"My name's Nina Young," I said, closing the door behind me and lowering my voice. "David Johnson introduced me."
At the mention of David Johnson, Dr. Carter's face instantly drained of color.
He shot to his feet, nervously checking the door before pulling the curtains shut.
"Why are you here? Did he send you?" His voice was tight, full of suspicion.
"He asked me to track down Dr. Lucy Quinn and deliver something to her," I said.
Dr. Carter's eyes clouded over. He slumped back in his chair, waving me off helplessly. "It's too late. Far too late. Lucy... she's not here anymore."
"I know," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "But I want to know—what really happened to Dr. Quinn? And why did David want me to give her this? It's connected to my birth mother, isn't it?"
Dr. Carter's head snapped up, staring at me in disbelief. "You... you already know?"
"All I know is my mom isn't my real mom. That's all," I said, taking the flash drive out of my backpack and placing it on his desk. "This is what David asked me to give to Dr. Quinn."
Dr. Carter stared at the drive like it was a live grenade, as if it might explode any second.
He hesitated for a long time before finally reaching out, his hand shaking slightly as he took it.
"You really resemble her," he murmured. "Your mother, Susan Young."
Susan Young.
It was the first time I'd ever heard my real mother's name.
My eyes instantly welled up with tears.
"Where is she?" I blurted out, my voice shaking with urgency.
Dr. Carter shook his head, his face twisted with anguish. "I don't know. The three of us were best friends—me, Lucy, and Susan. But then... when Susan got into trouble, Lucy tried to get to the bottom of it, and then..."
He stopped, unable to go on.
I got it.
Lucy's death had everything to do with Susan.
"What's on this drive?" I asked.
"It's evidence," Dr. Carter said, plugging the drive into his computer and opening up an encrypted file. "It's proof that Mary Lowell hired a hitman years ago."
My chest tightened like a vise.
Hired a hitman? Who was the target?
Dr. Carter didn't answer—he just clicked on a video, and a grainy image flickered onto the screen.
The footage was dark, looking like it was filmed in some abandoned warehouse.
A woman was bound to a chair, battered and bloodied.
Even though her face was blurry, that figure was uncannily familiar to me.
It was Mary Lowell.
And standing across from her was a man.
It was David Johnson.
In the video, David was holding a metal rod, his voice icy.
"Speak! Where's Susan?" David barked, his tone icy.
Suddenly, the office door burst open.
A young doctor in a white coat rushed in, panic written all over his face.
"Dr. Carter, bad news!" he exclaimed, gesturing to me and then toward the lobby downstairs. "There are several men in black suits down in the lobby, holding up your picture and asking about you all over the place!"
Dr. Carter's face went ghostly pale.
He yanked the drive out of the computer, shoved it into my hand, and hurried me toward the window—closer to the back exit.
"They're Mary's men! They're after you! Go out the back door, quick!" he shouted.
Outside the window was a metal maintenance platform on the third floor, and below that was the hospital lawn.
From this height, jumping wouldn't kill me, but there was a good chance I'd end up with a broken leg.
"Go!" Dr. Carter yelled, his eyes bloodshot.
The fear had vanished from his face, replaced by a grim resolve—like a soldier marching to his death.
I didn't have time to hesitate.
Clutching the drive, I climbed onto the windowsill and swung myself outside.