Chapter 3
When I was back on the third floor, my mom was getting an IV drip.
The drip for the substitute meds was running faster than the imported ones, and she said her arm ached.
I slowed it down for her. "Mom, wait here for me. I'll figure something out."
She held my hand; her hand was cold. "Victoria, don't make trouble with anyone. We can take our time with this illness. There's no rush.
"You and Michael should focus on your life together. Don't let my illness come between you two."
I didn't say anything.
She had no clue about the incident.
As I walked out of the room, I pulled out my other phone.
No one else had this number except Ethan Quinn and the CFO.
The call connected.
"Ethan, send me the ownership structure for Healthwell Medical Center," I said.
There was a pause, then he said, "Healthwell Medical Center? Isn't that the hospital your mom's in?"
"Yeah. Send me all the shareholders, their shares, and the last five years of financing records in two hours."
"Got it."
After hanging up, I leaned against the window in the hallway.
From the third floor, all I could see was the parking lot, nothing worth looking at.
But the ICU on the fifth floor had windows facing south, where we could see the tree.
That tree was my mom's favorite.
My phone buzzed again. It was Michael.
"Victoria, don't stress about today. Emily's really not doing well. I already talked to Dr. Barnes. Once Emily's stable, your mom gets her bed back," he said.
"How long?" I pressed.
"A week, tops."
"My mom can't last a week."
"So what do you expect me to do?" Michael's voice was edged with impatience. "You can't throw someone out of their bed, right? People would talk."
"Talk about what?" I snapped.
"That's it. We're done here," he said and hung up.
I stared at my phone, his name still glowing on the screen.
After five years of marriage, it hit me that I never really knew Michael at all.
I opened the preliminary documents Ethan had sent me.
Healthwell Medical Center had been around for eleven years. It was a private heart hospital, and the biggest shareholder was Richard himself, holding 38% of the shares.
The second-largest shareholder was a company called BrightRise Capital, with 22%.
The rest were scattered among a few smaller shareholders.
The total valuation was around 100 million dollars.
I flipped to the corporate info for BrightRise Capital and glanced at the name of the legal representative.
I never heard of him.
But then I noticed a small note. BrightRise Capital had completed a round of share transfers at the end of last year, and the buyer was a company called Unity Trading Co.
I know it. Its legal representative was David Grant, Michael's father.
*****
Early the next morning, I headed to the third floor to see my mom.
She hadn't slept a wink all night. The old man in the next bed started coughing at three in the morning and kept coughing till sunrise.
My mom looked worse than she did yesterday.
The nurse came in to check her blood pressure, glanced at the numbers, and walked out without saying a word.
"Wait," I called out to her. "My mom's blood pressure is way lower than yesterday. Has her doctor bothered to check on her today?"
The nurse looked a little uncomfortable. "The doctor's making rounds, but they're focusing on the ICU first."
"So the regular rooms get pushed to the end of the line?" I pressed.
"I'll go hurry them up," she said, and quickly walked off.
I waited in the hallway for forty minutes before the attending doctor finally showed up.
This was Oliver Mason, early forties, gold-rimmed glasses. "I've checked on Mrs. Summers. Her blood pressure's a bit low, but the local meds will do for now."
"When will the imported meds be available again?" I asked.
Oliver pushed up his glasses, not answering it directly. "Dr. Barnes is the one in charge of all the imported meds. That's not up to me."
He chose his words carefully.
"Dr. Mason, did those imported meds get sent up to the fifth floor?" I pressed.
His hand froze on the patient file for a moment. "I-I don't really know what's happening up there."
He was lying.
I could see it in his eyes.
Once Oliver was gone, I made my way up to the fifth floor.
One needed a special access card to get into the ICU.
Luckily, I had one from when I checked my mom in.
Nobody looked my way.
I stopped in front of bed seven's door, but didn't go in.
Inside, I could hear laughter and light conversation.
Emily's voice was soft and playful, with a teasing lilt. "Michael, you're so sweet. This hospital is wonderful, and this bed is so comfy. I feel like I'm already halfway healed."
Michael replied, "Relax and focus on getting better. Don't stress about anything else."
"But won't your wife have a problem with this?"
"She won't."
I stood by the door, leaning against the wall.
The hallway reeked of disinfectant.
I didn't push the door open.
As I turned to leave, I passed the nurse's station and saw Emily's medical record spread out on the counter.
The nurse was nowhere to be seen.
I glanced at it.
Admission diagnosis read: [Autonomic nervous system disorder.]
Those words made me freeze for a couple of seconds.
In plain words, her nerves were out of whack.
As long as she took some medicine and chilled at home, it would be fine.
She had absolutely no business being in an ICU bed, and she didn't need imported heart meds, either.