Chapter 2
I had no idea how long I'd been sitting there in the stairwell.
By the time Michael found me, my hands were already ice-cold.
He didn't say a word.
He just stood next to me, waiting silently.
After what felt like forever, I finally pushed myself up using the railing.
My legs were numb.
"Dig into it," I ordered.
My voice was hoarse, like there was a rock stuck in my throat.
"How did my mom die? What was wrong with her? Which hospital? Who was in charge? Who knew? I want every single person involved. Don't let anyone off the hook."
Michael nodded. "I'll get right on it."
I made my way up to the fifth floor.
The door to 502 was locked, the keyhole covered in dust.
I stood there, my hand resting on the door.
Not a single sound came from behind the door.
It wasn't always like this.
Back then, when my mom was cooking, she'd leave the door open, and the aroma of frying would waft down the hallway.
She'd always shout from the kitchen, "Andrew, come eat!"
Her voice carried through the whole building.
My fingers curled, pressing my knuckles against the door.
"Mom, I'm home," I whispered.
No one answered.
*****
Back in the car, I leaned back in my seat, eyes closed.
Michael handed me a bottle of water from the front.
"Mr. Carter, the old man said Aunt Helen died from complications caused by a lung infection. By the time she got to the hospital, it was already really bad, but..."
"But what?" I pressed.
He paused.
"But the first hospital she was taken to turned her away," Michael said quietly.
I opened my eyes.
"Which hospital?" I asked.
"Riverdale Central Hospital. The ER saw her, ran some basic tests, then suddenly claimed all the beds were full and sent her to another hospital," Michael replied.
"Seriously? An ER at a top hospital telling an old lady there are no beds?" I said, disbelief thick in my voice.
Michael didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Everyone knew it was never the doctors who decided if there was a bed available.
"Keep digging," I said. "I want to know who made that call."
"We're already on it," Michael replied.
The car pulled out and drove toward the hotel.
Riverdale was wide awake now, daylight flooding the streets.
Rush hour traffic lined up bumper to bumper, while the traffic lights at the intersection flipped mechanically.
I stared out the window, not saying a word.
Felt like fire in my gut.
It rose up, making my throat dry and my temples pound.
Five years.
I spent five years grinding overseas, clawing my way up from nothing, now I was the one calling the shots at Evercrest Holdings.
Our businesses operated in thirty-seven countries, with a market value over 700 billion dollars.
I thought I was strong enough.
Strong enough to keep everyone safe.
But when I finally got back, I realized the truth.
I never even got to say goodbye to my mom.
*****
It was nearly noon when we finally reached the hotel.
Michael had everything set up. I found myself at the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the lake.
My phone buzzed.
A message.
It was from a number I'd erased from my contacts five years ago.
But I still remembered those digits.
Olivia.
[Heard you're back in the country.]
That was it.
No greeting, no explanation, not a single extra word.
Just like five years ago.
She sounded so calm and distant, like this had nothing to do with her at all.
I just stared at her message for a couple seconds.
And then I just deleted it.
It was not hate.
She really didn't matter to me anymore. It was true.
Five years ago, I was madly in love with her.
The kind of crazy that made me want to fight the whole world for her.
But five years was more than enough.
Enough time to burn every last feeling out of my heart.
Now, seeing her name, I didn't feel a thing.
Just empty.
Like getting some junk message from a total stranger.
I tossed my phone onto the bed and headed for the bathroom.
I turned on the shower, letting the hot water run down over me.
The sound of the water drowned out everything else.
I closed my eyes.
All I could see was one scene.
My mom, all by herself, lying on a temporary bed in some hospital corridor.
Nobody even bothered.
No one even asked.
Just waiting to die.
My hands clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms.
The Sinclair Family.
If this was your doing.
I would show you what regret really meant.