Chapter 4
Ten days later. At 4:12 a.m., the alarm in the ICU suddenly went off.
By the time I jumped up from the recliner in the hallway, two nurses had already rushed into the room.
"Heart rate dropping. Get ready for resuscitation!" one of the nurses shouted.
When Alan rushed in, Andrew's eyes were open.
His lips were turning blue, he was gasping for air, and his hands were frantically clawing at the blanket.
I dashed inside and held his hand tightly.
"Andrew!" I cried out.
His eyes flicked to me, his mouth opening and closing, trying to speak. "Sarah..."
"Don't talk. The doctor's here. Hold on," I said.
Alan was barking out orders, nurses were wheeling in the crash cart, and the whole room was in chaos.
Andrew's hand gripped mine, weak but refusing to let go.
With his other hand, he fumbled under the pillow for a long moment before pulling something out and pressing it into my palm.
I glanced down.
It was a voice recorder.
The tiny screen showed it was full.
"Sarah. The night before last at the door, I heard everything..." Andrew's voice was so weak, every word seemed to cost him everything.
"What?"
"They were talking outside the door. I recorded it..."
"Who? Andrew, who was talking outside the door?"
But he didn't get the chance to answer.
The line on the heart monitor suddenly went flat.
A shrill, continuous beep tore through the room.
Alan's voice cut through the chaos. "Get the defibrillator ready!"
For the next forty minutes, I was ushered out of the room.
The hallway lights were so bright they hurt my eyes.
I crouched in the corner, clutching the voice recorder so tightly my knuckles turned white.
The sounds from inside the room grew more and more chaotic.
Then, slowly, they faded away.
Until finally, everything went completely silent.
When Alan pushed open the door, his face said it all.
"Ms. Summers..." That was all he said.
Then he took off his gloves and bowed to me.
I walked inside.
Andrew was lying in bed, the blanket pulled up to his chest, his face peaceful.
It was as if he'd finally fallen asleep.
But he would never wake up again and tell me he wanted to see the ocean.
I sat by his bedside for a whole hour, not saying a word.
All I could do was clutch that voice recorder in my hand.
With all the strength he had left, Andrew gave me this on the last night of his life.
There was only one thought in my mind.
I had to listen.
By the time I got home, it was already noon.
I locked the door and drew the curtains.
Then, I slumped onto the couch and hit play on the voice recorder.
There were two voices on the recording.
The first was Michael.
The second was Emily.
At the start, the hallway was quiet, with the occasional sound of nurses walking by.
Emily was the first to speak.
"Michael, Eric's post-op results are all normal. The doctor said he'll be ready to move to a regular room in about two weeks," Emily said.
"Yeah, I saw the numbers," he replied.
"Michael, what about the donor situation? Sarah went to talk to the organ center again today, didn't she?"
"I've already handled it. I had Andrew's status dropped to level B, so he won't be getting a donor heart anytime soon."
My hand froze.
I rewound and listened again.
"I had Andrew's status dropped to level B, so he won't be getting a donor heart anytime soon."
He said it with chilling calm, like he was discussing meds after surgery.
Not a hint of hesitation.
The recording kept going.
Emily's voice got softer.
"So... how long can he last?"
"It depends. If nothing goes wrong, three to five months. When that happens, we'll transfer him to another hospital."
"Will Sarah figure it out?"
"No way. I've got all the backend controls, and she doesn't understand any of it."
There was a two-second pause.
Then Emily asked again.
"Michael, after all this is over, are you going to divorce her?"
He didn't answer right away.
There was the sound of a lighter flicking on.
Then his voice drifted in, soft and far away.
"Emily, I owe the Fosters more than I could ever repay, not even in this lifetime. But I promise, you won't have to wait much longer."
The recording stopped there.
Maybe Andrew's finger had accidentally hit the pause button.
Or maybe he didn't have the strength to keep it going.
I put the voice recorder on the coffee table and stared up at the ceiling for what felt like forever.
The tears didn't come. They couldn't.
It was like someone had poured lead into my throat and chest, weighing me down until I couldn't move at all.
Michael knew Andrew was doomed.
He orchestrated everything himself.
Dropped Andrew's status, intercepted the donor heart, and shut down every chance he had.
It wasn't some oversight or bad call.
It was intentional.
After what felt like forever, my phone rang.
It was Michael.
I picked up.
"Sarah, I heard about Andrew. Where are you? I'll come get you," he said.
His voice carried just enough weight, as if he was trying to sound concerned.
"Come over." And with that, I hung up.
Then I went to the drawer and pulled out a folder.
Inside was a stack of documents Victor had handed me last week.
Records of all the shady deals Michael had made over the years, messing with donor heart allocations, rigging equipment purchases, and pocketing drug kickbacks.
Victor said he'd been collecting this stuff for two years, and every single piece was backed up with solid proof.
But as a vice director who'd been sidelined to logistics, all that evidence was useless in his hands.
"Unless someone on the inside opens a door," he said.
He looked right at me when he said it.
Back then, I thought I wouldn't have to go this far.
I thought Andrew would get a donor heart, and Michael wouldn't do something so ruthless.
But Andrew was dead.
I slipped the voice recorder into the folder, right next to the stack of documents.
I zipped it up and shoved it into the back of the closet.
The doorbell rang. Michael was here.