Chapter 3
The car glided out of the complex. I pulled out another phone and turned it on.
Dozens of unread voice messages flooded the screen. They were all from someone saved in my contacts as Kevin.
I tapped on the latest one. "Mrs. Carter, the house Alex keeps at Evermont Residences is registered in Emily's name. Last month, he bought her parents a villa back home and paid for it in full.
"He secretly transferred three large amounts of money into a private overseas account without telling you. The account belongs to him."
I read the messages, sneering.
Good. This was exactly the kind of evidence I'd need in court.
Right then, another message from Kevin popped up. It was short, but it made me sit up immediately. [I found something weird.
[Alex wired 60 thousand to the same account as hush money. The recipient is your mother's current attending physician, Carson Wright.]
The air inside the car seemed to freeze.
Michael caught the change in my expression in the rearview mirror, and his voice turned serious. "What is it?"
I handed him my phone.
Michael read the messages, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"Carson?" His voice turned cold. "The so-called top heart surgeon in the country?"
"Yeah," I said.
Back then, Alex insisted on bringing this so-called expert in from another city to take care of my mother's treatment. He said he wanted the best for her.
I'd thanked him more than once for that, but now I was starting to realize it might all have been a carefully planned scheme.
"Hush money?" Michael repeated, his expression turning serious. "What does that doctor know that Alex is so desperate to keep quiet?"
I said nothing. My mind was already racing.
Mom's condition had always been stable. She wasn't getting better, but she wasn't getting worse either.
Carson had put her on what he claimed was some of the best treatment available, with extremely expensive medication.
The enormous monthly medical bills had weighed on me like a constant burden. They had also given Alex the perfect leverage to keep me under control and make sure I never dared to push back.
What if this was all a setup from the very beginning?
A horrible thought suddenly crossed my mind.
"Michael, turn around. We're going to St. Claire Hospital," I said, my voice trembling.
Michael didn't hesitate. He spun the wheel, sent the car into a sharp turn at the intersection, and sped toward the hospital.
"I've already got someone digging into Carson." Michael made a call as he drove. "I want his entire background.
"And I've arranged for the best medical team in Lorenca to come over. They'll be here tomorrow morning."
Warmth spread through my chest.
That was how Michael was. He was always thinking ahead, making sure everything was taken care of before I had to ask.
*****
We reached the hospital soon after.
The hospital ward was quiet in the middle of the night. I stood outside my mother's room and watched her sleeping through the glass.
Her face was pale, and her hair had grown thin after years of treatment.
Seeing her like that made my chest ache. For a moment, I could barely breathe.
Michael put a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay. I'm with you."
We didn't disturb anyone and went straight to Carson's office.
The door was locked.
Michael made a call, and less than ten minutes later, the hospital director, Diego Parker, showed up in pajamas, hair sticking to his forehead, sweating bullets. "Mr. Quinn, what brings you here at this hour?"
"Open the door," Michael said, his voice flat and icy.
Diego didn't dare say a word and hurried to unlock the door.
The office reeked of disinfectant.
Michael's people were professionals. They put on gloves and carefully searched the entire office. Meanwhile, Michael and I sat on the couch, waiting.
Diego stood nearby at a loss, cold sweat running down his face. "Mr. Quinn, did Dr. Wright do something wrong?"
Michael didn't bother to respond.
About half an hour later, one of his men approached with an encrypted USB drive and a small notebook. "Michael, we found it."
The USB drive was quickly decrypted. There was only one folder inside, named "Mrs. Quinn".
We clicked it open.
There were two different sets of medical records. One was the version given to the hospital and our family, describing my mother's condition as severe and recommending all kinds of expensive treatments.
The other had been hidden. In that version, my mother's condition was marked as "mild".
The diagnosis showed she didn't need any of those aggressive treatments, let alone those expensive imported drugs.
All she needed was basic care and some rest, and she'd recover on her own.
I stared at the hidden records, feeling numb. It was as if all the warmth had left my body.
Alex used my mother's illness to keep me under his control. He made me feel guilty and buried me under financial pressure, so I would do whatever he wanted.
Without knowing any of it, my mother had been turned into a test subject, forced to endure painful treatments she never needed.
"Fucking bastard," Michael roared. He slammed his fist onto the table, and it split open with a sharp crack.
I picked up the notebook. It was Carson's diary.
I opened it to the most recent entry. The handwriting was rushed and messy. [Alex is nuts. He wants me to increase her dosage. Mrs. Quinn's body is already at its limit. If I give her any more, she could die.
[No. This money is too dangerous. I can't keep helping him.
[He threatened me. He said we're in this together, and if I try to walk away, he'll expose everything. He said that once the funding went through, he'd send me abroad and pay me a lot of money to keep my mouth shut.
[Unfortunately, the funding has fallen through. Will he kill me to keep me quiet?]
The notebook slipped from my hands.
I finally understood what that 60 thousand of hush money was meant to silence. It was meant to keep Carson quiet about my mother's condition and to keep himself under control, too.
Alex wasn't only after money. He was trying to murder my mother.
Suddenly, Michael's phone rang.
It was one of his men, the one he'd sent to dig up dirt on Carson. "Michael, we found something. Carson isn't a heart surgeon at all. He used to work at a cosmetic surgery hospital.
"His medical license is fake. Three years ago, a patient died because of a surgical mistake, and the hospital fired him. Alex got him out of trouble and gave him a new identity."
The call ended.
Michael looked at me, his eyes blazing with fury and heartbreak. "Charlotte—"