Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT THAT WAS NEVER AN ACCIDENT
By two in the morning, I was sitting at my kitchen table watching the most feared man in Chicago drink instant coffee from a chipped ceramic mug.
Leo Caruso looked completely out of place.
His charcoal coat hung over the back of a chair.
His expensive shoes rested beside our scratched linoleum floor.
And his face tightened every time he shifted in his seat.
"You're still hurt," I said.
He glanced up.
"Twenty-seven stitches don't disappear overnight."
"Then why are you walking around?"
"Because someone tried to kill me."
"That's not a medical excuse."
For the first time, he smiled.
A real smile.
Small.
Surprised.
It made him look younger.
Then a bedroom door opened.
My seventeen-year-old brother stepped into the hallway.
Evan was thin, with messy blond hair and the pale complexion that always frightened me when he'd been tired too long.
"Clara?"
I immediately stood.
"Did we wake you?"
He looked at Leo.
Then blinked.
"Why is there a businessman in our kitchen?"
Leo raised an eyebrow.
"Businessman?"
Evan shrugged.
"You look like the kind of guy who fires people over email."
I nearly choked.
Leo laughed.
Actually laughed.
"I'm Leo."
"Evan."
My brother approached the table.
Then he noticed the medication bag.
"Did you get it?"
I nodded.
"Of course."
He smiled with relief.
That smile was the reason I worked double shifts.
The reason I walked home after midnight.
The reason I tolerated Graham's threats for months.
Leo watched us quietly.
Then Evan glanced at him.
"Are you the guy Clara gave blood to?"
I froze.
Leo turned toward me.
"You told him?"
"Only that someone needed help."
Evan studied Leo.
"Good thing she was there."
Leo's expression softened.
"Yes."
My brother yawned.
Then disappeared back into his room.
For several seconds, Leo said nothing.
Finally, he looked at me.
"How long has he been sick?"
"Since he was eleven."
"What condition?"
I explained Evan's congenital heart problem, the surgeries, the medication, and the ongoing appointments.
I didn't mention every overdue bill.
I didn't need to.
Leo could see enough.
"And your parents?"
My hands tightened around the mug.
"Our mother died when Evan was ten. Our father left long before that."
Leo nodded slowly.
"You're raising him."
"Someone has to."
He looked toward the hallway.
Then said quietly, "You remind me of my mother."
I glanced up.
"What happened to her?"
"She died when I was eighteen."
"I'm sorry."
He looked down.
"So am I."
A knock interrupted us.
Frank Delaney entered with a woman in a navy suit.
She introduced herself as attorney Rebecca Mercer.
Within minutes, she'd reviewed the photographs of my loan documents and payment receipts.
Her expression darkened.
"Clara, these charges appear to violate state lending laws."
My heart pounded.
"Can you prove it?"
"We can challenge them and report the threats."
Then she examined a second document Graham had made me sign.
A medical information authorization.
My stomach tightened.
"I thought that was for the loan."
Rebecca looked up sharply.
"Who told you that?"
"Graham."
She turned toward Leo.
"This isn't a normal lending document."
Leo's face hardened.
"What is it?"
Rebecca took a breath.
"It authorizes access to Clara's medical records, including blood type and donor eligibility."
I stared.
May you like
For six months, Graham had known exactly what blood type I carried.
And someone had arranged for me to be desperate enough to walk into the hospital on the night Leo Caruso nearly died.
