Chapter 7 - The Billionaire's Greatest Lie
I wanted to believe Vincent Morgan.
That was what frightened me.
Somewhere between his apology and the story about my father saving his life, I'd started seeing him as something other than a monster.
Now I was staring at evidence suggesting he might have been lying from the beginning.
I called him.
He answered immediately.
"Emma?"
"Did you finance Richard's operations?"
Silence.
"Answer me."
"Where did you hear that?"
"I found my father's files."
Vincent exhaled slowly.
"Don't discuss them over the phone."
My stomach tightened.
"That's not an answer."
"Emma, please."
"Did you sign the transfers?"
A long pause.
Then he said, "Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Then you lied."
"I signed documents I didn't understand at the time."
I laughed bitterly.
"You're a billionaire. That's your excuse?"
"Not an excuse. A failure."
I gripped the phone.
"My father died because people like you cared more about money than human lives."
Vincent said nothing.
Then quietly answered, "You're right."
The admission stopped me.
He continued.
"I believed Richard when he said the accounts were routine construction financing. I had no idea they were being used to conceal stolen pension money and medical payments."
"Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't simply believe me."
His voice grew firm.
"Take the documents to an independent attorney. Give them to investigators. Let the evidence decide."
I stood still.
That wasn't what I'd expected.
No threats.
No attempt to buy my silence.
Just accountability.
Still, I couldn't trust him.
Not yet.
The next morning, I contacted an attorney through a legal assistance organization.
Her name was Rebecca Ellis.
She was in her forties, sharp-eyed, and utterly unimpressed by wealthy men.
After reviewing the folder, she looked up.
"Emma, this is serious."
"How serious?"
"Potentially criminal."
My stomach tightened.
"Can we go to the police?"
"Yes. We should preserve the originals and make copies immediately."
I nodded.
Rebecca continued.
"But there's something else."
"What?"
"Your father's documents include references to an internal investigation that may never have been completed."
I leaned forward.
"Into what?"
"Patient deaths connected to Northbridge Medical."
I felt sick.
"How many?"
She turned a page.
"At least twelve patients were flagged for suspicious billing or treatment decisions."
My throat tightened.
"Was my father investigating those deaths?"
"Possibly."
Rebecca pointed to another document.
It was a handwritten list.
Names.
Dates.
And beside one name was a red mark.
Helen Carter.
My mother.
I stared.
"Why is Mom on that list?"
Rebecca's expression changed.
"Emma, when was your mother's most recent hospital admission?"
"Last week."
"Who ordered her treatment changes?"
"Dr. Price."
Rebecca immediately reached for her phone.
"We need an independent medical review today."
I stood.
"What are you saying?"
She looked directly at me.
"I'm saying your mother's condition may be connected to the same people your father was investigating."
Then she showed me the final page.
A signed medical authorization.
Dated three months earlier.
Allowing Northbridge Medical to make certain treatment decisions on Helen's behalf.
The signature wasn't my mother's.
It wasn't mine.
It belonged to someone else.
Richard Morgan.
May you like
And beneath the document was a handwritten note.
Patient Carter must not survive the audit.
