Chapter 8 - THE LEAK INSIDE ST. JUDE'S
Arthur shut down half the hospital without technically shutting down anything.
Security logs were copied.
Access records frozen.
Every employee who opened Maya’s chart in the previous six months was reviewed.
Norah watched him work from the consultation room.
“This is the part where you become terrifying, isn’t it?”
“I’m always terrifying.”
“Henry says you snore.”
Arthur looked offended.
“He lies.”
“He’s five.”
“Exactly.”
Despite everything, she smiled.
That smile affected him more than it should have.
He turned back to the reports.
Thirty-two people had accessed Maya’s file.
Doctors.
Nurses.
Billing staff.
One social worker.
And one executive user.
Arthur frowned.
“Who is AC-01?”
The IT director went pale.
“Administrative override.”
“Whose?”
Silence.
Arthur stepped closer.
“Whose?”
“Board chair access.”
Norah looked at Arthur.
“You?”
“No.”
Arthur had given up his formal hospital board seat three years earlier.
The current chair was Richard Cole.
Of course.
But there was another problem.
Richard had supposedly suffered a stroke six months earlier and lived in a private rehabilitation facility.
Barely verbal.
Confined to a wheelchair.
Arthur had visited him twice.
He looked ruined.
Maybe too ruined.
“Pull facility surveillance,” Arthur said.
Vincent did.
Richard’s room showed the same old man every day.
Physical therapy.
Meals.
Television.
Sleep.
Then Norah noticed something.
“His left hand.”
“What?”
“Your uncle wore a wedding ring?”
“Yes.”
“In this footage, he doesn’t.”
Arthur leaned closer.
Norah continued.
“And his scar.”
“What scar?”
“Look.”
One video showed Richard turning his face.
No scar beneath his jaw.
Arthur felt cold.
Richard had gotten that scar in a knife fight when Arthur was twelve.
It could not disappear.
“That isn’t Richard.”
Vincent swore.
The rehabilitation facility was raided within the hour.
The patient in Richard’s room was an actor named Harold Price.
Paid two hundred thousand dollars.
Real medical condition.
Real stroke.
Wrong man.
Richard Cole had vanished six months earlier.
Arthur understood immediately.
The same month Maya’s condition worsened.
The same month anonymous threats began.
Norah looked toward Maya’s room.
“He’s still watching us.”
“Yes.”
Then the hospital fire alarm sounded.
Arthur’s entire body went alert.
People began moving into hallways.
Nurses shouted.
Elevators locked.
Smoke appeared from the west wing.
Arthur grabbed Norah’s hand.
“Maya.”
They ran.
Room 417 was empty.
The IV pole stood beside the bed.
Monitor wires lay on the sheets.
A nurse was unconscious on the floor.
Norah screamed.
Arthur checked the bathroom.
Nothing.
Then he saw a folded paper on the pillow.
One line.
BRING ELISE HAYES'S DRIVE TO PIER 9.
COME ALONE, ARTHUR.
OR MAYA MISSES HER TRANSPLANT FOREVER.
Norah grabbed the note.
Her face went white.
Then she looked at Arthur.
“You’re not going alone.”
He answered instantly.
“Yes, I am.”
May you like
And Norah did something nobody in his organization had dared do in years.
She slapped him.
