Chương 7
Evan’s jaw clenched.
“The other driver ran.”
“And police found him yesterday.”
Evan’s head snapped toward her.
“What?”
Tessa’s face changed.
She had not meant to say it here.
“What?”
“Evan—”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I was going to.”
“Who?”
“A twenty-two-year-old man. Police say he had been drinking.”
Evan stood.
“No.”
Tessa reached for him.
He pulled away.
“No.”
“Ev.”
“No.”
His face had gone pale beneath the fading bruise.
“He works for Daniel.”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do. I asked.”
“He could be lying.”
“Evan.”
Claire watched the boy’s world become less satisfying.
A villain had given his grief direction.
A drunk stranger was only waste.
He looked at Claire as though she might correct reality.
She could not.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He turned on her.
“Don’t.”
Claire stopped.
Evan walked out.
Tessa remained in the chair with both hands pressed around the envelope.
For several seconds she did nothing.
Then she said, “He needs somebody to be responsible for all of it.”
Claire looked at the doorway.
“So do I.”
Tessa laughed once without humor.
“Yeah.”
They gave the documents to a lawyer neither family had used before.
That was Claire’s condition.
Tessa chose the firm.
Claire paid only after Tessa’s attorney approved the arrangement and insisted in writing that payment did not buy control of the evidence.
It was awkward.
It took three days.
Claire preferred the awkwardness.
Daniel’s version of events began gaining support in public.
Claire had expected outrage to move in one direction. It did not.
Former employees described Daniel as devoted during her recovery.
Photographs circulated of him pushing her wheelchair, carrying her up inaccessible stairs at a private event, sleeping in a hospital chair after the crash.
People who had never met Claire debated whether trauma had made her paranoid.
Others decided Daniel was a monster before any medical findings existed.
Rachel became either a heroic whistleblower or an unstable employee who had violated patient privacy.
Evan became a brave child or a dangerous trespasser.
Nobody remained ordinary.
Claire read none of it for two days.
On the third, she made the mistake of searching her name.
A stranger had written, She loved him when he was useful and now she needs a villain.
Claire stared at the sentence for a long time.
Then she threw her phone onto the bed.
It bounced, struck the rail, and fell to the floor.
Marcus, her therapist, looked at it.
“Good throw.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not picking it up.”
“I hate you.”
“Work on your transfer.”
She did.
Ten minutes later, breathless and sweating, she moved from the therapy mat into her wheelchair with less assistance than she had needed the week before.
Marcus said nothing.
Claire looked at him.
“You’re not going to say good job?”
“You threatened to fire me.”
“That was about the sock.”
“I’m respecting boundaries.”
She laughed.
The ordinary irritation helped.
So did the work.
Her body remained difficult, but difficulty felt different when it belonged to her again.
Dr. Shah arranged for Claire’s medication records to be compared across pharmacies and prescribing offices with Claire’s authorization.
The process was slow.
Some records were easy.
Others required requests.
One system had been replaced six months earlier.
A branch manager refused to discuss internal logs without counsel.
Claire’s wealth could pay lawyers to push.
It could not make incomplete data become complete.
The first significant finding arrived eleven days after the gala.
Three fills had occurred after replacement prescriptions were issued.
That alone was not proof of wrongdoing. Overlapping orders happened. Communication failed. Systems lagged.
But all three had been picked up by Daniel.
Claire sat in a conference room at the rehabilitation hospital with her attorney, Dr. Shah, and a pharmacy consultant while rain streaked the windows.
“Could he have believed they were current?” Claire asked.
“Yes,” the consultant said.
“Could the pharmacy have made an innocent mistake?”
“Yes.”
“Could the physician’s office?”
“Yes.”
Claire rubbed her forehead.
“Is there anything in this entire situation that can’t be innocent?”
The consultant looked at the records.
“Yes.”
Claire lowered her hand.
“What?”
“The pattern.”
She slid a page across the table.
“Individually, these are explainable. Together, they’re unusual. Mr. Cross called shortly before multiple early refill requests. Your physician’s office approved changes after those calls. At least twice, your chart says symptoms were reported through a caregiver rather than by you.”
“Daniel.”
“Likely. The notes use initials, not full names.”
“What symptoms?”
“Increased spasms. Severe nighttime pain. Agitation. Inability to sleep.”
Claire stared at the page.
She had experienced all of those things at different times.
“Could he have been reporting accurately?”
“Yes.”
Her attorney sighed.
Claire almost smiled.
The consultant continued.
“But one entry says you were unable to sleep for three consecutive nights.”
Claire looked up.
“So?”
“You were in an inpatient rehabilitation facility those nights.”
Claire stopped moving.
The room became very quiet.
“Could I have been unable to sleep there?”
“Yes. But their nursing records show you slept between six and seven hours each night.”
Claire looked at Dr. Shah.
“Who reported that?”
“We’re trying to confirm.”
Claire’s attorney said, “The prescriber’s note says caregiver telephone report.”
Claire felt the blood leave her face.
“What did that report lead to?”
“A dose increase.”
The rain ticked against the glass.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Claire looked down at her hands.
The emerald ring caught the overhead light.
“Was I asked?”
“No documentation we’ve seen shows that.”
“I don’t remember being asked.”
“That doesn’t prove you weren’t.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
She hated that.
She pressed her lips together.
Her attorney waited.
Dr. Shah waited.
The consultant looked back at the records.
No one rescued her.
Claire was beginning to understand the dignity in that.
She called Daniel that evening.
Her lawyer told her not to.
Claire did anyway.
He answered immediately.
“I was wondering when you’d call.”
May you like
She sat by the rehabilitation hospital window.
Cars moved along the wet street below, headlights stretching across the pavement.
