Chương 6
Claire found Megan near the nurses’ station.
The nurse looked relieved and worried at the same time.
That combination immediately made Claire nervous.
“What happened?”
Megan glanced around.
“Not here.”
They walked into a small waiting area near the elevators.
The chairs were empty.
The television mounted in the corner played silently.
“I need you to understand something,” Megan said.
Claire crossed her arms.
“That usually means something bad is coming.”
Megan gave a tired smile.
“You’re not wrong.”
She lowered her voice.
“The Whitmore Foundation contacted administration last night.”
“I know.”
“They requested access to your mother’s old records.”
Claire stared at her.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Someone always knows.”
Megan looked uncomfortable.
“Claire, hospitals have procedures.”
“Procedures are what people say when they don’t want to say names.”
Megan looked down.
That reaction told Claire enough.
“Who?”
The nurse hesitated.
“Mr. Whitmore’s office.”
Claire felt a strange mix of anger and relief.
At least now the name was attached to something real.
Not just fear.
“What did they want?”
“They said they were reviewing historical assistance cases.”
“My mother’s case?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Megan shook her head.
“They didn’t explain.”
Claire looked toward the elevator doors.
The reflection staring back at her looked exhausted.
“Can I see the records?”
Megan’s expression changed.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother’s records are private.”
“I’m her daughter.”
“I know.”
Megan softened.
“But being family does not automatically give you access.”
Claire knew that.
That was what made it frustrating.
The world had rules.
Rules that protected people.
Rules that sometimes protected secrets.
“Did the Whitmores get access?”
Megan did not answer.
She did not need to.
Claire walked away before she said something she would regret.
Outside the hospital, she stood on the sidewalk.
Cars passed.
People hurried.
Everyone had somewhere to be.
Everyone carried something.
Her phone buzzed.
This time, she expected another threat.
It was Ethan.
I need to talk to you.
Claire stared at the message.
She almost ignored it.
Then another message arrived.
I found something.
She looked at the words.
Her first instinct was not curiosity.
It was suspicion.
Because that was the problem with people like Ethan.
Even when they helped, you had to wonder what the help would cost.
She typed.
Where?
The reply came almost immediately.
Not here.
That was not an answer.
It was a warning.
A few seconds later, another message appeared.
My office.
Claire looked at the hospital entrance.
Then at the city street ahead.
Then back at her phone.
She hated that she was considering it.
She hated more that she needed information.
Twenty minutes later, she stood outside the Whitmore headquarters.
The building rose above the city with dark glass windows reflecting everything around it.
People walked in wearing expensive suits and carrying expensive problems.
Claire entered wearing a gray delivery uniform.
The receptionist looked at her.
Then at the name she gave.
“Claire Bennett?”
“Yes.”
The receptionist paused.
That pause again.
Everyone seemed to know something before she did.
“Mr. Whitmore is expecting you.”
Claire’s hand tightened around her bag strap.
“Which Mr. Whitmore?”
The receptionist looked at the screen.
“Ethan.”
Claire followed the elevator doors as they opened.
For the first time since this started, she wondered if Ethan was actually trying to help her.
Or if he was simply another person who had discovered a secret and wanted to decide what happened next.
The elevator climbed.
And somewhere above her, Ethan Whitmore was waiting with answers she was not sure she wanted to hear.
The elevator doors opened onto a quiet hallway that felt nothing like the lobby below.
The noise of the city disappeared.
No phones ringing.
No footsteps rushing past.
No conversations blending together.
Just thick carpet, glass walls, and the kind of silence that came from expensive buildings where people expected problems to wait outside.
Claire stepped out slowly.
A woman sitting behind a desk looked up.
“Mr. Whitmore’s office is at the end.”
Claire nodded.
She walked forward.
Each step made her more aware of everything she was carrying.
Not just her bag.
Not just the exhaustion from working.
The questions.
The anger.
The fear that she had spent her entire life knowing only half the story.
The office door was open.
Ethan stood near the window with his back toward her.
The city stretched behind him.
From that height, traffic looked organized.
Small.
Almost harmless.
Claire knew better.
“You came.”
She stopped near the doorway.
“You sound surprised.”
“I wasn’t sure you would trust me.”
“I don’t.”
Ethan turned.
The honesty did not offend him.
Instead, he nodded.
“That’s fair.”
Claire stepped inside.
The office was large but not intimidating.
A desk.
A few chairs.
Bookshelves.
Family photographs.
The normal things people placed around themselves to prove they were human.
Her eyes stopped on one photograph.
A younger Ethan standing beside an older man.
His father.
Both smiling.
The kind of smile people practiced for cameras.
“You found something,” Claire said.
Ethan looked toward the desk.
“Yes.”
He picked up a folder.
Claire immediately noticed his hesitation.
“What?”
He held the folder but did not hand it over.
“I need you to understand something.”
She sighed.
“If this starts with you protecting me from the truth, I’m leaving.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then say it.”
Ethan looked at the folder.
“My father’s office has access to old foundation records.”
“Your father.”
“Yes.”
“And you found my mother’s name.”
Ethan nodded.
Claire waited.
The silence forced him to continue.
“Your mother worked for the foundation twenty-four years ago.”
Claire felt something shift.
Twenty-four years.
She had expected a recent connection.
Something related to medical assistance.
Something simple.
Not this.
“How do you know?”
“Because I looked.”
“That is not an answer.”
Ethan walked toward the desk and opened the folder.
Inside were copies of documents.
Not original records.
Copies.
Claire noticed.
“You made copies?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust my father’s office either.”
May you like
That answer surprised her.
Ethan pulled out a page.
