Chapter 3 - A SIGNATURE SHE NEVER WROTE
Emma reached St. Catherine's twenty minutes after midnight, still wearing her catering blouse under a wet coat.
At the front desk, a clerk pushed a clipboard toward her. "Your father is scheduled for an early-morning transfer."
"He hasn't been cleared to leave."
"We have family authorization."
Emma saw the signature at the bottom of the form.
EMMA CARTER.
It was neat, rounded, and completely wrong. She always crossed the first letter of her last name with a long downstroke. This signature didn't.
"I didn't sign that."
"Then you'll need to contact patient services."
"It's midnight. Where is my dad?"
A night nurse came around the corner. Her badge read JO PARKER. She motioned Emma away from the desk.
"Don't raise your voice," Jo whispered. "Someone from Harborwell Services called three times, asking when the ambulance would arrive."
"Harborwell?"
"It's the company paying for his transfer. They claim a charity grant was approved."
Emma thought of Eleanor's warning: forty-seven patients.
In Room 618, Frank Carter looked smaller than he had that morning. His gray hair lay flat against the pillow, and the oxygen tubing moved with each careful breath. His red notebook, the one he kept beside his water cup, was missing.
"Hey, Dad."
His eyes opened. "You went... to the gala?"
"How did you know?"
He gripped her hand with surprising strength. "The woman in red. Don't trust her."
"Victoria Langford?"
Frank's pulse monitor quickened. "I told them... about the accounts. Forty-seven names."
Emma felt the world tilt. "Dad, what accounts?"
A cart rattled outside. Frank looked toward the door, terror flashing across his face.
May you like
"They know you're here," he said.
Then Emma heard a man's voice in the hallway: "Harborwell transport. We're here for Carter."
