Chapter 4 - THE HALLWAY WITH NO CAMERAS
Emma stepped into the doorway before the two transport workers reached her father's bed.
"This transfer is canceled."
One man unfolded a document. "We have the proper authorization."
"You have a fake signature. Mine."
He didn't blink. "Move, ma'am."
Jo Parker appeared with the charge nurse. "We are putting this transfer on hold pending verification," she said. "And I'm documenting the objection."
The taller worker called someone. He listened, then said, "Understood," and walked away without arguing.
That frightened Emma more than the argument would have.
Frank asked for water. When she helped him drink, his hand shook hard enough to spill it.
"I worked the billing desk twenty-two years," he said. "You learn how a mistake looks. Forty-seven identical mistakes aren't mistakes."
"What did you find?"
"Patient aid. Claims marked paid. Families still charged." He shut his eyes, exhausted. "I copied records. Told Mrs. Vale."
"When?"
"Before the crash."
Emma remembered the accident six weeks earlier: her father's car crushed against a highway barrier, the police report calling it a wet-road collision. He'd never explained why he had been driving across town after his shift.
Jo drew Emma aside. "Your father asked me to keep this." She passed over an envelope labeled FOR EMMA IF THEY COME.
Inside was a photograph of a blue cabinet drawer, half open. Beside it stood Victoria Langford, photographed through a partly closed office door.
On the back, Frank had written: THE ONE THING SHE CAN'T DESTROY IS THE DATE.
Emma's phone rang. Unknown caller.
May you like
"Miss Carter," a man said, "if you want your father to keep his bed, stop asking questions."
From the end of the hallway, a security camera's red light blinked out.
