Chapter 3 - What Simone Heard Before the Crash
The room changed after Simone said it.
Richard had spent four years cleaning hospital rooms. He knew how quickly ordinary spaces could become frightening.
A monitor alarm.
A doctor running.
A family crying.
Nothing physical changed in Simone’s room that morning.
Yet suddenly everyone seemed to be measuring the distance to the door.
Sophia locked it.
Malcolm stared at Simone.
“You never told me this.”
“I hadn't told anyone.”
Richard stood.
“Then maybe I shouldn't be here.”
Simone caught his wrist.
“You should.”
He looked at her hand.
For twenty-eight nights it had lain motionless beside him.
Now it was trembling.
Simone took a breath.
“On October twenty-sixth, I was supposed to approve the acquisition of Hartwell Community Hospital.”
Malcolm nodded.
“Three hundred eighty million dollars.”
“I canceled it.”
“Why?”
“Because the financial records were false.”
Malcolm's face tightened.
Simone continued.
“I found billing irregularities. Procedures charged to patients who never received them. Equipment purchased through shell companies. Millions disappearing.”
Sophia whispered, “Who knew?”
“Three people.”
“Names.”
“Me. Our chief financial officer, Grant Holloway.”
Malcolm slowly sat down.
“And?”
Simone looked directly at him.
“You.”
Malcolm's face drained.
Richard moved instinctively closer to Sophia.
Malcolm stared at Simone.
“You think I—”
“No.”
“Then why say it like that?”
“Because somebody knew where I would be that night.”
Simone explained.
She had left a board dinner shortly after ten.
Rain covered the Massachusetts Turnpike.
A black SUV appeared behind her.
At first she assumed nothing.
Then it struck her rear bumper.
Once.
Twice.
The third impact pushed her toward the divider.
“I remember headlights.”
Simone's breathing changed.
Richard saw the fear before anyone else.
He had learned her expressions while she slept.
He stepped closer.
“You don't have to finish.”
“Yes, I do.”
She looked at him.
“I remember spinning.”
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
“And before everything went dark, I heard someone outside the car.”
Sophia leaned forward.
“What did they say?”
Simone closed her eyes.
“Find the drive.”
Silence.
Malcolm stood.
“What drive?”
“A flash drive containing the original Hartwell financial records.”
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
Malcolm stared at her.
“You don't know?”
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
Simone opened her eyes.
“I can't remember.”
That afternoon, hospital security was doubled.
Richard wanted Olivia and Oliver pulled from school immediately.
Sophia offered a driver.
Richard refused.
“I'll get them.”
“This isn't charity.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like accepting help makes you weak.”
Richard looked at her.
For a nineteen-year-old, Sophia had inherited an alarming amount of her mother's ability to win arguments in one sentence.
Twenty minutes later, a security SUV took Richard to the school.
The children were safe.
But the photograph bothered him.
Someone knew who they were.
That changed everything.
When he returned home, Richard checked every window twice.
At nine, someone knocked.
Richard froze.
Olivia looked up from homework.
“Dad?”
He approached the door quietly.
“Who is it?”
“Sophia.”
Richard opened it.
Sophia stood holding two pizza boxes.
“You don't know where I live.”
“Apparently my mother owns an alarming number of databases.”
“That doesn't make me feel better.”
“Pizza might.”
Olivia appeared.
“Is it rich-people pizza?”
Sophia stared at her.
“It's from Domino's.”
Olivia nodded solemnly.
“Acceptable.”
An hour later, Sophia was sitting cross-legged on Richard's living-room rug while Oliver showed her plastic dinosaurs.
It was the most normal Richard had seen her.
Then Olivia asked the question.
“Why don't you like your mom?”
Sophia nearly choked on her soda.
Richard intervened.
“Liv.”
“What?”
“Personal.”
Sophia surprised him.
“It's okay.”
She looked at Olivia.
“I love my mom.”
“But?”
Sophia glanced at Richard.
“But sometimes people can love you and still hurt you.”
Olivia understood that better than a child should.
“My mom does that.”
Richard went still.
Sophia's expression softened.
“Yeah.”
Olivia placed a dinosaur in Sophia's palm.
“This one's for when you're sad.”
Sophia stared at the tiny green triceratops.
“Thank you.”
At eleven, Richard drove Sophia back to the hospital.
Snow had begun falling.
She was quiet until they reached the garage.
“Your kids are weird.”
“So are you.”
She smiled.
Then stopped before opening the door.
“Richard?”
“Yeah?”
“My mother didn't send me to boarding school because she was busy.”
Richard waited.
“I asked to go.”
“Why?”
Sophia stared through the windshield.
“Because my dad died when I was eleven.”
Richard hadn't known Simone had been married.
“Afterward, Mom disappeared into work. Meetings. Airports. Hospitals. I thought if I left, she'd stop me.”
Richard understood before she said it.
“She didn't.”
“No.”
Sophia climbed out.
Richard watched her enter the elevator.
Then something under his windshield wiper caught his attention.
A white envelope.
No stamp.
His name written across it.
RICHARD CARTER.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph of him sitting beside Simone while she was unconscious.
On the back:
STOP COMING TO ROOM 610.
Richard immediately called security.
The garage was searched.
Nothing.
Camera footage showed a hooded figure approaching Richard's truck, but the face was invisible.
Simone demanded that Richard take paid leave.
He refused.
“Someone threatens me, and I'm supposed to disappear?”
“You have children.”
“Exactly.”
“That is exactly why you should disappear.”
Richard looked at her.
“Is that what you do?”
Simone went quiet.
“When something scares you, you push everybody away?”
“That isn't fair.”
“No.”
Richard softened.
“But maybe it's true.”
Their eyes held.
Something had changed between them.
Neither named it.
Three days later, Simone was strong enough to walk with assistance.
Richard visited after his shift.
The room was empty except for her.
She stood beside the window using a walker.
“You're supposed to call someone before standing.”
“I own the hospital.”
“Gravity doesn't care.”
She laughed.
Richard approached.
She took one step.
Then another.
Her knee buckled.
Richard caught her.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Her hands rested against his chest.
His arm circled her waist.
Simone looked up.
They were too close.
Richard slowly released her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
Neither sounded convincing.
Then Simone noticed something sticking from Richard's jacket pocket.
The battered poetry book.
“You still carry that?”
“I forgot to return it.”
She smiled.
“Read me something.”
Richard sat.
He opened the book.
A folded piece of paper slipped out.
Both stared at it.
Richard picked it up.
He had never seen it.
The paper contained six handwritten numbers.
4 — 1 — 2 — 28 — 10 — 26.
Simone's face changed.
“What?”
She took the paper.
Her hand began shaking.
“That's my handwriting.”
Richard stared.
“You put this in the book?”
“I don't remember.”
She studied the numbers.
Then stopped.
“Four-twelve.”
“Grandma's room.”
“Twenty-eight.”
“The nights I visited.”
“Ten-twenty-six.”
“The night of your crash.”
Richard frowned.
“But you couldn't have known about me before the crash.”
Simone looked at him.
“No.”
A long silence.
Then someone knocked.
Nurse Lily entered.
She saw the paper.
And dropped the medication tray.
Richard looked at her.
“Lily?”
The nurse's face had turned white.
“I've seen those numbers before.”
“Where?”
Lily looked toward the hallway before closing the door.
“Written on Simone's hand.”
Richard stood.
“When?”
“The night she was admitted.”
Simone stared at her.
May you like
Lily swallowed.
“And somebody ordered me to wash them off.”
