Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Died Twice
Clara read the message three times before the meaning reached her.
Her mother.
Not her father.
Not the debt.
Her mother.
“What does this mean?”
Maximilian stood beside the desk, staring at the photograph.
“Clara, give me a moment.”
“No.”
Her voice surprised them both.
“You know something.”
He looked at her.
“I knew your mother.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Clara gripped the edge of the desk.
“My mother died when I was seventeen.”
“I know.”
“She was a nurse.”
“Yes.”
“She worked at a small clinic in New York.”
Maximilian said nothing.
Clara's breathing became shallow.
“How do you know her?”
He looked older suddenly.
As though a door he had sealed years earlier had been forced open.
“Her name was Evelyn Jenkins.”
Clara nodded slowly.
“She treated a man who came into her clinic with a gunshot wound.”
Maximilian paused.
“That man was my younger brother.”
Clara stared.
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
His voice hardened.
“His name was Nicholas.”
She waited.
“He was twenty-four. Reckless. Convinced he could make peace with the Morettis when everyone else had failed.”
Maximilian walked toward the fireplace.
“One night, Nicholas arrived at your mother's clinic bleeding from a gunshot wound. She treated him without asking questions.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She saved him.”
A painful silence followed.
“Three weeks later, Nicholas was murdered.”
Clara swallowed.
“What does that have to do with my mother?”
Maximilian turned.
“Your mother witnessed something she wasn't supposed to see.”
“What?”
“A meeting between Nicholas and a man who betrayed him.”
“Who?”
“We never proved it.”
Clara shook her head.
“No. You're hiding something.”
Maximilian's jaw tightened.
“Your mother contacted my family after Nicholas died. She said she had evidence identifying the person responsible.”
“And?”
“She disappeared before she could give it to us.”
Clara felt a sudden chill.
“My mother died in a car accident.”
“That was the official finding.”
“Official?”
Maximilian approached her carefully.
“Clara, I need you to understand something. I didn't know who you were until last night.”
She stared at him.
“Are you telling me my mother was murdered?”
“I'm telling you her death may have been connected to Nicholas.”
Clara's eyes filled.
For five years, she had believed her mother died because another driver ran a red light.
She remembered the funeral.
Her father's shaking hands.
The closed casket.
The way he had refused to discuss the accident afterward.
Now Maximilian was telling her that everything might have been a lie.
“Did my father know?”
“I don't know.”
She turned away.
Her chest tightened.
“I need to see him.”
“We'll arrange it.”
“Now.”
Maximilian looked toward Marco.
“Prepare the car.”
Clara faced him again.
“And don't bring armed men into his hospital room.”
He nodded.
“Agreed.”
Two hours later, Clara stood beside her father's bed at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago.
Maximilian had arranged a private flight after explaining that his business network included medical facilities in several cities. Clara had barely spoken during the journey.
Her father, Daniel Jenkins, lay motionless beneath white blankets.
Machines monitored his heartbeat.
A ventilator breathed for him.
Clara took his hand.
“Daddy?”
Nothing.
She sat beside him.
“Something happened.”
Her voice trembled.
“I found him.”
She glanced toward the door, where Maximilian waited in the hallway.
“The man from New York.”
Her father remained still.
“And he's the father of my baby.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I know you'd probably have a thousand questions.”
A small, painful smile crossed her face.
“But right now, I only have one.”
She leaned closer.
“What happened to Mom?”
The monitor continued its steady rhythm.
Clara bowed her head.
Then she felt it.
A slight pressure against her fingers.
She froze.
“Daddy?”
His hand moved again.
A tiny movement.
But unmistakable.
“Dad, can you hear me?”
His eyelids fluttered.
Clara stood.
“Nurse!”
Medical staff rushed into the room.
Within minutes, the attending physician began assessing Daniel's neurological responses.
Clara waited outside, trembling.
Maximilian approached.
“What happened?”
“He squeezed my hand.”
“That's good.”
“He heard me.”
Maximilian placed a hand lightly against her back.
For the first time, Clara didn't move away.
Twenty minutes later, the physician emerged.
“Miss Jenkins, your father is showing signs of increased awareness. We can't predict how much function he'll recover, but this is encouraging.”
Clara covered her mouth.
“Can I see him?”
“Yes. Briefly.”
She returned to the bedside.
Daniel's eyes were partially open.
Tears slipped down his temples.
“Daddy?”
His lips moved.
No sound came.
Clara leaned closer.
“Don't try to talk.”
His fingers tightened around hers.
Then he managed a broken whisper.
“Your… mother…”
Clara went completely still.
“What about Mom?”
Daniel struggled for air.
The nurse checked his oxygen levels.
“Mr. Jenkins, please don't force yourself.”
But Daniel was desperate.
“Not… accident…”
Clara's heart hammered.
“I know. I think I know.”
He shook his head weakly.
“Evelyn…”
“What?”
His eyes widened.
“Alive.”
Clara stopped breathing.
The nurse gently moved her aside as Daniel's heart rate accelerated.
“Miss Jenkins, we need to stabilize him.”
Clara backed toward the door.
Her father's final word echoed inside her head.
Alive.
She stumbled into the hallway.
Maximilian caught her.
“What happened?”
Clara looked up at him.
“My father said my mother is alive.”
Maximilian's expression changed.
For the first time since Clara had met him, he looked genuinely shaken.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw the report.”
“What report?”
Maximilian hesitated.
Clara's voice rose.
“What report?”
He looked directly at her.
“The medical examiner's report.”
She stared at him.
“And?”
Maximilian swallowed.
“The body identified as your mother had a gunshot wound.”
Clara's hand flew to her mouth.
“Not injuries from a car crash.”
A long silence followed.
Then Maximilian's phone rang.
An unknown number.
He answered without speaking.
A woman's voice came through.
Older.
Controlled.
Terrifyingly familiar to someone who had spent five years remembering it.
“Maximilian Russo.”
His body went rigid.
The woman continued.
“Tell my daughter to stop asking questions.”
Maximilian glanced toward Clara.
“Who is this?”
The answer came quietly.
“Evelyn Jenkins.”
Then the woman said something that made Maximilian's blood run cold.
May you like
“If Clara discovers who Nicholas really was, neither of you will survive what comes next.”
The line went dead.
