Chapter 2 - THE GIRL IN ROOM 614
By the time the ambulance reached Northwestern Memorial, I had decided three things.
First, I was never working another Tuesday night without a raise.
Second, my shoulder was probably broken.
Third, Mateo Rossi knew something about my sister that he wasn't telling me.
The first two were easier to understand.
My shoulder turned out to be badly bruised, with no fracture visible on the initial X-rays. I had cuts along my forearm and a headache that made every fluorescent light feel personal.
Mateo needed treatment too.
A piece of glass had cut his forehead. His right hand was swollen. The emergency physician wanted to monitor him for possible concussion symptoms.
He complained about none of it.
Instead, he kept asking whether I was comfortable.
I finally snapped.
“Mateo, if you ask me whether I need another blanket, I'm going to strangle you with one.”
He looked at me.
Then, impossibly, laughed.
The sound startled us both.
“Good,” he said.
“What?”
“You're still yourself.”
I looked away because I didn't know what to do with that.
At 3:46 a.m., a hospital social worker helped me arrange a call to Lily's floor.
She was stable.
Still waiting.
Still frightened.
Still pretending she wasn't.
When she answered, her voice sounded thin.
“Harley?”
“Hey, bug.”
“Why are you calling from the emergency department?”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she'd seen the caller identification.
“Small accident.”
“What kind?”
“The kind where you promise not to freak out.”
“Harley.”
“A car exploded.”
Silence.
Then:
“WHAT?”
I held the phone away from my ear.
Across the room, Mateo looked up.
“I'm fine,” I insisted. “Mostly. They're checking me out.”
“Was it your car?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
I glanced at Mateo.
He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
I ignored him.
“Mateo Rossi's.”
Another silence.
Then Lily whispered, “The pie guy?”
I stared at the phone.
“How do you know about the pie guy?”
“You talk about him.”
“I do not.”
“You told me he tips a hundred dollars and has sad eyes.”
Mateo's eyebrows rose.
I wanted the hospital floor to open beneath me.
“Lily, please focus on the explosion.”
“Does he know you think he has sad eyes?”
“Goodbye.”
“Harley!”
I ended the call before she could say anything worse.
Mateo was smiling.
“Sad eyes?”
“Not a word.”
He held up his uninjured hand.
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
An hour later, a detective named Rebecca Sloan arrived.
She had short brown hair, tired eyes, and the expression of someone who had already heard too many lies that week.
She interviewed us separately.
I described the stranger.
The dark jacket.
The black case.
The yellow sticker.
The direction he ran.
Detective Sloan wrote everything down.
“Are you certain about the company name?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Calder Medical Services sends my family invoices.”
She looked up.
“What kind of invoices?”
“Hospital-related charges. Administrative fees. Equipment coordination. Things insurance keeps disputing.”
“Do you have copies?”
“An entire folder.”
She nodded.
“Keep them.”
When I returned to Mateo's treatment room, he was speaking quietly with Aaron.
A document lay between them.
I recognized my sister's name.
LILY QUINN.
I stopped in the doorway.
Mateo looked up.
“Harley.”
“What is that?”
Aaron closed the folder.
I stepped forward.
“No. Open it.”
Mateo studied me.
Then nodded to Aaron.
The folder opened.
Inside was a spreadsheet containing dozens of patient names, hospital account numbers, and amounts.
Lily's name appeared near the middle.
Beside it was a figure.
$184,620.
My stomach dropped.
“That isn't what we owe.”
Mateo's expression tightened.
“I know.”
I stared.
“Then what is it?”
He hesitated.
Aaron answered.
“It's the amount Calder Medical Services claims to have collected or become entitled to collect through contracts connected to your sister's care.”
I felt sick.
“From whom?”
“We're still investigating.”
I looked at Mateo.
“You knew about this yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I didn't know Lily was your sister.”
“You knew her name.”
“Not yours.”
I stared.
He continued.
“The file came from a whistleblower inside a company we're considering acquiring. My lawyers were reviewing it.”
I looked down at the numbers.
For years, I'd been working nights to keep up with bills I barely understood.
Now a man with enough money to buy half the block was telling me those bills might be part of something bigger.
“Is my sister being used?” I whispered.
Mateo didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
At dawn, I insisted on seeing Lily.
Mateo offered to accompany me.
I almost refused.
Then I remembered the burning Lincoln.
“Fine,” I said. “But no bodyguards in her room.”
He nodded.
“Agreed.”
Lily was sitting upright when we entered.
She had her dark hair braided over one shoulder and a paperback balanced on her knees.
She looked at me.
Then at Mateo.
Then back at me.
“Oh,” she said.
I frowned.
“Oh, what?”
Her eyes widened.
“The sad-eyes pie guy is hot.”
“Lily!”
Mateo coughed.
I suspected he was laughing.
And for one brief, ridiculous moment, we were three ordinary people in a hospital room.
Then Lily's monitor beeped.
A nurse entered to check her.
And Mateo saw the name printed on the equipment service tag beside her bed.
CALDER MEDICAL SERVICES.
May you like
He stared at it.
Then quietly stepped into the hallway and called his attorney.
