Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN ON THE SECURITY FOOTAGE
By sunrise, Mercy West had become a fortress.
Nobody entered the fourth floor without passing Dominic's security team.
Evan Cole disappeared into police custody.
My badge was suspended.
And I became a suspect in an attempted murder I hadn't committed.
I should have been terrified of losing my nursing license.
Instead, I was terrified because Dominic refused to let me leave.
“You need rest,” I told him.
“I had eighty-nine days.”
“That isn't how comas work.”
“Felt restful.”
I stared at him.
“Was that a joke?”
“No.”
“It was almost a joke.”
“Don't tell anyone.”
That was the first moment I understood there was another man beneath the reputation.
But by noon, that man disappeared again.
Marcus brought security footage.
At 2:39 a.m., someone wearing my scrubs entered the medication room.
Same height.
Same dark ponytail.
Same badge.
My badge.
The camera caught her profile for less than one second.
I stopped breathing.
Dominic noticed.
“You know her.”
“No.”
“You reacted.”
“Because she looks like me.”
Marcus zoomed in.
The resemblance was disturbing.
Dominic watched me.
“Any sisters?”
“I grew up in foster care.”
“That wasn't my question.”
I hesitated.
“My mother died when I was seven. I never knew my father.”
“Birth certificate?”
“Father listed unknown.”
Marcus asked, “Any siblings?”
“Not that I know of.”
Dominic stared at the image.
“Find her.”
Marcus left.
Dominic looked at me.
“You're scared.”
“Someone copied my badge and face.”
“That isn't why.”
I hated how quickly he read people.
The truth was simpler.
For years I'd received birthday cards.
No return address.
No signature.
Just the same sentence.
You were always meant to survive.
I'd assumed some former foster parent sent them.
Now I wasn't sure.
I told Dominic.
He listened.
“When was the last one?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Bring it.”
“It’s in my apartment.”
“Marcus will get it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want armed strangers digging through my underwear drawer.”
For the first time, Dominic actually smiled.
It transformed his face.
Then his phone rang.
Marcus had recovered it that morning.
Dominic answered.
A man's voice filled the room.
“Cousin.”
Adrian Vale.
“I heard Sleeping Beauty finally woke.”
Dominic's smile vanished.
“Come visit.”
A pause.
“Soon.”
“Today.”
“I have meetings.”
“Cancel them.”
Another pause.
“You've been unconscious three months, Dominic. The world didn't stop.”
“No.”
Dominic stared through the rain-streaked window.
“But whoever put me here is about to wish it had.”
He hung up.
Three hours later, Adrian arrived.
He was elegant where Dominic was dangerous.
Gray suit. Perfect hair. Easy smile.
He carried flowers.
“Welcome back.”
Dominic looked at them.
“You brought lilies.”
“Yes?”
“Gabriel hated lilies.”
Adrian's smile weakened.
“I forgot.”
“No, you didn't.”
Silence.
Adrian glanced at me.
“And who's this?”
“My nurse.”
“She's been suspended.”
Dominic's eyes sharpened.
“How do you know?”
Adrian recovered quickly.
“The hospital CEO told me.”
“Interesting.”
Adrian approached.
“The board needs reassurance.”
“I was shot.”
“Exactly.”
“And?”
“They need stability.”
“You mean you want my chair.”
“I've been running the company for three months.”
“And you've enjoyed it.”
Adrian's smile disappeared.
“This company has fourteen thousand employees.”
“Fifteen thousand, eight hundred and twelve.”
“What?”
“That was the number before I was shot.”
Dominic leaned back.
“How many did you fire?”
Adrian didn't answer.
Dominic smiled without warmth.
“That's what I thought.”
After Adrian left, Dominic said one sentence.
“He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That I remember.”
“Remember what?”
Dominic turned toward me.
“The man who shot Gabriel.”
My blood went cold.
“You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“Was it Adrian?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Dominic looked at the closed door.
“I don't know his name.”
He paused.
“But I've seen his face somewhere in this hospital.”
That night, we found him.
Not in the employee database.
Not in security records.
On an old photograph hanging in the executive corridor.
Twenty-two years earlier.
A charity gala.
The hospital founder stood beside six donors.
One of them was Dominic's father.
Another was my mother.
And between them stood the man Dominic remembered from Pier Nine.
I stared at the photograph.
My mother had her hand on his arm.
The plaque beneath his face read:
DR. SAMUEL BENNETT.
Founder, Bennett Biomedical Foundation.
My knees nearly gave out.
Because Bennett was my last name.
Dominic stood beside me, still weak, supported by a cane and pure stubbornness.
“Claire.”
I couldn't answer.
There was another inscription beneath the photograph.
In memory of Dr. Samuel Bennett, deceased 2004.
Dominic stared at it.
Then at me.
May you like
“The man I saw kill my brother died twenty-two years ago.”
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