Chapter 4 - THE PATIENT WHO RECOGNIZED THE UNDERTAKER
Three days later, Cora met Julian Voss again.
Not in a nightclub.
Not in a mansion.
In Trauma Bay Four at Saint Bridget's Medical Center.
A young man had arrived with multiple injuries after being found near the waterfront.
His name was Michael Torres.
Twenty-three years old.
Dockworker.
Uninsured.
Terrified.
Cora was helping prepare him for further assessment when he caught sight of a photograph on the television mounted above the nurses' station.
Julian Voss was leaving a courthouse.
The headline concerned the shooting at the auction.
Michael grabbed Cora's wrist.
"Turn it off."
She lowered the television volume.
"Michael, you're safe here."
His breathing accelerated.
"That's him."
"Who?"
"The Undertaker."
Cora looked toward the television.
"Do you know him?"
Michael shook his head.
"No. But I know what they're doing with his name."
Before she could ask another question, he began coughing.
Dr. Patel entered and moved to the bedside.
Cora stepped aside as the team continued his care.
Twenty minutes later, Michael was stable enough to speak.
He looked toward her.
"They're trying to make it look like Voss ordered the killings."
Cora's stomach tightened.
"What killings?"
"The men who handled the shipments. Two disappeared last month."
She listened.
Michael continued.
"My supervisor told me Voss was cleaning house."
"Do you believe him?"
Michael looked frightened.
"I did. Until I saw Felix Mercer paying the men who took them."
Cora felt cold.
Felix.
Again.
That evening, Detective Keene returned to the hospital.
Cora repeated Michael's statements.
Keene listened carefully, then told her that investigators were examining a wider criminal operation linked to falsified art provenance, concealed shipments, and financial fraud.
Arthur Whitaker had not yet been located.
But the police were now treating his disappearance as suspicious.
Cora hated the phrase.
Suspicious disappearance.
It sounded tidy.
Professional.
As if there were a category in a filing cabinet for fathers who vanished after discovering their dead wives had supposedly signed loan documents.
When Keene left, Cora sat in the staff lounge and cried.
She had spent three days working overtime, answering police calls, and checking her phone every fifteen minutes.
She was exhausted.
And she was beginning to fear that her father would never come home.
At 9:17 p.m., the hospital receptionist called.
"Miss Whitaker? There's someone asking for you."
"Who?"
"A Mr. Voss."
Cora closed her eyes.
Of course.
She walked downstairs.
Julian stood near the entrance, alone.
He wore a charcoal coat.
There was a faint cut along his temple.
Up close, he looked less untouchable than she remembered.
Still dangerous.
Still controlled.
But tired.
"Miss Whitaker."
"Mr. Voss."
His gaze moved toward the vending machines.
"Have you eaten?"
She stared.
"Is that seriously your opening question?"
He looked mildly surprised.
"Yes."
"My father is missing, someone forged my mother's signature, and your acquaintance threatened me. I'm not interested in dinner."
Julian nodded.
"Understood."
Cora crossed her arms.
"Why are you here?"
He took a breath.
"Because there's something I need to correct."
"What?"
"The night of the auction. I touched you without asking. I kissed you because I believed the gunman would ignore a couple rather than recognize me."
Cora looked away.
Julian continued.
"It was wrong to assume I could use you that way."
She turned back.
"And saying I was the closest?"
His expression tightened.
"A stupid attempt to make the moment seem meaningless."
Cora studied him.
"Was it meaningless?"
For the first time, Julian Voss seemed unable to answer immediately.
Then he said quietly, "No."
Her heartbeat accelerated.
He continued.
"But that doesn't give me the right to turn it into something you didn't agree to."
Cora swallowed.
She had expected a command.
An expensive gift.
Perhaps a warning.
Not an apology.
Then Julian placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Elena Whitaker, Cora's mother, standing beside a younger Julian.
Cora stopped breathing.
"Where did you get that?"
Julian looked down.
"Your mother saved my brother's life."
Cora stared.
"Your brother?"
He nodded.
"Eleven years ago."
She reached for the photograph.
Her hands shook.
May you like
Julian's next words changed everything.
"And I think she died because she discovered what happened to him afterward."
