Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT LUCIA'S PHONE RANG

Lucia called me at 2:17 in the morning.

I answered before the second ring.

“What's wrong?”

Her voice trembled.

“Maya, someone came to the clinic.”

I sat upright.

“Who?”

“A man in a gray suit. He said he was from the foundation.”

My stomach dropped.

“What did he want?”

“He asked whether I would sign a statement saying you stole medication from the Vance penthouse.”

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

Lucia continued.

“He said if I signed it, our medical bills would be covered for five years.”

I closed my eyes.

“And if you didn't?”

“He said things might become difficult.”

I called the clinic's security desk.

Then I contacted the police and reported the attempted coercion.

The clinic preserved its security footage.

Lucia gave a statement.

Marcus learned about the incident the following morning.

He was furious.

But he didn't send private security to confront anyone.

He contacted his attorneys and ensured the information reached investigators.

The man was later identified as an associate of a firm connected to Camille.

The incident became part of the broader investigation.

Lucia was frightened.

So was I.

For years, I had protected my younger sister from medical emergencies, unpaid bills, and the terrible uncertainty of waiting for a transplant.

Now someone was using her vulnerability as a weapon.

That evening, Marcus visited our apartment.

He brought no gifts.

No expensive flowers.

Just a folder containing information about independent legal assistance and patient advocacy resources.

“I thought these might help,” he said.

I accepted the folder.

“Thank you.”

He looked toward Lucia's bedroom.

“How is she?”

“Scared.”

He nodded.

“So are you.”

I looked away.

“Yes.”

He sat across from me.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Marcus said, “My father used to tell me that courage isn't being fearless.”

I smiled faintly.

“What is it?”

“Doing the right thing while your hands are shaking.”

I looked at my hands.

They were shaking.

Marcus reached across the table.

Then stopped.

“May I?”

I nodded.

He took my hand.

His touch was warm.

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Steady.

And for the first time in months, I allowed myself to lean on someone without feeling that I was surrendering my independence.