Chapter 4 - The Name on the Hospital Form
I arrived at Saint Vincent Medical Center before Josie.
The elderly man’s name was Elias Venn.
That meant something to Salian.
It meant even more to me.
Elias had been my father’s bookkeeper twenty years earlier, before retiring after a stroke. I had not seen him since the funeral.
He looked smaller in the hospital bed than I remembered.
His eyes opened when I entered.
“Gabriel’s boy,” he said.
My father’s name hurt more when spoken by old men.
“Hello, Elias.”
“You took your time.”
“You fell down last night.”
“So did Rome.”
“You always were cheerful.”
His mouth twitched.
Then he looked past me.
“Girl?”
“Josie is coming.”
“Good.”
“What did you want with me?”
Elias’s gaze sharpened.
“Your uncle has been looking for something.”
“What?”
“He thinks your father left copies.”
“Copies of what?”
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Josie stepped in wearing hospital-laundry scrubs under a winter coat.
She stopped when she saw me.
“Gid?”
Then she saw Salian behind me, saw the private-room security outside, saw my suit.
Her expression changed.
I had forgotten that she had never seen me dressed like this.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Elias answered for me.
“He’s Ferraro.”
Josie looked from him to me.
I said, “My full name is Gideon Ferraro.”
“I know the name.”
Of course she did.
Everyone in Chicago knew some version of it.
Shipping family.
Political family.
Crime family.
Depending on the newspaper, we were industrialists, philanthropists, fixers, smugglers, or all four before lunch.
Josie stared at me.
“You count coins for soup.”
“I did.”
“You live above a laundromat.”
“I do.”
“You told me you worked at the docks.”
“I do.”
“That is technically true in the most irritating way possible.”
Salian coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.
I deserved the irritation.
“I didn’t lie about needing cheap meals during the freeze.”
“What freeze?”
Elias interrupted. “Children, if you’re finished arguing about soup, I may die eventually.”
Josie moved immediately to his bedside.
“You’re not dying today.”
“Bossy.”
“Correct.”
Elias smiled.
Then he reached beneath the blanket and removed a hospital wristband pouch containing a small brass key.
He handed it to Josie.
She frowned. “Why me?”
“Because you stopped.”
“For what?”
“When everyone else walked around me.”
His eyes shifted to me.
“Your father used to say you learn more about a person from who they stop for than who they salute.”
I swallowed.
“What does the key open?”
“Station locker. Union terminal. Number fourteen.”
Salian stepped closer.
“What’s inside?”
Elias’s breathing became uneven.
He looked at me.
“Your father’s second ledger.”
My chest tightened.
I had heard rumors of such a thing.
Gabriel Ferraro had kept clean books for the legal companies and private books recording every unofficial debt, bribe, payoff, political favor, and protection arrangement inherited from my grandfather’s era. Before his death, he told me he intended to dismantle the entire system.
Three months later, he was shot outside our home.
The private ledger disappeared.
Rocco always claimed it never existed.
Elias closed his eyes.
“Rocco knows I kept it.”
“Why didn’t you give it to federal investigators?” I asked.
“Because some names in there would burn innocent people with guilty ones.”
“Why now?”
“Because you came back.”
He opened his eyes again.
“And because your uncle is afraid.”
The heart monitor changed rhythm.
A nurse entered and asked us to step outside.
Josie held the key tightly.
In the corridor, she turned to me.
“Take it.”
I shook my head.
“He gave it to you.”
“I don’t want anything to do with your family ledger.”
“Smart.”
“Then take it.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because if Rocco thinks I have it, he’ll watch me. If he thinks Elias gave it to a random waitress—”
“Absolutely not.”
I almost smiled.
“I was going to say he may not know.”
“And I was going to say I am not bait.”
“Agreed.”
“Then stop thinking like that.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Salian stepped between us metaphorically if not physically. “The sensible option is a secure deposit with independent counsel.”
Josie handed him the key instantly.
“See? That is a normal sentence.”
I looked at Salian. “You’ve been waiting years for someone to say that.”
“Decades.”
Josie crossed her arms.
“I need to go to work.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“It’s raining.”
“I own a coat.”
“You have three jobs.”
Her face hardened. “And I plan to keep all three.”
There it was.
Pride, yes.
But something more.
She had learned that help often came with hooks.
I knew the feeling.
“I’m not offering money,” I said.
“You’re offering a car with a man outside who looks like he eats parking tickets.”
The security officer glanced away politely.
I lowered my voice. “Your mortgage holder is connected to Preston Hail.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
“The fees on your loan may be illegal.”
“How do you know about my mortgage?”
“I saw the foreclosure notice fall from your apron.”
“And then investigated me?”
“I investigated Preston.”
“Why?”
“Because he is involved with my wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
Salian’s head tilted.
I stared at Josie.
She shrugged. “Lawyer face.”
For the second time in twenty-four hours, I laughed.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man’s voice said, “Mr. Ferraro, if you want Elias Venn to remain the only person in that hospital bed, leave locker fourteen alone.”
The line went dead.
Josie read my face.
“What happened?”
I looked at the brass key in Salian’s hand.
“Someone knows.”
Before we left the hospital that day, Josie made me do something nobody else in my life would have thought to demand. She made me go back into Elias's room without lawyers, agents, or strategy.
“He asked for you,” she said. “Not Ferraro. You.”
Elias was awake again. Weak, but awake. I sat beside him.
“You look like your father when you’re angry,” he said.
“I’ve heard.”
“He hated that comparison.”
“Why?”
“Because people used it to excuse his temper.”
I looked down at my hands. “Did he trust Rocco?”
Elias thought for a long moment.
“He loved Rocco. Trust came and went.”
That answer stayed with me. Love and trust were not the same currency. I had learned that from Camille without wanting to.
Elias reached for my sleeve. “If you find the books, don’t use them to become feared again.”
“What should I use them for?”
“To make fear unnecessary.”
He closed his eyes afterward, exhausted.
Outside the room, Josie waited against the wall with her arms folded.
“What did he say?”
“That old men enjoy giving impossible instructions.”
She nodded. “Sounds accurate.”
I looked at her. “You really don’t scare easily.”
“That’s not true.”
“You ran into the street for a stranger.”
“I was terrified.”
“Then why did you go?”
“Because fear isn’t a vote.”
I had spent most of my life around men who believed courage meant not feeling afraid. Josie, in one sentence, made that idea seem childish.
May you like
That was the moment I stopped thinking of her as the waitress who had been kind to me.
She was becoming the person whose judgment I trusted when mine was clouded.
