Chapter 5 - The Camera in My Apartment
Nico knew more than his father.
That was the first truly surprising thing about him.
He stood in the abandoned surgical room staring at the photograph of his mother.
Gabriel's expression changed.
“What do you mean, people?”
Nico swallowed.
“I heard Victor talking at Aurelia.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I didn't know what it meant.”
Gabriel stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
For once, Nico did not argue.
He said Victor had been meeting a man named Everett Sloan, owner of a private ambulance network.
They discussed “quiet transports.”
Patients moved without standard logs.
Some undocumented immigrants.
Some witnesses.
Some injured men who couldn't appear in ordinary hospitals.
The Moretti organization had occasionally used private doctors.
Gabriel admitted that.
But Nico heard something worse.
“They talked about billing dead people.”
Dr. Shaw frowned.
“Billing them for what?”
“Procedures. Drugs. Transfers. I don't know.”
Fraud.
Medical identity theft.
Maybe laundering.
Maybe more.
Nico looked at his father.
“I thought Victor was making money on the side.”
Gabriel's voice became dangerously soft.
“And you ignored it.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
Nico looked away.
Gabriel closed his eyes.
I recognized the expression.
A parent discovering that love had not produced the person he'd hoped.
Then Nico looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I almost laughed.
He flinched.
“For what part?”
He took that.
“All of it.”
“That's a broad category.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened my family.”
His shame deepened.
“I was drunk.”
“Alcohol doesn't invent character. It removes brakes.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
Maybe he did now.
I didn't forgive him.
But I believed the apology hurt him.
That was a start.
Mia returned to ICU under police guard.
I couldn't officially treat her.
I had been fired.
That became more absurd by the hour.
Gabriel arranged a hotel suite for me.
I refused.
So did Torres.
Police preferred a safe apartment.
I finally agreed.
At midnight, I showered for the first time in twenty hours.
When I came out, I noticed the smoke detector.
Too new.
The apartment was furnished in beige everything.
Old carpet.
Old lamps.
Old thermostat.
Brand-new smoke detector.
I dragged a chair under it.
Removed the cover.
Camera.
Tiny.
Wireless.
I stared into the lens.
Then waved.
“Hi.”
Torres arrived ten minutes later.
Gabriel arrived eleven minutes later, which annoyed her.
“You cannot keep appearing at my crime scenes.”
“Then stop having them in properties my security team recommended.”
She glared at him.
I pointed toward the camera.
“Children.”
They ignored me.
The device wasn't police equipment.
Not Moretti security.
Its serial number had been removed.
Someone knew where police placed me.
That meant the leak could be law enforcement.
Hospital.
Moretti organization.
Or all three.
I suddenly understood Gabriel's exhaustion.
Trust was becoming mathematical.
Who knew what?
When?
Who benefited?
Torres moved me again.
This time to a state-owned witness apartment.
Only four people received the address.
Torres.
Her captain.
Me.
And an assistant district attorney.
Gabriel was deliberately excluded.
He did not like that.
“Good,” I said.
“You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
He stood beside his car.
“You should have security.”
“I do.”
“Two officers downstairs.”
“With guns.”
“My men are better.”
“Your men are also under investigation.”
Fair.
He looked toward the apartment windows.
“Call if anything feels wrong.”
“That sounded almost normal.”
“Don't get used to it.”
There was something between us then.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
We were both people accustomed to taking responsibility for rooms full of other people.
Different rooms.
Same burden.
I went upstairs.
At 2:00 a.m., my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A video.
My new apartment.
Live.
I was visible through the window.
I dropped to the floor.
Called Torres.
Officers stormed upstairs.
The camera wasn't inside.
It was across the street.
A parked delivery van.
Gone before police reached it.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph of Mia asleep in ICU.
Taken less than a minute earlier.
My blood froze.
I called Dr. Shaw.
No answer.
Called the unit.
No answer.
Then Gabriel called me.
“Elena.”
His voice was different.
“What happened?”
“Don't go to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Victor is missing.”
“And?”
“So is Nico.”
I stood.
“You think Victor took him?”
“I think my son went after him.”
Of course he did.
One apology and Nico had apparently decided to become heroic.
Gabriel swore under his breath.
“Stay where you are.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“Mia is in that hospital.”
“Police are there.”
“And somebody just photographed her bedside.”
Silence.
He knew I was right.
“I'll pick you up.”
“No convoy.”
“One car.”
“Two.”
“Why two?”
“Because if one gets hit, I'd like options.”
He paused.
“You're adapting disturbingly well.”
Twenty minutes later, we entered St. Catherine through the staff parking garage.
The ICU was secure.
Mia was safe.
The photograph had been taken by a respiratory therapist whose phone had been stolen.
Another misdirection.
Then Nico called.
Gabriel answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
Static.
Then Nico's voice.
“Dad.”
Fear.
Real fear.
“I found Victor.”
Gabriel gripped the phone.
“Where?”
“He wasn't working alone.”
A sound in the background.
Someone shouting.
Nico gasped.
Then said:
“Dr. Reeves is with him.”
The call ended.
Gabriel stared at the screen.
I felt the pieces align.
Hospital administrator.
Moretti lieutenant.
Private ambulances.
Fraud.
Deaths.
Then the elevator doors opened.
Dr. Reeves stepped out.
He wasn't alone.
Two police officers stood beside him.
He looked at me.
“Elena Ward.”
One officer reached for handcuffs.
“You're under arrest for unlawful access to restricted hospital systems and theft of controlled medication.”
Gabriel stepped between us.
Torres appeared from the far corridor.
“Don't touch her.”
The officers froze.
Torres held up her phone.
“Those warrants are fake.”
Reeves turned.
May you like
For the first time, he looked afraid.
Then the entire ICU went dark.
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