Chapter 2 - The Man in Room 814
Richard grabbed my arm and whispered, “You’re not going in there alone.”
A hospital security guard stepped toward us.
Thomas’s medical bracelet was visible through the glass door.
One number had been crossed out by hand.
Richard suddenly released me.
And I knew somebody had already been inside his room.
I asked the nurse, whose name tag read LUCY MARTIN, if Noah could stay at the nurses' station for a few minutes.
Before she answered, Richard volunteered.
“He can stay with me.”
“No.”
Again, too fast.
Richard stared at me.
I forced a smile.
“He’s frightened. He doesn’t know what's happening.”
Lucy seemed to understand more than I said.
“We have a family consultation room right beside the station. He can sit there with one of our volunteers.”
“Thank you.”
Melissa stepped closer.
“Claire, before you see Thomas, there are a few documents—”
“I’m seeing him first.”
“They concern his treatment.”
“Then his doctor can explain them.”
Melissa's pleasant expression tightened.
“They're time-sensitive.”
“So is Thomas.”
I walked away.
Room 814 was at the end of a quiet hallway.
A uniformed security officer stood outside.
That surprised me.
“Why is security here?”
Lucy lowered her voice.
“Mr. Bennett became agitated after waking. He accused someone of entering his room last night.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn't say.”
The officer opened the door.
Thomas Bennett looked twenty years older than he had the last time I saw him.
He had always been an imposing man.
Six feet two.
Silver hair.
Strong hands.
The kind of businessman who could silence a conference room simply by taking off his glasses.
Now he looked small beneath white hospital blankets.
Oxygen tubing ran beneath his nose.
His right hand trembled.
But his eyes were clear.
“Claire.”
I hurried to him.
“Thomas.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Door.”
I closed it.
“Lock?”
I looked back.
There was no lock.
I pulled a chair beneath the handle anyway.
Thomas almost smiled.
“Smart girl.”
“What happened?”
His smile disappeared.
“They thought I wouldn't wake up.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the door.
“Phone.”
I handed him mine.
He typed something with difficulty.
Then handed it back.
One sentence appeared on the screen:
THEY ARE LISTENING.
My pulse jumped.
I deleted it.
Thomas nodded.
Then he spoke normally.
“Daniel still in Germany?”
“Yes.”
“When did you last speak?”
“Last night.”
“Video?”
“No. Text messages.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Call him. Video only.”
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Because I'm not convinced you've been talking to Daniel.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Later.”
He reached beneath his blanket.
His fingers found something taped to the underside of the bed rail.
A small brass key.
He pressed it into my palm.
“Union Station.”
“What?”
“Locker 317.”
“What’s inside?”
“Insurance.”
“Against whom?”
Thomas looked toward the door.
“Everyone.”
I thought about Ellen.
“Thomas, Ellen Ross told me about the missing money.”
His eyes widened.
“You spoke to Ellen?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“And she said you made me executor.”
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
“Because Daniel would hesitate.”
“About what?”
“Believing the truth.”
My throat tightened.
“About Richard?”
Thomas looked at me with something close to pity.
“Richard is greedy. Greedy men are predictable.”
“Then who?”
A shadow appeared beneath the door.
Someone was standing outside.
Thomas lowered his voice.
“The eleven million wasn't stolen.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“It was moved.”
“Where?”
“To seven companies.”
“Why?”
“To make it disappear.”
“That sounds like stealing.”
“No.”
Thomas squeezed my wrist.
“It was payment.”
“For what?”
His eyes filled with fear.
I had never seen Thomas Bennett afraid.
“Silence.”
The door handle moved.
The chair stopped it.
“Mr. Bennett?”
Melissa.
Thomas's grip tightened.
“Don't let her in.”
“Thomas—”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
Melissa knocked.
“Thomas, it's Melissa Crane. We need to review your medical directive.”
Thomas shook his head violently.
“No.”
His heart monitor accelerated.
I went to the door.
“He needs rest.”
“Claire, open this door.”
“No.”
“I'm his attorney.”
“And he said no.”
Silence.
Then Richard's voice.
“Claire, don't make this harder than it needs to be.”
I turned toward Thomas.
“What aren't you telling me?”
He pointed at my phone.
“Video Daniel.”
I called.
Daniel answered after four rings.
His face appeared.
Airport terminal behind him.
“Claire?”
Relief flooded me.
“Daniel.”
“Jesus, finally. I've been trying to call you all morning.”
My stomach dropped.
“I've been getting your texts.”
“What texts?”
Thomas closed his eyes.
I opened my messages.
There were seventeen messages from Daniel.
Or what I thought was Daniel.
Landing delayed.
Trying another flight.
Love you.
Keep me updated.
But Daniel was staring at me as though I'd lost my mind.
“I haven't texted you since yesterday.”
My fingers went numb.
“Daniel…”
“Claire, where are you?”
“With your dad.”
Thomas leaned into view.
Daniel's expression broke.
“Dad.”
“Son.”
“What happened?”
Thomas looked at me.
“Show him.”
I held up the brass key.
Daniel frowned.
“What is that?”
“Locker 317.”
Thomas whispered:
“Tell him about Rebecca.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
“Dad.”
I looked between them.
“Who is Rebecca?”
Neither answered.
“Daniel?”
His face had gone pale.
“Claire, listen to me.”
“What?”
“Do not open that locker alone.”
“Why?”
Before he could answer, the video froze.
The call disconnected.
At exactly the same moment, Thomas's heart monitor screamed.
His body jerked.
“Thomas!”
Doctors rushed in.
I was pushed into the hallway.
Richard was there.
Melissa too.
Noah came running toward me with the volunteer.
“Mommy!”
I held him.
Inside the room, nurses surrounded Thomas.
Richard watched through the glass.
He didn't look frightened.
He looked furious.
Then my phone vibrated.
A text.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
A photograph appeared.
It showed me entering St. Matthew’s ten minutes earlier.
Holding Noah.
Taken from across the street.
Beneath it were six words:
DO NOT GO TO LOCKER 317.
A second message arrived.
This one contained another photograph.
The stranger from the bus.
Michael Grant.
He was lying unconscious beside a parked car.
May you like
And someone had written:
HE WARNED YOU ONCE. HE WON’T AGAIN.
