Chapter 4: The Call
I stared at the message for a long time.
The number had a local area code — the city we were visiting for the game.
Not our city.
Not the hospital's city.
I showed it to my husband in the morning.
"Do you know this number?" I said.
He looked at it.
Shook his head.
"Should we call?"
"I don't know," he said.
"It could be nothing."
But we both knew it wasn't nothing.
You don't send a message like that at three in the morning if it's nothing.
I waited until Ethan was settled at the hotel breakfast table with a plate of eggs and his eyes fixed on the small television in the corner — a sports recap, of course — and then I stepped into the hallway and called.
It rang twice.
A man answered.
Older voice.
Careful.
"Thank you for calling back," he said.
"Who is this?" I said.
"My name is Gerald.
I'm a retired physician.
I used to work with the hospital that's taking Ethan's case — not as a treating doctor.
Administrative.
Fundraising, mostly, in my later years."
"Okay," I said slowly.
"I want you to know that the program is real and the doctors are excellent.
I'm not calling to alarm you.
I'm calling because I think you deserve to know the full picture of how this happened."
I leaned against the hallway wall.
"Tell me."
"The foundation — the team's foundation — they came to us about six weeks ago, yes.
But the reason they came to us specifically was because someone had already done the groundwork.
Someone had already contacted the lead physician, already sent Ethan's file, already made the case that his situation warranted an exception to the trial's standard intake process."
I went very still.
"Someone sent his file?" I said.
"Who?"
A pause.
"That's what I think you should know," Gerald said.
"It wasn't the volunteer organization.
It wasn't the team.
Someone sent a detailed medical summary — Ethan's full history, his treatment record, his test results — to the physician's private email address.
Someone who had access to his complete file."
The hallway felt narrower.
"His file is private," I said.
"Only his care team has access to that."
"Yes," Gerald said.
"That's correct."
I didn't say anything.
"I'm not making an accusation," he said.
"I just thought you should know that whoever did this — they went to considerable lengths.
And they did it quietly.
They didn't want credit."
"Do you know who it was?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"I have a name," he said.
"But I think it would be better if you heard it from them directly.
I've already reached out.
They're willing to speak with you, if you're willing."
"Give me their number," I said.
"I'll send it now."
The call ended.
Ten seconds later, a new number appeared in my messages.
I looked at it.
My husband appeared at the end of the hallway.
He read my face.
"What?" he said.
"Someone sent Ethan's medical file to the hospital before any of this started," I said.
"Someone on his care team.
Someone who didn't want us to know."
He walked toward me slowly.
"Who?"
"I don't know yet." I held up my phone.
"But I have their number."
He stopped beside me.
We both looked at the screen.
"Call it," he said.
I pressed dial.
May you like
It rang once.
And then a voice I recognized immediately said, "I was wondering when you'd find out."
