Chapter 3: One Phone Call
"Put it back," I said.
Elena looked at the document in my hand.
"Put it back exactly where you found it," I said.
"Same fold.
Same pocket."
"But—"
"If it's missing, they'll know someone looked.
Right now, the only advantage I have is that they think I'm unconscious."
Her hands were trembling as she took the pages back.
She refolded them along the original creases with the careful precision of someone who had spent years handling other people's fragile things without being asked.
"Who else comes into this room?" I asked.
"Miss Chloe.
Your cousin Anthony, twice.
Your lawyer, Mr.
Hargrove, once.
The nurses on rotation." She paused.
"A man I didn't recognize.
He came Tuesday night, very late.
He stood at the foot of your bed for about two minutes and didn't say anything."
"What did he look like?"
"Tall.
Gray at the temples.
He had a hospital visitor badge but he wasn't wearing it correctly — it was clipped to his inside jacket pocket instead of his chest." She hesitated.
"I was changing the flowers in the hallway.
I don't think he saw me."
I filed that away.
"I need a phone," I said.
"Not the room phone.
A phone no one in this building has ever seen."
Elena reached into the front pocket of her uniform without a word and placed a small prepaid handset on the blanket beside my hand.
I looked at it, then at her.
"My sister," she said quietly.
"She left an abusive husband three years ago.
I learned to keep a spare."
I didn't say anything for a moment.
"Thank you, Elena."
She nodded once and moved to the window, positioning herself where she could watch the corridor reflection in the dark glass.
I dialed from memory.
It rang twice.
"Marcus." My voice came out rougher than I intended.
Five days without water had done that.
A long silence on the other end.
"Julian." Marcus Webb had been my security director for eleven years.
He was the only person I had not told about the false coma, because I hadn't trusted the hospital lines.
"Where are you calling from?"
"A clean phone.
Listen carefully.
I need you to pull everything you have on the FDR crash — not the police report, the raw footage.
Traffic cameras, private building feeds, anything within four blocks of the exit ramp."
"I've been pulling it since the night it happened," Marcus said.
"Julian, I found something two days ago.
I've been trying to figure out how to get it to you without—"
"What did you find?"
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
"The car that cut your brake line was registered to a shell company.
I traced the shell back through three layers." He stopped.
"Marcus."
"It traces back to Anthony."
The room was very quiet.
"Send everything to the secure server.
The one only you and I know about." I kept my voice flat.
"And Marcus — tell no one I called.
Not even Grace."
"Understood." A beat.
"Julian.
Friday is tomorrow."
"I know."
I ended the call and lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
Elena hadn't moved from the window.
"They're coming back tonight," she said softly.
"Miss Chloe told the night nurse she wanted to sit with you.
Alone.
After ten."
May you like
I turned my head toward her.
"Then we don't have much time."
