Chapter 8 - THE DOCTOR WHO LIED ABOUT MY DEATH|
For a moment, I couldn't understand what Dr. Voss had just said.
There was a treatment option.
A treatment he hadn't disclosed.
And somebody had expected me to die before I could receive it.
I stared at the phone as though the words might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.
“Are you telling me I didn't have to die?”
My voice was barely audible.
Dr. Voss didn't answer immediately.
“Amelia, your condition is extremely serious.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
I stood so quickly that Lucian reached toward me.
I waved him away.
“You sat across from me yesterday.”
My voice rose.
“You looked into my face and told me I had seven days left.”
“I know.”
“I went home and started thinking about what to do with my belongings.”
My throat tightened.
“I wondered whether anyone would remember my birthday next year.”
“Amelia—”
“I thought about how much it would hurt my mother when someone called to tell her I'd died.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“And you're telling me there was something you didn't tell me?”
Dr. Voss exhaled shakily.
“Yes.”
The word struck harder than any diagnosis I'd ever received.
Lucian stood beside me.
“Put your medical records and the complete treatment history in writing,” he said.
Dr. Voss fell silent.
“Who is that?”
“Lucian Moretti.”
The silence deepened.
Then Voss whispered, “You shouldn't be involved.”
Lucian's expression hardened.
“Your former patient was my sister.”
“I remember.”
“Then you know exactly why I'm involved.”
I stared at the phone.
“Doctor, answer one question.”
“Yes, Amelia.”
“Was I ever part of an experimental medical program without knowing it?”
A strange sound came through the speaker.
It might have been a breath.
It might have been a sob.
Finally, he said, “I can't discuss that over the telephone.”
I looked at Lucian.
His face had gone cold.
“Then discuss it with the appropriate investigators,” Lucian said.
Dr. Voss spoke quickly.
“Please understand that I didn't create the program.”
“Who did?” I demanded.
“I can't tell you yet.”
“Then why call me?”
“Because the situation has gone further than I expected.”
His voice trembled.
“And because I don't want another patient to die.”
I closed my eyes.
Another patient.
Sofia.
The young woman who wanted to build libraries.
The sister Lucian had spent eleven years mourning.
“Where are you?” Lucian asked.
Voss hesitated.
“At my office.”
“Stay there.”
“No.”
The response came sharply.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because I've already made one terrible mistake.”
Before Lucian could answer, Voss continued.
“Amelia, listen carefully.”
I gripped the phone.
“Tomorrow morning, meet with Dr. Evelyn Hart.”
“We already arranged that,” I said.
“I know.”
“How?”
A pause.
Then he whispered, “Because someone has been watching every attempt to review your records.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“I'll send you what I can.”
The line disconnected.
I stared at the screen.
Lucian took one step toward me.
“Amelia.”
I shook my head.
“Please don't tell me to calm down.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Then what?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“I was going to ask what you need.”
The question broke something inside me.
I sank onto the couch.
“I need someone to tell me what's happening.”
He sat beside me.
“I know.”
“I need to know whether my body is failing because of a disease or because somebody gave me something dangerous.”
“We'll ask the specialists.”
“I need to know whether I should say goodbye to my mother.”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, “You can call her without saying goodbye.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“You can tell her you need her.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
“I don't know if she'll come.”
“Then that's her decision.”
He reached for a tissue and handed it to me.
“But you deserve the chance to ask.”
I stared at my mother's number for almost five minutes.
Then I pressed call.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Amelia?”
Her voice sounded smaller than I remembered.
“Hi, Mom.”
A pause.
“Is everything okay?”
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
“Sweetheart?”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I need you.”
The words were simple.
They were also the hardest I'd spoken in years.
My mother began crying before I finished explaining.
She asked questions.
She apologized for not calling.
She wanted to drive to Manhattan immediately.
For the first time, I didn't tell her everything was fine.
I told her the truth.
I was frightened.
I was seriously ill.
My medical care was being reviewed because important information might have been withheld.
And I didn't want to spend another night pretending I could handle everything alone.
“I'll be there in the morning,” she said.
I closed my eyes.
“Okay.”
“Amelia?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
My chest ached.
“I love you too, Mom.”
After we hung up, I sat quietly beside Lucian.
He didn't ask what she'd said.
He simply waited.
Finally, I whispered, “She's coming.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
For a little while, the apartment felt peaceful.
Then Marco returned.
His expression erased that peace immediately.
“Boss.”
Lucian stood.
“What?”
“Dr. Voss never went home.”
I frowned.
“He said he was at his office.”
“He was.”
Marco looked at me.
“But security footage shows him leaving through a private exit twelve minutes after the call.”
“Where did he go?” Lucian asked.
“We don't know.”
Lucian's phone vibrated.
Marco checked the screen.
“There's something else.”
He held out a photograph.
It showed a dark vehicle outside Dr. Voss's medical building.
A man stood beside the driver's door.
He wore a gray coat and carried a small black briefcase.
Lucian went absolutely still.
I looked from the photograph to his face.
“Who is that?”
He didn't answer.
Marco spoke instead.
“Adrian Bell.”
The name meant nothing to me.
But it clearly meant something to Lucian.
“He was my father's financial adviser,” Lucian said.
I frowned.
“Why would a financial adviser be following my doctor?”
Lucian looked at the photograph again.
“Because Adrian knows where most of the Moretti family's money has gone for the last twenty years.”
“And?”
“Because he disappeared five years ago after being accused of stealing from our organization.”
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“So he might be involved?”
Lucian's expression darkened.
“It's possible.”
I looked toward the window.
The city glittered beyond the glass.
Somewhere out there, a doctor was running.
A man from Lucian's past had returned.
And my name was written in records I had never been allowed to see.
I thought of the seven days.
Yesterday, the number had felt like a sentence.
Tonight, it felt like a weapon someone had placed against my throat.
“Lucian,” I whispered.
He turned.
“What if somebody wants me dead because I know something?”
His eyes searched mine.
“What could you know?”
I shook my head.
“I don't know.”
Then I remembered something.
Something so ordinary that I'd almost forgotten it.
Three months earlier, Dr. Voss had given me a sealed envelope.
He'd told me it contained insurance paperwork and instructed me to keep it somewhere safe.
I'd never opened it.
I'd placed it inside a box of old photographs beneath my bed.
I looked at Lucian.
“There's something I need to show you.”
We went into the bedroom.
The box was still there.
I lifted the lid.
Inside were photographs, birthday cards, and the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
I broke the seal.
There was no insurance paperwork.
Only a flash drive and a handwritten note.
May you like
The note contained seven words.
“IF I DISAPPEAR, TELL THE WORLD EVERYTHING.”
