Chapter 3

The mortgage payment hit my account on a Tuesday, just like it had for twelve months. Five hundred and forty-three dollars, deposited from a dead-end account with no name attached. Before Elias died, I had never missed a payment. After, I had missed three, and then the mystery money started, and I had been too proud to question a miracle.

Now I knew better. Now I had a name to attach to the miracle.

I tried to access the transplant records myself. The hospital’s electronic system required credentials I didn’t have, and the paper files were locked in the records room on the third floor. I spent two nights lingering near the nurses’ station, listening for scraps. I learned that Leo’s transplant had been done at a hospital in Charlotte, not here. I learned that his father had flown in specialists and paid cash for private nursing. I learned that the entire pediatric transplant program at Locke Medical had been built around keeping Leo alive.

On the third night, I was cleaning the hallway outside Damian’s office when I heard his voice through the door.

“I don’t care what the board thinks,” he said. “The safety report stays buried. We pay the fine. We move on.”

Another voice, smoother, lighter. “The Vale family is still represented by a plaintiff’s attorney. If the fire investigation reopens-”

“It won’t.”

I recognized the second voice. Victor Hale, the COO. I had seen him in the cafeteria, laughing with the board members, his smile too wide.

I pressed my back against the wall and kept my face blank. The safety report. The warehouse fire. Elias.

The door opened. Victor walked past me without a glance. Damian stood in the doorway, his gray eyes landing on me like a searchlight.

“You,” he said.

“Just finishing the hallway, Mr. Locke.”

He stepped closer. I could smell his cologne, expensive and cold. “You’ve been on the pediatric floor a lot lately.”

“We rotate.”

“Don’t rotate there anymore.”

My heart thudded. “I’m sorry?”

“Leo is not to be disturbed.” His voice was quiet, precise. “He’s a patient. He doesn’t need housekeeping staff lingering.”

“I wasn’t lingering.”

“You were talking to him.”

I held his gaze. Three weeks ago, I would have been afraid of him. Now I was afraid of what I would do if I stayed.

“I’ll keep it brief,” I said.

“No.” He took another step. “You’ll stay away from my son.”

That night, I went home to my small apartment and opened the notebook I kept hidden under the mattress. I wrote down everything: the crayon drawing, Leo’s transplant bracelet, the mortgage payments, the safety report. I had enough to go to a lawyer. I had enough to go to the press.

But I didn’t know why Damian Locke was paying my mortgage. I didn’t know what he knew. And I couldn’t destroy him until I understood what I was destroying.

The next morning, a piece of mail arrived at my apartment. No return address. Inside was a single sheet of paper, typed.

You are not invisible, Mrs. Vale.

I called in sick to work and sat on my kitchen floor for an hour, holding the letter. Someone knew who I was. Someone had been watching.

I thought it was Damian. I was wrong.