Chapter 2 - The Booth at the End of the Hall
The neon sign of the twenty-four-hour diner flickered with a tired, electric buzz that matched the hum inside my skull. I slid into the vinyl booth at the very back of the establishment, keeping my back to the wall and the cardboard box firmly on my lap. The waitress dropped a mug of black coffee onto the sticky table without looking at my face, muttering something about refills before shuffling back toward the counter. I didn't touch the mug. My hands were trembling too much.
A minute later, the bell above the glass door chimed. The man in the black suit walked through the narrow aisle, the expensive cut of his clothing looking entirely out of place among the plastic laminate and chrome. He slid into the seat across from me without being invited, his broad shoulders filling the small space. Up close under the harsh fluorescent lights, I noticed the faint fatigue lines around his eyes. He wasn't invincible; he was just as cornered as I was.
"You took a risk coming here," he said, his gaze dropping briefly to the box on my lap before rising back to my face.
"I took a risk walking out of that hospital," I replied, my voice hard. "You haven't told me a single thing yet. Who are you, and why did you stop me on the street?"
"Julian Vance." He didn't offer a hand to shake, recognizing the absurdity of formalities under the circumstances. "And I stopped you because the man in Bed Seven is corporate liability in a very expensive hospital gown. Or he was, until his vitals flatlined and his digital chart was scrubbed clean from the central server at eleven o'clock tonight."
My breath caught in my throat. I stared down at the cardboard box, my fingers digging into the rough gray cardboard. "They said he was a Jane Doe. They said he was an unidentified vagrant brought in from the transit station with a drug overdose."
"He wasn't," Julian said softly, leaning forward over the sticky table. "His name is Arthur Pendelton. He's the former chief financial auditor for the foundation that funds your hospital's research wing. Two days ago, he discovered a massive financial discrepancy, and tonight, someone decided his heart condition was suddenly terminal."
I swallowed hard, the taste of dry ash coating my mouth. My mind raced back to the frantic final hour of my shift, the frantic pages, the hurried orders from the attending physician, and the physical green-tinted paper chart I had instinctively slid out of the metal rack and dropped into my personal bag just before security descended on the floor.
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"You think they murdered him," I whispered, the words heavy and terrifying.
"I know they tried to bury the audit," Julian corrected, his eyes fixing on mine with absolute, chilling certainty. "And right now, Laurel, you are holding the only physical copy of his real medication logs left in existence. That box makes you the most dangerous person in this city."
