Chapter 8 - Shifting Loyalties
The hospital corridors at 4:30 AM smelled of harsh antiseptic, damp floor wax, and the quiet, heavy despair of the night shift. I had slipped past the front lobby desk by wearing a discarded white laboratory coat over my ruined velvet gown, keeping my dark hair pulled back and my head down as tired nurses rushed past with rolling med carts. Every nerve in my body hummed with raw adrenaline.
Person B’s room was tucked away in the secure surgical step-down unit, far from the chaotic noise of the emergency department. Through the reinforced glass window of the intensive care unit door, I could see the steady, rhythmic green spike of the heart monitor and the pale curve of her face resting quietly against the stiff white pillows. The mechanical ventilator hissed softly in the dimness, breathing for her while her bruised body fought to recover from the violent trauma.
The heavy door clicked open from the inside, and a tired-looking resident stepped out into the hallway, wiping his hands with a damp paper towel. He recognized me instantly from the police inquiry earlier that evening when the detectives had questioned everyone in the waiting room.
"Family only," he started, raising a hand to block my path before I could slip past him.
"I need five minutes," I whispered, my voice cracking with real emotion. I pressed a folded fifty-dollar bill into his palm with a look of desperate pleading that required no acting at all. "She regained consciousness for ten minutes an hour ago. She asked for me by name."
The resident hesitated, his gaze darting down the empty corridor, and finally stepped aside with a sigh. "Make it quick. The detectives are scheduled to return at dawn to pull her official statement."
I slipped quickly into the darkened room, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. Person B's eyelids fluttered open, dark lashes casting long shadows against her bruised cheekbones. She turned her head slowly, her dry lips parting as she recognized me through the dim, pulsating light of the bedside monitors.
"You..." her voice was a raspy, fragile whisper, barely audible over the mechanical hum of the medical equipment.
"I know about the foundation funds, and I know what Marcus did," I said, leaning close to the metal rail of the bed to catch every word. "The dome camera... Julian said it backed up to a secondary cloud."
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Person B shook her head faintly, her fingers twitching against the stiff cotton blanket. "No... not a cloud... local rig... check the... router box..."
A sudden sharp alarm chimed softly from the hallway as heavy, purposeful footsteps approached the double doors.
