Chapter 3
The security page echoed through the sterile corridors, but Julian’s attention remained locked on Elena. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid movements, the sparkly red fabric of her gown catching the emergency lighting as she stepped back toward the corridor exit. Dr. Harrison watched the exchange with a cautious frown, sensing the electric tension crackling between the couple. Julian didn't care about the hospital protocol anymore; his entire world had narrowed down to the woman who had nearly broken his daughter a second time.
"You heard the doctor, Elena," Julian said, his voice dangerously low as he advanced a step toward her. "The bruising on her arm didn't happen from a slip. You grabbed her. You pulled her down those stairs."
"You are losing your mind, Julian," Elena snapped back, her voice defensive yet remarkably controlled. She cast a nervous glance toward the open door of Treatment Room Four. "Children are clumsy. She tripped because she hates wearing that heavy cast, and now you’re letting your grief over the divorce cloud your judgment. You’re turning a simple accident into a criminal investigation."
"We aren't divorced, Elena, and you know damn well that wasn't an accident," Julian countered, stepping closer. "I saw your face before she fell. I heard what she said. 'Please don't.' What were you trying to force her to do?"
"Nothing!" Elena hissed, stepping back until her shoulders pressed against the laminated wall of the hallway. "I was trying to help her walk down like you asked me to do before the dinner party. You're always blaming me for everything that goes wrong in this dysfunctional house!"
"Excuse me, Mr. Vance," Dr. Harrison intervened, stepping smoothly between them to diffuse the escalating argument. "Mia is asking for you. She’s awake, and the nurses have managed to sedate her slightly to manage the pain. But she won't settle down until she speaks with her father alone."
Julian hesitated, torn between his burning desire to drag the truth out of Elena right then and there, and his overwhelming paternal duty to his terrified daughter. He cast one final, warning glare at his wife.
"Don't move," Julian ordered coldly. "We aren't finished talking. Not by a long shot."
Without waiting for her reply, Julian turned and slipped into Treatment Room Four, gently closing the heavy door behind him. The room was dim, illuminated only by a small goose-neck lamp near the bed. Mia lay pale against the white pillows, her eyes blinking slowly as she recognized him. Julian rushed to her side, sinking into the chair and taking her small, cold hand in his large palm.
"Daddy..." Mia whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek and disappearing into the fabric of her hospital gown. "She was trying to make me take it off."
"Take what off, sweetheart?" Julian asked softly, leaning in close so he wouldn't miss a single word.
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"The cast," Mia sobbed quietly. "She said if the doctor saw it healed, you would find out the truth about the insurance money. She said she had to break it again so you wouldn't look at the bank accounts."
Julian froze, the blood draining from his face as a horrifying puzzle began to piece itself together in his mind. Before he could ask what bank accounts she meant, a sharp knock sounded at the door, and a man in a rumpled gray suit stepped into the room, flashing a metal badge.
