Chapter 2 - The Child Who Was Already Dead
By the time I reached St. Catherine's Hospital, the little girl had stopped speaking.
Her eyes were half-closed, and her breathing had become frighteningly shallow.
I pulled directly beneath the emergency entrance.
“HELP! I NEED A DOCTOR!”
Two nurses and a physician rushed outside with a stretcher.
I carried her through the automatic doors.
“Eight years old, approximately,” I told them. “Severe exposure. I found her on Old Ridge Road.”
Dr. Evelyn Price, the emergency physician, immediately took control.
“Get her into the treatment room. Warmed fluids, continuous monitoring, and prepare for possible complications.”
I followed the stretcher until a nurse stepped in front of me.
“Sir, you need to wait here.”
“I'm not leaving her.”
Dr. Price turned toward me.
“Mr. Bennett, I understand you're concerned, but we need room to work.”
I stared at the child's pale face.
Her hand slipped from beneath my coat as the medical team moved her away.
And suddenly I was thirty-one years old again.
Standing in another hospital.
Listening to another doctor tell me that my daughter might not survive.
My hands began trembling.
I hid them inside my pockets.
“Save her,” I said quietly.
Dr. Price met my eyes.
“We're doing everything we can.”
For forty minutes, I stood outside the treatment room.
My phone rang repeatedly.
My second-in-command, Thomas Rourke, had called six times.
I ignored him.
Thomas had worked beside me for seventeen years. He managed my transportation businesses, supervised my security personnel, and handled operations I preferred not to discuss in public.
He was the closest thing I had to a brother.
But that night, nothing mattered except the little girl.
Finally, Dr. Price emerged.
“She's responding to treatment. Her temperature is improving, and we believe she'll recover.”
I closed my eyes.
Relief nearly knocked me off my feet.
“Thank you.”
The doctor hesitated.
“Mr. Bennett, there's something else.”
“What?”
“We found no identification. She appears malnourished, and there are signs she may have experienced significant emotional trauma.”
My relief disappeared.
“Did somebody hurt her?”
“We can't determine everything tonight. The police need to investigate.”
“Then call them.”
Dr. Price looked surprised.
Men like me generally avoided police involvement.
But I wasn't interested in protecting my reputation.
I wanted answers.
Twenty minutes later, Detective Lena Ortiz arrived.
She was thirty-eight, intelligent, relentless, and one of the few investigators who had never accepted a dollar from me.
For years, she had tried to dismantle my organization.
Now I was asking for her help.
“Michael Bennett voluntarily requesting police assistance,” she said. “That's a first.”
“An eight-year-old girl was abandoned in a blizzard.”
Her expression became serious.
“I read the emergency report.”
“She says Julian Mercer is involved.”
Lena studied me.
“The Julian Mercer?”
“The same man who chairs the hospital foundation.”
“That's a serious accusation.”
“So is leaving a child to freeze to death.”
Lena stepped closer.
“Tell me everything.”
I explained the mountain road, the girl's condition, and the photograph.
When I finished, Lena made a call to the county records division.
We needed to identify the child.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then her phone rang.
I watched her listen.
Her expression changed.
“What do you mean, deceased?”
My blood turned cold.
Lena disconnected and looked at me.
“Michael, the girl has been identified.”
“Who is she?”
“Nora Reed. Eight years old. Her mother is Natalie Reed.”
“Where's her mother?”
“We don't know.”
“Then find her.”
Lena hesitated.
“There's a bigger problem.”
She turned her phone toward me.
On the screen was an official-looking death record.
Nora Elizabeth Reed. Age eight.
Cause of death: Exposure.
Time of death: 9:14 P.M.
I stared at the screen.
“That can't be right.”
“I know.”
“She was alive when I found her.”
“Michael, somebody registered her death before you brought her here.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
Someone had expected Nora to die.
Someone had already prepared the paperwork.
Then Lena scrolled down to the physician's signature.
Her face went pale.
“Michael... look at who supposedly certified her death.”
I leaned closer.
The name on the document was unmistakable.
May you like
Dr. Evelyn Price.
The same physician who was fighting to save Nora's life just a few doors away.
