Chapter 9
Grant finally stopped defending her.
Not me.
Her.
“My father was removed?”
Teresa sighed.
“Yes.”
“You told me he retired.”
“He did.”
“After?”
Silence.
Grant stared.
“After what?”
Thomas answered.
“Vincent stripped him of rank.”
Grant went pale.
“Why?”
Thomas looked at the chalk names on the wall.
“You know why.”
Grant stared at Teresa.
She did not apologize.
Of course.
“Your father believed poor families should repay what they received.”
Grant whispered:
“So did you.”
“I still do.”
There.
No shame.
Grant laughed.
“You told me Evans approved it.”
Teresa looked at me.
Then him.
“I told you what you needed to hear.”
Silence.
The exact sentence cruel people use when manipulation is exposed.
Grant stared.
I didn't feel sorry for him.
He had still shoved Tommy to his knees.
Still took his shoes.
Still delayed Sophia's care.
But for the first time, he understood he hadn't inherited a tradition.
He had inherited his mother's grievance.
I looked at him.
“Who are the families you recruited?”
He said nothing.
Teresa smiled.
“Don't.”
Grant turned.
She continued.
“Think.”
He stared.
“You still have a place if you stop talking.”
I almost laughed.
Place.
Even now.
Control through belonging.
Grant looked at me.
Then Tommy.
The boy stood beside the doctor holding Maria's scarf.
Grant's face tightened.
Not remorse yet.
Something close.
“Drivers.”
He finally said it.
Teresa closed her eyes.
“Grant.”
He continued.
“Night couriers.”
“How many?”
“Maybe thirty families over the years.”
My hands tightened.
“For the Evans organization?”
“No.”
That mattered.
“For who?”
Grant looked at Teresa.
Then me.
“Ours.”
Silence.
Private crew.
Built inside my hospital.
“What did they carry?”
“Packages.”
“Knowing contents?”
“Sometimes.”
I didn't need operational details.
The important part was leverage.
“What happened when they refused?”
Grant stared at the floor.
“Access got harder.”
“Treatment?”
“Yes.”
“Food?”
“Yes.”
“Beds?”
“Yes.”
Tommy whispered:
“Mom refused.”
Grant looked at him.
“Yes.”
The boy flinched.
Grant's voice softened slightly.
“She refused everything.”
Teresa laughed.
“As if stubbornness were virtue.”
Tommy looked at her.
“My mom said sick babies aren't money.”
Silence.
Teresa smiled.
“Your mother said many stupid things.”
Tommy's eyes filled.
I stepped forward.
“Enough.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
“You've insulted a dead woman in front of her child three times.”
Teresa shrugged.
“Death doesn't improve judgment.”
No.
But neither did age.
I held up Maria's recorder.
“Why did she keep recording?”
Grant answered.
“She wanted Richard to hear.”
Teresa snapped:
“She wanted revenge.”
Tommy shouted:
“She wanted Sophia!”
Silence.
Everyone turned.
Tommy's little chest heaved.
“She said if she got worse…”
His voice broke.
“…maybe Mr. Richard would make you help babies.”
I could not breathe for a second.
Maria had not spent her last strength trying to destroy Teresa.
She had tried to keep other children from becoming Sophia.
I looked at Grant.
“What happened the night she died?”
He went still.
Teresa said:
“No.”
I turned.
Grant stared at the floor.
“Tell me.”
Teresa stepped closer.
“You say one word and you are finished.”
Grant looked at his mother.
Then laughed.
“I already am.”
There.
He finally understood.
Grant looked at me.
“Maria came here at 2:00 a.m.”
My stomach tightened.
“With fever?”
“Yes.”
“Who saw her?”
“I did.”
Tommy covered his mouth.
“What did you do?”
Grant's eyes closed.
“I told her Ward Seven hours were over.”
Silence.
“What else?”
He swallowed.
“She showed me the Evans token.”
I looked at the brass piece.
“You knew what it was.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Grant opened his eyes.
“I took it from her.”
Tommy started crying.
Grant continued.
“I told her dead men didn't issue orders.”
My father's token.
Maria sick.
Sophia crying.
Tommy seven.
“What happened?”
Grant looked at Teresa.
“She told me to send them out.”
Teresa's face hardened.
Grant's voice broke slightly.
May you like
“I did.”
And Maria Martinez died the next morning.
