Chapter 2

The call came in the middle of the quarterly review. Four words from the nurse: “Mr

Allen, come now.”

Desmond Allen stood up mid-sentence and walked out. Mrs Prudence’s eyebrow lifted.

Mr Thompson already had his phone out. Nobody asked why.

He reached the private wing of St. Gabriel’s in twenty-two minutes, taking the stairs

three at a time, still in his boardroom jacket. The corridor smelled of lilies and bleach.

Two men were waiting outside his grandfather’s door, and he knew them both too well.

“Desmond.” Mr Chen inclined his head. “We came as soon as we heard.”

“You came before I did,” Desmond said.

Dominic gave him a sorrowful smile. “Family should be here.”

“The family is in that room.”

He shut the door on them.

The man in the bed had once filled every room he entered. Now he barely dented the

pillow. Tubes. A monitor with a slow green line.

“You’re late,” his grandfather whispered.

“I’m here.” Desmond took the thin hand. It gripped him harder than he expected.

“The board will move the day I’m buried. Chen first. Dominic will smile while he does

it.”

“I know.”

“Know their price before they know yours. Everyone has one.”

“I’ve always known that.”“Even you.”

“No.”

His grandfather almost smiled. “Then no one has offered you the right thing.” A breath.

“I wanted to see you with someone before I went. I’m sorry I ran out of time.”

Desmond said nothing. He did not know how.

The line on the monitor flattened. Desmond did not call for a nurse. He sat with the

hand in his and counted breaths until there were none left to count.

He did not cry. He had been trained out of it at nine years old. He sat there another

minute anyway, then straightened the sheet and went to face the living.

When he stepped out, Chen and Dominic had not moved.

“He’s gone,” Desmond said.

Neither of them looked surprised.

“Our condolences.” Chen let a respectful second pass. “You know the terms of the will, of

course.”

“My grandfather is not cold.”

“That is why we mention it now,” Dominic said gently. “The burial is in three days. After

it, you must be married. A wife, and quickly. Otherwise full control of Allen Corporation

passes to the board.”

“To you.”

“To the board,” Chen corrected. “We would never presume.”

Desmond walked away before his face could do something he would regret.

He took the first corridor he found, then another, then double doors that opened onto

pale yellow walls and cartoon animals painted along the skirting. A sign overhead:

MATERNITY.He should have turned around. He kept walking.

At the nurses’ station, two women in blue scrubs had their heads together. They were

speaking quietly, but in a silent corridor quiet carried.

“—right there in the delivery room, I’m telling you. Slapped her to the floor.”

“Her own fiancé?”

“And the other woman standing there in a red dress like she was at a wedding. Walked

out an hour ago with the baby, smiling.”

“And the mother?”

“Still out cold. And listen to this.” The first nurse dropped her voice. “Administration

told us to pull her file. Her name’s off the board. Nothing on the system. As if she was

never here.”

“That’s not even legal.”

“Tell that to the man who ordered it. Very good suit. Wouldn’t give his name.”

Wheels squeaked behind him. He stepped aside to let them pass.

Two orderlies were pushing a trolley toward double doors marked RECOVERY, moving

fast, not talking. They did not look at the woman. They looked straight ahead. On the

trolley lay a young woman in a hospital gown, dark hair tangled across the pillow, dried

blood at her left temple, a bruise already darkening her cheekbone.

One hand had slipped off the side. The fingers were curled, as if still reaching for

something.

Her wrist was bare. No hospital band. No name.

The younger nurse had come out from behind the desk. Desmond heard himself ask,

“Who is she?”

The nurse hesitated. “Officially, sir? Nobody.”The doors marked RECOVERY swung shut on the trolley.

“Poor thing,” she murmured. “Nobody is coming for her.”

“Is anyone with her?”

“No one has come.”

“What is her name?”

The nurse glanced at the empty desk. “Starling,” she whispered. “Dorcas Starling. I

never said that.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just don’t let them see you asked.”

Desmond took out his phone.

David answered on the second ring. “Desmond, I’m so sorry—”

“Later. Handle the funeral arrangements. Now: a patient on the maternity ward, Dorcas

Starling. Dark hair, head injury. Her file has been erased. I want to know who ordered

that.”

“Today of all days? Desmond—”

“And I want a car at the south entrance whenever she leaves. Have a driver wait.”

A pause. “For whom?”

“Whoever walks out. And find out who her fiancé is. Start with a man in a very good suit

and a woman in a red dress.”

“Sir, the board will see this as—”

“Let them.”

He ended the call, turned around, and went still.

At the far end of the corridor, Mr Chen was watching him. He had not missed a word.Chen walked over, unhurried, hands folded behind his back.

“Do you know that woman?”

“No.”

“Then I wonder why Allen Corporation sends cars for strangers on the day your

grandfather died.” His smile was thin. “A scandal now would be unfortunate. You have a

wife to find, after all.”

Desmond looked past him at the doors where the trolley had vanished. A woman with

no name, no file and no one coming for her. A woman with nothing left to lose.

“Thank you, Mr Chen,” he said. He sounded almost sincere.

He walked toward the doors marked RECOVERY.

Behind him, Chen’s smile slowly faded. He was no longer sure what he had said.