Chapter 2 - A GHOST IN THE HOSPITAL
Five years ago.
St. Jude’s Hospice Wing.
Damian Russo had sat beside his mother, Rosa Russo, during her final hours. She had been delirious, gripping his wrist with surprisingly strong fingers, her breathing shallow and ragged.
"Damian..." she had whispered, her eyes staring at the ceiling. "Find Clara... Clara Vance. She didn't steal it... Uncle Victor... he set her up... Don't let him... destroy her..."
At the time, Damian had assumed it was the morphine speaking. Victor Russo, Damian’s uncle, had been a ruthless, scheming figure in the family who managed the internal affairs until his mysterious disappearance three years later. Damian had searched briefly for a "Clara Vance," but found no record in the family ledger except a brief note showing a housemaid terminated for alleged theft in 2019.
Now, standing in the cold rain outside St. Catherine Medical Center, holding six cheap four-dollar bouquets, the name struck him like a physical blow.
"Where is your mommy?" Damian asked, kneeling on one knee, ignoring his tailored trousers touching the damp pavement.
"Room 412," Maisie said, pointing up toward the glass tower.
Damian stood up, motioning to his lead security guard, Marco. "Find out everything about Room 412. Now."
Ten minutes later, the door to my observation room swung open.
Maisie skipped in first, holding an empty wicker basket and a fistful of crisp hundred-dollar bills.
"Mommy! Look! A nice man bought ALL the flowers!"
I sat up slowly, my hand instinctively going to my chest. Behind Maisie walked a tall man with dark hair, sharp jawlines, and an unreadable expression. He wore a dark wool coat over an immaculate suit. His presence filled the small room, casting a heavy, authoritative shadow.
"Dottie..." I stammered, looking toward the corner where Dottie stood nervously. "Who is this?"
"Clara Vance?" Damian asked. His voice was deep, smooth, yet laced with an undeniable undercurrent of tension.
"Yes," I answered softly, pulling the hospital blanket closer. "Can I help you?"
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Damian stepped closer, looking down at my pale face, my tired eyes, and the heart monitor beeping rhythmically beside me.
"My name is Damian Russo," he said quietly. "And five years ago, my mother gave me a message for you."
