Chapter 3 - The Ghost of St. Jude's
"Where is she now?" I demanded, gripping the armrests of my wheelchair so hard my knuckles turned white.
Rocco hesitated, pulling out a small slip of paper from his pocket and placing it on the desk. "She’s been living off the grid under an alias in a run-down apartment complex near the industrial docks on the south side. She works odd jobs—gardening, home health care, whatever pays cash under the table. She completely disappeared from medical circles after the trial."
I looked at the address scribbled on the paper.
"Get the car ready," I said, wheeling myself toward the door.
"Boss, are you sure about this?" Rocco asked, stepping into my path. "She’s tied to a scandal involving your father’s old associates. For all we know, she’s been holding a grudge against the Baron family for six years. Saving your life might have been a calculated move to get close to you, or—"
"Or she's a brilliant doctor who lost everything because my family's corrupt political connections greased the wheels of a kangaroo court," I cut him off, my voice hard as iron. "She saved me when the woman I gave four years of my life to left me to rot in the mud. I’m going to find out why."
Forty minutes later, the Lincoln Navigator pulled up outside a decaying brick apartment building on 4th and Delaware—a gritty, forgotten neighborhood where the air always tasted of diesel fuel and river salt.
Rocco stayed in the driver's seat with the engine idling while I wheeled myself down the cracked concrete sidewalk toward Apt 2B. The hallway smelled of stale cooking oil and damp plaster. I raised my fist and knocked twice on the faded wooden door.
Silence.
I knocked again, harder this time.
A bolt turned from the inside. The door creaked open six inches, held back by a heavy security chain.
Clara Vance peered out into the dim hallway. She wasn't wearing her muddy raincoat anymore; she wore an oversized gray sweater, her dark hair still pulled back in that familiar loose knot. When her eyes met mine, she didn't gasp. She didn't slam the door in my face.
She simply closed her eyes for a brief second, let out a slow breath, and unhooked the chain.
"You're tracking mud on my welcome mat, Mr. Baron," she said quietly, stepping back to let me roll into the small, cluttered apartment.
The interior was modest, lined with towering stacks of medical textbooks, botanical journals, and notebooks filled with meticulous handwriting. A small desk lamp cast a warm, golden glow over a makeshift workspace covered in dried plant specimens and herbal remedies.
"You knew who I was in the cemetery," I stated, locking my wheelchair wheels and looking up at her.
"Yes," she replied, walking over to a small kitchenette and pouring herself a cup of black coffee without offering me any.
"You knew I was Elias Baron. You knew my father's name. You knew my organization was responsible for the political pressure that got your medical license stripped six years ago."
"I did," she said evenly, turning around to face me, leaning back against the counter.
"Then why in God's name did you save my life?" I shouted, the frustration and confusion finally boiling over. "You could have walked away! You could have done exactly what Margot did—left me to freeze in the mud and let nature take its course! It would have been poetic justice for you!"
Clara’s dark eyes flashed with a sudden, piercing intensity that made me fall silent.
"Because, Mr. Baron," she said softly, stepping closer until she stood just a few feet away from my wheelchair, looking down at me without an ounce of fear, "unlike you and your associates, I took an oath. When I swore to preserve life, it didn't come with a VIP clause. It didn't mean I only save the innocent, the wealthy, or the people who haven't crossed my family."
She gestured toward my chest.
"You were dying. You were alone. And no matter how many men your father put in the ground or how many corrupt zoning permits your name is attached to, in that moment in the cemetery, you were just a human being drowning in his own blood. I am a doctor. Even if they took my license, they didn't take that away from me."
The words hit me harder than the bullets that had put me in this chair eighteen months ago.
I sat there in the silence of her tiny apartment, the hum of the refrigerator filling the space between us. For four years, I had believed that Margot loved me for who I was, only to find out she loved what my money could buy. And here stood a woman whose life my family had systematically destroyed, a woman who had every reason to wish me dead, and she had pulled me back from the edge simply because it was the right thing to do.
"Your license was revoked unjustly," I said slowly, my voice steady. "Councilman Miller took bribes from my father to manipulate that board. I have the financial ledgers from 2020 locked in my office safe. Every payoff, every signature, every corrupted vote."
Clara stared at me, her breath hitching slightly. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying the state medical board is going to receive an anonymous package containing irrefutable proof that your suspension was a politically motivated fraud," I said, meeting her gaze. "And if you want your license back, the legal team at Baron Holdings will ensure your reinstatement is processed before the end of the month."
She looked at me for a long time, searching my face for any sign of deception, finding only the cold, unyielding truth of a mob boss paying his debts.
May you like
A slow, fragile smile touched the corners of her mouth.
"That," Clara whispered, "sounds like a very good prescription."
