Chapter 4 - The Child's Drawing
I stared at the crayon drawing in my hand, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The tall man in the dark suit. The black Aston Martin.
“He’s at the hospital,” I breathed, the realization locking into place. “Allison’s hospital.”
“Victoria found out Allison had been visiting him,” Harold confessed, his voice shaking. “Allison used to volunteer at St. Anne’s. She knew who the boy was. When she got the housekeeping job at your mansion, she recognized Victoria from the orphanage’s board of directors. Allison was going to tell you the truth tonight. That’s why Victoria poisoned her.”
The pieces fell together with sickening clarity. Allison wasn’t just a maid who saw too much. She was a protector. She had been visiting my nephew, shielding him, and when Victoria realized the threat, she tried to silence Allison permanently.
“Daniel,” I said, not taking my eyes off the drawing. “Secure Harold. He doesn’t leave this room until the police arrive to arrest him for embezzlement and corporate fraud.”
“Wait!” Harold cried out, panic seizing him. “I gave you the drawing! I helped you!”
“You forged my name and left a young woman to die on a marble floor,” I replied coldly. “You’re lucky I’m calling the police instead of handling you myself.”
I walked out into the freezing night, the anger in my chest burning hot enough to ward off the cold.
The drive to Mercy General Hospital took fifteen minutes. I left the Aston Martin with the valet, ignoring the stares of the late-night hospital staff as I strode through the sliding glass doors in my expensive, slightly rumpled suit.
I bypassed the front desk entirely, heading straight for the elevators. I knew Allison was in the ICU on the fourth floor.
When the elevator doors parted, the corridor was quiet, smelling of antiseptic and floor wax. I walked down the hall until I found Room 412. There was a police officer sitting in a chair outside the door, looking bored.
“Excuse me,” I said, using the authoritative tone I usually reserved for boardrooms. “I am Julian Ricci. Allison Reed is my employee. I need to see her.”
The officer stood up, intimidated by my presence. “She’s resting, sir. The doctors said she’s stable, but she’s very weak.”
“I only need two minutes.”
Before the officer could argue, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the rhythmic glow of the heart monitor. Allison lay in the hospital bed, an oxygen cannula under her nose. She looked incredibly pale, but her eyes fluttered open when she heard my footsteps.
“Mr. Ricci,” she whispered, her voice raspy and dry.
“Julian,” I corrected gently, stepping closer to the bed. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Ricci, Allison. Not after what you’ve done for my family.”
She looked confused for a moment. Then, I pulled the child’s drawing from my pocket and held it up in the dim light.
Allison’s eyes widened, and a profound, exhausted relief washed over her face. “You know about Leo.”
“I know he’s my sister’s son,” I said softly. “I know you’ve been protecting him from Victoria. Where is he right now, Allison?”
She tried to sit up, but grimaced in pain, falling back against the pillows.
“He’s here,” she wheezed. “In the pediatric ward. Third floor. Room 304. I had him transferred two days ago under a fake name because Victoria’s men were asking around St. Anne’s. I told them he had severe asthma.”
I reached out and gently squeezed her hand. It was cold, but the trembling had stopped. “You saved his life, Allison. I will make sure you are never hurt again.”
“Julian, wait,” Allison said, gripping my fingers surprisingly tight. “Victoria didn’t just want the trust. She needs Leo to sign over his proxy. According to your father’s will, the surviving heir of your sister inherits forty percent of the estate upon his seventh birthday.”
“When is his birthday?” I asked, a cold dread pooling in my stomach.
“Tomorrow,” Allison whispered. “That’s why she’s leaving for Montreal in the morning. She’s going to take him across the border, declare herself his legal guardian, and drain the accounts.”
I let go of her hand. Tomorrow morning. The train ticket.
I left the ICU and ran to the stairwell, taking the concrete steps down to the third floor two at a time. I burst into the pediatric ward. It was quiet, decorated with cheerful murals of farm animals that felt entirely out of place with the panic in my chest.
I found Room 304. The door was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open.
The small hospital bed was empty. The sheets were thrown back.
My heart stopped.
I stepped into the room, my eyes sweeping the shadows. “Leo?” I called out softly.
A small rustle came from the corner of the room, near the closet.
I walked over slowly and knelt down. Huddled in the corner, wearing a pair of oversized hospital pajamas, was a little boy with a mop of dark, curly hair. He looked exactly like my sister, Elena. The resemblance was so striking it physically hurt my chest.
He was hugging his knees, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. And clutched tightly in his small hands was an old, wooden rosary.
“Are you one of her men?” the boy asked, his voice trembling but brave.
“No, Leo,” I said softly, staying low so I wouldn’t frighten him. “My name is Julian. I’m Allison’s friend. I’m your uncle.”
May you like
Leo looked at me, then down at the rosary.
“You can’t be my uncle,” Leo said, holding up the wooden beads. “The lady in the sparkly dress came here an hour ago. She gave me this. She said my real dad was waiting for me outside.”
