Chapter 4 - THE NURSE’S SECRET
The mention of Alexander’s sister sent a shockwave through the room that was physical in its intensity.
Alexander took a step back, as if Eleanor had driven a blade directly into his ribs. His composed, billionaire exterior shattered, revealing a raw, bleeding wound beneath.
“Don’t you dare say Sarah’s name,” Alexander snarled, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white.
I stood paralyzed, shielding Lily. I knew Alexander Sterling’s backstory from the tabloids. His older sister, Sarah, had died in a tragic car accident six years ago. It was the event that supposedly turned Alexander from a carefree heir into a ruthless, cold-hearted businessman.
Eleanor tapped her manicured nails against the leather-bound journal. “Sarah was a lovely girl. Such a dedicated nurse. So dedicated, in fact, that she was the charge nurse on duty in the maternity ward the night your little waitress here went into labor.”
This answered the immediate question of how Alexander’s sister was connected to my past. She was my nurse.
But two horrifying new questions instantly took its place: If Sarah was my nurse, did she know about the fire? And how did she die the very same night I fled?
Richard, still kneeling on the floor, suddenly braced himself on his cane and pushed himself to his feet. He looked at Eleanor with a fury that seemed to reignite the fire in his aging eyes.
“Eleanor,” Richard growled, his voice vibrating with warning. “If you hurt my daughter… if you lay one finger on my granddaughter…”
“Oh, stop posturing, Richard,” Eleanor laughed sharply. “You lost your teeth years ago. You stole my husband’s company, drove him to put a gun in his mouth, and took everything that belonged to us. I’ve spent thirty years waiting to watch you burn. I just didn't expect the fire to be literal.”
She turned to Alexander. “Your sister, Sarah, had a crisis of conscience. My daughter, Victoria, was Richard’s assistant. She was the one who intercepted Richard’s phone calls when he had his stroke. Victoria ordered Sarah to take the baby and leave the mother to burn. But Sarah refused.”
My breath caught in my throat. I remembered a nurse—a beautiful woman with kind gray eyes just like Alexander’s. She was the one who had rushed into my room, practically dragging me out of bed before the smoke alarms even went off.
“You have to run,” the nurse had told me, wrapping Lily in a white blanket. “They aren’t coming to take her. They’re coming to kill you both.”
It was a reversal that made me dizzy. For six years, I believed I had escaped by luck. I believed I was running from a father who wanted to steal my child.
In reality, I was saved by Alexander’s sister. And she had traded her life for mine.
Alexander realized it at the exact same moment. He looked at me, his gray eyes filling with a devastating mixture of grief and awe. “Sarah saved you. She saved Lily.”
“Yes,” Eleanor snapped. “Sarah played the hero. She smuggled Emma out the back. And then Sarah got into her own car to act as a decoy. She drove off into the night, leading my men away from the hospital.”
The room was so quiet you could hear the champagne dripping from the tables.
“Your men?” Alexander whispered, his voice dangerously low.
“They ran Sarah off the bridge,” Eleanor admitted, entirely unbothered by confessing to murder in front of Chicago’s elite. “They thought it was Emma in the car. It wasn't until they pulled the body from the river that they realized the nurse had tricked them. So, we had to adapt. We planted the fake bracelet in the hospital ruins to make Richard believe his lineage was dead. And it worked perfectly. Until tonight.”
Eleanor opened her handbag again. “But that doesn't matter now. Because you see, Richard, while you were weeping over ashes, Victoria and I were systematically dismantling your empire.”
She reached in and pulled out a child’s drawing. It was a crayon sketch on a piece of scrap paper.
“Lily, sweetheart,” Eleanor cooed, looking at my daughter. “Did you like the story I told you in the staff room?”
Lily whimpered. “You said if I didn't hold the heavy key, my mommy would go to jail.”
My blood turned to ice. “What key?” I demanded.
I dropped to my knees and ripped open Lily’s little pink backpack. Buried beneath her coloring books and a spare sweater was a heavy, antique iron key. It felt cold and foreign in my hands.
Richard gasped. “That’s the key to the Blackwood vault.”
Eleanor smiled triumphantly. “The vault that was emptied of fifty million dollars in bearer bonds three days ago. The police have been looking for the culprit. And now, they will find the stolen key inside the backpack of a disgruntled former waitress who snuck into the house under the guise of catering.”
She had planted the evidence to frame me.
“You’re a monster,” Alexander said, stepping toward Eleanor. “You think you can just walk in here, confess to my sister’s murder, frame Emma, and walk out?”
Eleanor’s smile widened into something truly demonic. She didn't look scared. She looked victorious.
“I don't have to walk anywhere, Alexander,” Eleanor said softly. She snapped her fingers.
The heavy mahogany doors at the entrance swung open again. But this time, it wasn't a late arriving guest.
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It was a line of Chicago Police officers. And they were walking straight toward me.
“Emma Carter,” the lead detective said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “You are under arrest for grand larceny.”
