Chapter 1 - The Room at the End of the HallThe text message burned on my screen. How did she have my number? My private cell was known only to a dozen elite executives and my lawyer. Yet, here was a dying woman, messaging me from a hospital bed, thanking me for a $45 pair of shoes.
I didn't call my driver. I hailed a cab and used every contact I had to trace the phone number. Within an hour, I was walking down the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of St. Jude’s Medical Center. Room 412.
I pushed the door open. The woman in the bed looked fragile, her skin pale against the white sheets, oxygen hissing quietly. But her eyes—they were the exact same piercing blue as Sophie’s.
"Michael," she whispered, her voice raspy. She knew my name.
"Who are you?" I demanded gently, stepping closer. "How do you have my private number?"
She offered a weak, tragic smile. "Because, Michael... I didn't get your number today. I've had it saved in my phone for six years. Ever since the night your brother, Thomas, was killed."
My blood ran cold. Thomas had died in a random carjacking six years ago. The case was closed.
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"Thomas didn't die in a random attack," she gasped, clutching her chest. "He was silenced. And if you don't take this envelope right now, Sophie will be next."
She pointed a trembling finger toward the nightstand. Underneath a plastic water cup lay a thick, sealed manila envelope.
