Chapter 6 - The Ledger and the Trap
Before I could formulate a response, the heavy wooden door of Room 412 swung open wide.
Dr. Vance—the actual physician—strode into the room, flanked by two burly hospital security guards. His face was flushed with anger as he pointed directly at Victor.
"You!" Dr. Vance barked. "Security, escort this man out of the building immediately. He has no medical clearance, no visitor pass, and he's been harassing my patient's family."
Victor didn't flinch. He slowly straightened his coat, sliding his hands into his pockets with an air of arrogant nonchalance. He cast one final, lingering glance at Sarah, then turned his cold, calculating eyes toward me.
"This conversation isn't over, Charles," Victor said smoothly, walking past the security guards without resistance. As he brushed past me, he leaned in and whispered in my ear: “Check her locker. The clock is ticking.”
With that, he strolled out of the room as if he owned the entire hospital.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding in my throat. Dr. Vance rushed over to me, grabbing my arm.
"Are you all right, Charles? Who was that man? He's been lurking around the administrative offices all morning asking for Sarah's personal medical files."
"I... I don't know," I lied, unable to process how to explain Victor Vance, corporate embezzlement, and thirty missing millions to a busy ICU doctor. "He said he was an old acquaintance."
"He's bad news," Dr. Vance said firmly, turning to check Sarah's IV drip. "Her vitals are stabilizing slightly, but she's still unconscious. Whatever that man said to you, don't listen to it. Right now, Sarah needs absolute peace."
"Doctor, can I get a moment alone with her again?" I asked quietly.
Dr. Vance hesitated, then nodded. "Ten minutes. Then I need to run a fresh round of blood work."
When the doctor and security guards stepped back out into the hallway, I immediately locked the door behind them. My mind raced back to Victor’s parting words: “Check her locker.”
In the corner of the hospital room sat a small metal locker where Sarah’s personal belongings from admission were stored. I rushed over, grabbed the small brass key resting on top of the cabinet, and unlocked the door.
Inside sat her handbag, a folded jacket, a pair of shoes, and a small, locked leather briefcase that I hadn't noticed earlier.
I pulled the briefcase out, setting it on the small table. It didn't have a keyhole; it had a digital biometric fingerprint scanner on the latch.
A biometric lock.
I stared at the scanner in despair. How was I supposed to open it? Sarah was unconscious, hooked up to machines, fighting for her life.
Then, my eyes dropped to Sarah’s right hand resting limply on the hospital bed.
Her right index finger.
Without wasting a second, I walked back over to the bed, gently lifted Sarah’s pale, cold hand, and carried it carefully across the room to the briefcase.
My hands shook as I pressed her right index finger firmly against the glossy glass scanner pad.
For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened. The indicator light remained dead, pitch black.
Come on, I prayed silently, staring at the door in terror of someone walking in. Come on, Sarah. Help me.
Suddenly, with a soft, electronic click, the LED light flashed a brilliant, welcoming green.
May you like
The latch popped open.
I lifted the lid of the briefcase, my breath catching in my throat at what lay inside.
