Chapter 6 - MIDNIGHT IN WAUKEGANThe black sedan slid quietly to a stop in front of the modest two-story brick apartment building on Sheridan Road in Waukegan.
The wind whipped off Lake Michigan, carrying a bitter November chill that rattled the bare branches of the oak trees lining the sidewalk. A single yellow light burned on the second floor, casting a warm, welcoming glow against the dark windowpanes.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to come up?" Grant asked, turning off the engine.
Clara unbuckled her seatbelt, holding the heavy manila envelope tightly against her chest like a shield. "It's midnight, Mr. Hawthorne. My sister is probably studying for her pharmacology midterm and worrying herself sick because I haven't answered my phone."
"Call me Grant," he said quietly, resting his hands on the leather steering wheel. He turned his head to look at her in the dim dashboard light. "And I think 'Mr. Hawthorne' sounds a bit too formal for someone who is about to become my co-owner and executive partner."
Clara managed a tired, weary smile. "It's going to take me a while to get used to that."
"Take all the time you need," Grant replied. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, sleek black smartphone, handing it to her. "Put your number in here. And before you say anything—yes, your new executive compensation package includes a corporate phone, a full medical expense account with zero deductible, and a standing directive that our HR department is never, under any circumstances, to deny a prescription refill for anyone on our payroll."
Clara took the phone, her fingers brushing against his. A warm, electric current shot up her arm, entirely unrelated to epinephrine or adrenaline.
"Thank you, Grant," she whispered.
"No, Clara," he said, his voice dropping softly in the quiet confines of the car. "Thank you for giving me my life back. And for giving my family back its honor."
Clara nodded, opened the car door, and stepped out into the crisp autumn air. She walked up the concrete steps of the apartment building, pushed open the heavy front door, and climbed the worn carpeted stairs to the second floor.
When she unlocked the door to apartment 2B, the smell of instant ramen and coffee hit her instantly.
Molly was sitting at the small kitchen table, surrounded by towering stacks of nursing textbooks, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. Her phone was clutched tightly in her hand.
When the door clicked open, Molly jumped up so fast her chair tipped backward onto the linoleum floor.
"Clara!" Molly cried, bursting into tears as she rushed across the small living room and threw her arms around her older sister's neck. "Where have you been?! Your phone went straight to voicemail! Evelyn Price called from the estate saying an ambulance was called and you passed out—I thought—I didn't know what happened!"
Clara hugged her sister back fiercely, burying her face in Molly's shoulder. "I'm okay, Molls. I'm right here. I promise."
Molly pulled back, wiping her eyes angrily, her nursing student instincts kicking in as she scanned Clara's face. "Your skin looks pale. Did you use your EpiPen? Where is it? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
Clara reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the empty, sterile plastic casing of the device she had used three hours ago.
May you like
Molly gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Clara... you used it? But you didn't have a backup! How did you—"
"I used it on my boss," Clara said softly, holding up the heavy manila envelope with a tired, incredulous smile. "And in return, Molly... everything is about to change."
