Chapter 9
“It was a chaotic night, Detective,” Helena said, her voice controlled and without emotion. “A patient from a prominent family arrived with a ruptured aortic dissection. Emotions were high, and security was overzealous. An oxygen tank ruptured in the operating room, which was probably the loud noise the nurses reported. The surgery was successful. No one was harmed.”
Harrison looked at her for a long time. He knew she was lying, but he also understood the consequences of pressing someone when the Russo syndicate was involved.
“An oxygen tank,” he repeated.
“Check the maintenance logs, Detective. I am sure you will find the damaged valve.” Helena turned away. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have postoperative charts to update.”
Three weeks later, the crisp autumn cold had settled fully over New York. Helena sat in her spacious office overlooking the Hudson River and reviewed a stack of medical journals.
Life at Columbia Presbyterian appeared to have returned to normal. The stories about the armed occupation of the emergency room had faded into hospital legend, remembered as a strange midnight shift that the administration had aggressively removed from official discussion.
Caterina Russo had been discharged 10 days earlier. She had walked out of the hospital on her own 2 feet, completely recovered.
A sharp knock against the heavy oak door interrupted Helena’s reading.
“Come in,” she said without looking up.
The door opened, and the atmosphere in the room changed.
Nicholas Russo entered.
He looked entirely different from the desperate, blood-covered man who had held a gun against Helena’s head. He wore an immaculate charcoal bespoke suit and carried a tailored cashmere overcoat over 1 arm. He moved with quiet, lethal control, fully recovered from the massive blood loss.
He had brought no armed guards. He came alone.
“Dr. Hastings,” Nicholas said, his deep voice filling the office.
“Mr. Russo.”
Helena leaned back in her leather chair, her face unreadable.
“Your mother’s postoperative scans were excellent. She should not require another consultation for 6 months.”
Nicholas approached the desk and paused beside a framed photograph of Helena’s graduating class from Harvard Medical School.
“I did not come to discuss my mother’s health. I came to settle a debt.”
“There is no debt,” Helena said. “I did my job. You were billed through your private insurance. We are even.”
“We are far from even, Helena.”
May you like
It was the first time he had used her first name.
Nicholas reached into his coat and placed a sleek black USB drive on her desk.
