Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO COULDN'T REMEMBER HER OWN ACCIDENT
Methodist Hospital was twenty minutes away.
Mason got them there in twelve.
He drove himself.
Lily sat in the passenger seat clutching her backpack while rain slapped the windshield.
She didn't cry.
That worried him.
Thirteen-year-olds were supposed to cry when frightened.
Lily simply stared ahead with both hands locked around the frayed straps of her backpack.
“What exactly did your grandmother say?”
“Mom woke up confused.”
“She hadn't been awake before?”
“A little.”
Lily swallowed.
“She opened her eyes sometimes, but she didn't know people. Today she said Grandma's name.”
Mason nodded.
“And the part about someone trying to kill her?”
“She said, ‘He found me.’ Then she started crying.”
“Who is he?”
“I don't know.”
Neither did Mason.
But he was developing theories he didn't like.
Joanne Parker's medical file wasn't his business.
Yet Joanne Parker's connection to fraud inside his hotel very much was.
They found Lily's grandmother outside the neurological unit.
Margaret Parker was sixty-seven, thin, wearing a faded denim jacket over hospital scrubs someone had apparently loaned her after coffee spilled down her blouse.
She pulled Lily into her arms.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“How is she?”
“Scared.”
Lily pulled away.
“Can I see her?”
Margaret looked toward the physician.
Dr. Samuel Levin approached.
“Briefly.”
Lily glanced at Mason.
“This is Mr. Vance.”
Margaret's eyes sharpened.
“Vance?”
“Mason Vance.”
Recognition arrived immediately.
Not friendly recognition.
“You own the hotel.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You people finally remember Joanne exists?”
Mason accepted the hit.
“I learned about her this morning.”
“That was your company's favorite excuse four years ago.”
Lily looked between them.
“Grandma.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
Mason shook his head.
“You don't owe me an apology.”
Dr. Levin explained that Joanne had suffered an ischemic stroke three weeks earlier.
She had been found unconscious in her apartment kitchen.
No signs of forced entry.
No obvious trauma.
But Joanne had also suffered a concussion.
“How?” Mason asked.
Dr. Levin looked at Margaret.
“Originally we believed she fell during the stroke.”
“Originally?”
“She is beginning to remember fragments.”
Mason's stomach tightened.
“Can I speak with her?”
“No.”
Margaret answered before the doctor could.
“You aren't family.”
“Grandma,” Lily whispered.
“She doesn't need hotel people questioning her.”
Mason nodded.
“Understood.”
He meant it.
Lily went inside.
Through the small window in the hospital door, Mason saw her cross to the bed.
Joanne looked dramatically different from the photograph in the HR office.
Thinner.
One side of her face drooped slightly.
Her right arm remained still beneath the blanket.
But when Lily reached the bed, Joanne's expression transformed.
She tried to lift her left hand.
Lily caught it.
Mason looked away.
Margaret sat in a plastic chair.
“You really didn't know?”
He looked at her.
“About the complaint?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She studied him.
“Joanne thought you ignored her.”
“I didn't receive anything.”
“She sent it twice.”
“How?”
“Email once. Certified mail once.”
Mason's jaw tightened.
Certified mail left records.
“Do you have proof?”
Margaret gave him a look.
“My daughter keeps receipts from grocery stores for five years.”
Despite everything, he almost smiled.
“I'll take that as yes.”
“She has a box.”
“Where?”
“My house.”
“Lily mentioned it.”
Margaret watched through the glass.
“She worked so hard at that hotel.”
“I saw her reviews.”
“She loved cooking.”
Margaret's voice softened.
“Her father owned a diner outside Corpus Christi. Joanne could make something out of anything.”
“What happened after she was fired?”
Margaret's face changed.
“She fell apart.”
Mason said nothing.
“People think losing a job is just losing money.”
She looked at him.
“It isn't.”
Mason knew that.
He had watched his own father lose a hardware store when Mason was sixteen.
For six months, the man became someone nobody recognized.
Margaret continued.
“Joanne had worked there six years. Then suddenly she was a thief.”
“She wasn't charged.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“They said they were doing her a favor by not calling police if she resigned quietly.”
Mason's stomach turned.
Coercion.
“And she believed them?”
“She was terrified.”
“Did she speak with an attorney?”
“We couldn't afford one.”
Mason looked toward the floor.
“She tried to find another hotel job. Nobody would hire her.”
“References?”
Margaret nodded.
“She never proved it, but someone was telling employers she stole.”
Mason's jaw tightened.
That could create liability far beyond wrongful termination.
“She started cooking at a nursing home.”
“Then?”
“Then she got sick.”
Mason looked up.
“When?”
“About six months after leaving Grand Crest.”
Margaret rubbed her hands together.
“Headaches. Dizziness. Panic attacks. Her blood pressure got worse.”
“Did a doctor connect it to work stress?”
“Not officially.”
“Then why did Lily say she got sick not long after?”
“Because children remember when their mother starts changing.”
That sentence stayed with him.
Joanne didn't have one dramatic collapse.
She had been dismantled slowly.
Financially.
Professionally.
Emotionally.
Maybe physically.
The hospital door opened.
Lily stood there.
Her face was wet.
“Mr. Vance?”
Mason approached.
“She wants to see you.”
Margaret frowned.
“Joanne?”
Lily nodded.
“She saw him through the window.”
Mason entered cautiously.
Joanne's eyes followed him.
Recognition appeared immediately.
That surprised him.
Her speech was slow but understandable.
“You.”
Mason stopped beside the bed.
“Yes.”
“You're... him.”
“Mason Vance.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“You never answered.”
His throat tightened.
“I never saw your letter.”
Joanne closed her eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“You're lying.”
“No.”
Her breathing quickened.
The monitor accelerated.
Dr. Levin stepped closer.
Mason stayed still.
“I have no reason to lie to you now.”
Joanne looked at him.
“Richard said... you read it.”
“He lied.”
Her face changed.
“Brandon?”
“Suspended.”
Joanne's breathing caught.
Mason continued.
“We found the vendor connection.”
Her eyes widened.
“Blue Star?”
“Yes.”
“Texas Heritage?”
“Yes.”
A weak, broken laugh escaped her.
“I knew.”
“You did.”
“I told them.”
“I know.”
Joanne's hand began trembling.
Then her expression shifted completely.
Fear.
“He came.”
Mason leaned closer.
“Who?”
“After.”
“After what?”
“My job.”
She struggled.
“Months later.”
Lily moved beside her.
“Mom, it's okay.”
Joanne shook her head.
“Apartment.”
“What happened at the apartment?” Mason asked.
“Someone... inside.”
Margaret went pale.
“When?”
Joanne looked confused.
“Before... hospital.”
Mason's pulse slowed.
“Three weeks ago?”
Joanne nodded.
“He asked... where it was.”
“What?”
“The copy.”
Mason felt the room narrow around him.
“What copy?”
Joanne's eyes filled.
“The invoices.”
So she had kept evidence.
“Where are they?”
She became agitated.
“I didn't tell.”
“That's okay.”
“He pushed me.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
Lily froze.
Mason looked toward Dr. Levin.
The doctor said nothing.
Joanne touched the side of her head.
“Hit... counter.”
Her stroke had not simply caused the fall.
Someone had been there.
Someone had attacked her.
“Did you see him?”
Joanne's eyes moved toward Mason.
“Not face.”
“Voice?”
She closed her eyes.
Then whispered one word.
“Richard.”
Mason's blood went cold.
Richard Sloan.
The hotel general manager.
Margaret swore.
Lily's face turned white.
“Mom, are you sure?”
Joanne started crying.
“Couldn't move.”
Lily climbed carefully onto the edge of the bed and put her arms around her.
Mason stepped backward.
He needed to call police.
He needed corporate legal.
He needed Richard isolated before the man learned Joanne had regained consciousness.
His phone rang.
Claire.
Mason answered outside the room.
“You need to hear this,” she said.
“So do you.”
He told her about Joanne's statement.
Claire went silent.
Then: “Mason, Richard left the hotel.”
His jaw tightened.
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“I told legal to keep him there.”
“You cannot legally detain an employee.”
“I know.”
“He left through the loading dock.”
“Where is he now?”
“We're trying to locate him.”
“Call police.”
“Already done.”
Mason looked back through the glass.
Lily sat beside her mother.
Joanne's left hand rested weakly over her daughter's hair.
Claire continued.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The audit team found a pattern.”
“How much?”
“Potentially six-point-four million over four years.”
Mason closed his eyes.
“Richard and Brandon?”
“Those vendors account for most of it.”
“Most?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
Claire hesitated.
“Someone at corporate.”
Mason opened his eyes.
“What?”
“The invoices were approved above property level.”
“By who?”
“Regional finance.”
“Name.”
Claire said it.
“Thomas Kellerman.”
Mason knew him.
Vice president of regional operations.
A man Mason had promoted twice.
A man who had dinner at Mason's house.
A man who had personally told Mason Grand Crest's profit margins were evidence of exceptional management.
Mason stared through the hospital glass.
This wasn't a hotel scam anymore.
It had reached corporate headquarters.
“How deep?” he asked.
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
“I will.”
Mason ended the call.
Then a nurse rushed from Joanne's room.
“Mr. Vance?”
He looked up.
“Your daughter—”
“She's not my daughter.”
The nurse pointed down the hallway.
“The girl who came with you. She's gone.”
Mason stared.
“What?”
“Her grandmother thought she was with you.”
His stomach dropped.
He looked at the empty chair beside Joanne's room.
Lily's backpack was missing.
Her coat was gone.
Mason pulled out his phone and called her.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a text arrived from Lily's number.
One sentence.
I know where Mom hid the copies.
Mason called immediately.
This time somebody answered.
But it wasn't Lily.
A man's voice spoke.
“Mr. Vance.”
Mason stopped breathing.
Richard Sloan.
May you like
“You should have left four years alone.”
Then the line went dead.
