The Crimson Ink That Exposed A Family Legacy Of Lies
He looked at his watch, then reached for the handle of my mother’s hospital room door.
I tapped the screen to call the nurse’s station directly.
The line rang three times before a young woman answered.
“Fourth floor west, Nurse Higgins speaking.”
“This is Emily Carter,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “There is a man outside my mother’s room, room 412.”
“Let me check the monitor, Mrs. Carter.”
“Do not let him inside,” I said. “He does not have authorization.”
“One moment,” the nurse said.
Through the live video feed, I saw Vance open the door and step into the room.
“He just went in,” I said, my heart pounding against my collarbone. “Stop him.”
“I am calling security now,” the nurse said.
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen, but the video feed suddenly froze.
The image of the hallway pixelated, turned gray, and went black.
A message appeared on the screen: *Connection lost. System offline.*
I gripped the metal pole of the subway car as the train jolted violently.
The wheels shrieked against the curved tracks.