Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the Ward
The next morning,
Abigail met Marcus in a dimly lit corner of a quiet café.
He looked exactly as she remembered,
sharp,
composed,
and observant.
He slid a thick folder across the table,
his eyes never leaving hers.
“I did some preliminary digging,”
Marcus said,
lowering his voice.
“Spencer’s primary physician at St. Jude,
Dr. Aris Thorne—no relation to me—has a history of medical board inquiries.”
Abigail felt a chill run down her spine.
“Is he helping Spencer lie?”
she asked,
her voice trembling.
“It’s worse than that,”
Marcus replied,
leaning in.
“Thorne specializes in ‘alternative’ treatments that require massive up-front cash payments.
Payments that are almost impossible to track.”
Abigail thought of the thousands of dollars she had handed over in envelopes,
believing she was buying her son more time.
“And Naomi?”
she asked.
“Naomi is a former administrative assistant at the clinic,”
Marcus explained.
“She was fired three weeks ago for ‘unauthorized access’ to files.
I think she found something she wasn’t supposed to see.”
Just then,
Abigail’s phone buzzed with a message from Naomi.
“Meet me at the park on 4th Street.
Alone.
10:00 AM.”
Abigail looked at Marcus,
who nodded slowly.
“Go,”
he said.
“But keep me on an open line in your pocket.
If things get weird,
I’ll call the police.”
Abigail arrived at the park,
her heart racing.
A young woman in a hooded sweatshirt sat on a bench,
looking nervously at her surroundings.
When Abigail approached,
the woman looked up,
her eyes red-rimmed and tired.
“Mrs. Riley?”
she whispered.
“I’m Naomi.”
Abigail sat down,
trying to keep her composure.
“Why did you message me?”
Naomi took a shaky breath,
clutching her bag tightly.
“Spencer isn’t sick,
Abigail.
He never was.”
The words,
though expected,
still felt like a physical blow.
“He has a gambling debt,”
Naomi continued,
her voice barely audible.
“A big one.
He met Dr. Thorne at an underground casino.
Thorne suggested the scam.
He would provide the fake charts,
the fake symptoms,
and the fake bills.
They split the money you gave them.”
Abigail felt the world spinning.
“But the tests,”
she stammered,
“the medications…
I saw him take them!”
Naomi shook her head.
“Sugar pills and saline injections.
They used your desperation to fund their lifestyle.”
Abigail felt a cold rage beginning to boil beneath her grief.
“Why tell me now?”
“Because they’re planning to escalate,”
Naomi said,
her voice trembling.
“Spencer told Thorne you were coming into money.
He doesn’t know about the lottery,
but he thinks you’re selling the house.
They are planning to perform a ‘final’ surgery.
A surgery that Spencer will ‘not survive.’”
Abigail gasped,
clutching the edge of the bench.
“They want to f-fake his death?”
“No,”
Naomi whispered,
tears streaming down her face.
“They want to collect the life insurance policy you took out last year.
And once he’s ‘dead’ on paper,
he disappears to another country with the cash.”
Abigail stood up,
her legs feeling like lead.
Her son didn’t just want her money.
He wanted to erase his existence and leave her mourning a ghost.
She looked at Naomi,
realizing the girl was terrified.
“Thank you,”
Abigail said,
her voice now hard as steel.
She walked back to her car,
her mind working faster than it ever had.
She wasn't just a victim anymore.
She was the hunter.
She called Marcus immediately.
“It’s not just a fraud,”
she told him.
“It’s a conspiracy.
And they are planning the final act.”
“What do you want to do?”
Marcus asked.
Abigail looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror.
The soft,
yielding woman she had been was gone.
“I want to give them exactly what they want,”
she said,
May you like
a dark smile touching her lips.
“I want to give them the bait.”
