Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO HAD LOST EVERYTHINGRaphael's injury was superficial.
The bullet had grazed his shoulder.
Sloan cleaned it in silence.
He watched her hands.
“You still know what you're doing.”
She didn't look up.
“I never forgot.”
“Then why did they take your license?”
She stopped.
“I told you not to dig.”
“I didn't dig.”
“Everyone in this family digs.”
He smiled faintly.
She wrapped the bandage.
“They said I gave my patient the wrong medication.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What happened?”
Sloan exhaled.
“My patient was an elderly woman recovering from surgery.”
She stared at the bandage.
“She had a documented allergy.”
Raphael listened.
“The medication cabinet said one thing.”
She swallowed.
“The electronic chart said another.”
“Someone changed it?”
“Yes.”
“Proof?”
“Gone.”
“Witnesses?”
“Suddenly forgotten.”
“Your hospital?”
“Protected itself.”
He said nothing.
Sloan continued.
“The patient died.”
Her voice cracked.
“I couldn't save her.”
Raphael looked at her.
“What's her name?”
“Margaret Ellis.”
“Family?”
“Daughter.”
“What happened to you?”
“Suspension.”
“And your license?”
“Revoked pending review.”
He frowned.
“Pending review?”
“Fourteen months.”
“And still no hearing?”
“No.”
Raphael went very still.
“That's not normal.”
“No.”
“What did the hospital receive?”
She hesitated.
“A donation.”
His eyes narrowed.
“How much?”
“Five million.”
Silence.
“From who?”
Sloan shook her head.
“They wouldn't tell me.”
Raphael leaned back.
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
He looked at her.
“Because somebody donated five million dollars to the same hospital two weeks before the accident.”
Sloan's heart skipped.
“Which accident?”
“Mine.”
They stared at each other.
Neither spoke.
The next morning, Raphael ordered Daniel Bishop to investigate the hospital donation.
Within four hours, Daniel returned with a name.
Moretti Foundation.
But Raphael had never authorized the payment.
Someone had used a shell company linked to his family.
Sloan looked at him.
“This can't be coincidence.”
“No.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means someone wanted your license destroyed.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You know everything.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“I know how many people I've hurt.”
His voice was quieter now.
“I don't always know how many people have hurt me.”
Three days later, Junie was moved to an elite rehabilitation facility.
Sloan received confirmation that every expense had been paid.
She confronted Raphael.
“You said you weren't paying.”
“I didn't.”
“Then who did?”
“My foundation.”
“That’s yours.”
“The foundation is separate.”
“Raphael.”
He looked away.
“Don't make this bigger than it is.”
“To me it's huge.”
He glanced at her.
“Your sister deserves a chance.”
Sloan's eyes filled.
“You don't understand what that means.”
“I think I do.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
Raphael's expression changed.
“Because my brother once begged me for one.”
Silence.
“What happened?”
“I wasn't listening.”
That was the closest he had come to admitting regret.
That night, Sloan found him trying to stand.
The prosthetic leg was attached.
His hands gripped the parallel bars.
His face was white.
“Don't.”
He shook his head.
“I need to.”
“Not alone.”
“I don't need help.”
He tried to step.
The moment his prosthetic foot touched the ground, his body froze.
His breathing accelerated.
His hands trembled.
“Raphael.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“I can do this.”
“Look at me.”
He didn't.
“Raphael.”
His jaw shook.
“Don't let me fall.”
Sloan stepped beside him.
“I won't.”
He took another step.
Pain flashed across his face.
Another.
Then suddenly—
He screamed.
His hand crushed the bar.
“It hurts!”
Sloan held his waist.
“Stay with me.”
“My foot!”
“You're standing.”
“It hurts!”
“Look down.”
He did.
The prosthetic foot was touching the floor.
“You are here,” Sloan said.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He stared.
“You're not at the marina.”
His breathing slowed.
“You're in your bedroom.”
Another breath.
“Seven months later.”
Another.
“Alive.”
His knees weakened.
She caught him.
He collapsed against her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
His forehead rested against her shoulder.
Sloan could feel his heart pounding.
Then he whispered,
“I hate you.”
She smiled through tears.
“I know.”
“You make me remember everything.”
“I know.”
He lifted his head.
“I don't want to.”
“You don't have to remember everything tonight.”
Their eyes met.
Something changed.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Something more dangerous.
Trust.
Later, when Sloan was leaving, Raphael called her name.
She turned.
He held a photograph.
“That's my brother.”
She looked.
“He was twenty-nine.”
“Did you love him?”
Raphael's eyes became distant.
“He was the only person who told me when I was becoming someone I hated.”
“And now?”
“He's gone.”
Sloan nodded.
“Then maybe you need to become that man again.”
Raphael stared at her.
“You think I'm still worth saving?”
Sloan opened the door.
“I think people who don't care don't scream this much.”
She left.
Raphael sat alone.
For the first time in seven months, he looked at the reflection in the window.
Then he whispered,
“Daniel…”
And the voice in his memory answered.
Not with words.
With a single image.
A silver watch.
And a red scarf.
Raphael suddenly stood.
The pain vanished for one impossible second.
“Charles.”
Then another memory struck.
Not Charles.
Victor.
Standing beside the car before the accident.
And handing Marco something.
Raphael's face drained of color.
The truth had been there all along.
May you like
His pain wasn't only remembering what happened.
It was remembering what he had refused to see.
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