After My Murder I Returned

The Follow-Up

Chapter 8: The Follow-Up

Day 50 started with Damien complaining.

“This is humiliating,” he said, walking into Johns Hopkins cardiac rehab at 7 AM. He wore a tracksuit. Navy. Stripes. Sophia bought it. “I’m the CEO of Reed Capital. I don’t do group stretching.”

“Yeah, well,” Nathan said, holding the door, “the CEO of Reed Capital also passed out in his office. So now he does group stretching.”

Damien grumbled. But he went in.

Nathan sat in the waiting area. Coffee. Laptop. Emails from Elena Torres — NexPay was up 12% this week. Caldwell hadn’t called her back. Small wins.

At 8:15, his phone buzzed.

Jonah Carter: nate?

Jonah: I just got a call

Jonah: from Douglas Rivers

Nathan’s blood went cold.

Nathan: What did he want?

Jonah: said he wants to “mentor” me

Jonah: said he heard I got into Georgetown Law. From “mutual friends”

Jonah: dude. I don’t HAVE mutual friends with that guy

Nathan was already standing. Don’t answer him. Don’t call back. I’m coming over.

---

Jonah’s apartment. Still a shoebox. Still smelled like instant ramen and panic.

“He left a voicemail,” Jonah said, pacing. “Said he’s ‘impressed by young talent’ and wants to ‘invest in the next generation.’ Nate, what the hell?”

“He’s testing you,” Nathan said. “Because he can’t get to me.”

“Why? I don’t get it. I’m a nobody. I’m a 1L. Why would Douglas Rivers care?”

Because he used you last time. Because you were the one who found me in that parking garage.

“Because he knows you matter to me,” Nathan said. “And guys like him don’t attack head-on. They go for the people around you. Make you bleed from the sides.”

Jonah stopped pacing. “Okay. That’s really specific and terrifying. You want to tell me what’s actually going on?”

Nathan looked at him. No. Not yet.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I need you to do something. If he calls again, you record it. You don’t agree to anything. You don’t meet him. And you tell me immediately. Deal?”

Jonah rubbed his face. “Yeah. Deal. But Nate... if you’re in something bad. Really bad... you’d tell me, right?”

“I’m handling it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

Jonah didn’t push. But he didn’t look happy.

---

Day 52 was the chapel.

Damien had his third rehab session. Nathan drove him. Waited. Fell asleep in the hospital chapel because it was quiet and he hadn’t slept in two days.

He woke up to a voice.

“Wow. You really don’t listen, do you?”

Amber Evans.

She was in scrubs, arms crossed, standing over him like a very tired, very annoyed authority figure.

Nathan sat up. Neck cracked. “Hi?”

“Hi. It’s three PM. Visiting hours ended an hour ago for cardiac rehab. What are you doing in here?”

“Praying,” Nathan said. Then: “Kidding. I fell asleep. Damien’s session ran long.”

Amber sighed. Sat down in the pew next to him. Not close. Professional distance. “You know what this is?”

“A chapel?”

“No.” She looked at him. “This is you avoiding going home. Because if you go home, you have to stop being ‘Reed Capital Nathan’ and start being ‘my dad’s sick Nathan.’ And you don’t know how to do that.”

Nathan stared at the altar. “You do this with all the families?”

“No. Just the ones who show up to my ER twice and then fall asleep in chapels looking like they’re haunting themselves.” She pulled out her phone. Tapped something. “Here.”

She held it out. Screen: Dr. Raymond Cho – Psychiatry – GW Hospital.

Nathan didn’t take it. “I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do.” Amber’s voice wasn’t mean. Just flat. “You’ve got classic hypervigilance. You flinch when doors open. You haven’t said ‘I’m fine’ without lying in probably a month. And you’re running on caffeine and trauma. So. Therapy. Or I’m actually going to consult psych on you myself.”

“Is that ethical?”

“I don’t care.” She dropped her phone in his lap. “Take the number. Or don’t. But don’t pass out in my hospital again. I’ve got enough charts.”

She stood.

“Amber,” Nathan said.

She turned.

“Thanks. For giving a damn. Professionally.”

She almost smiled. “I’m a doctor, Nathan. It’s literally my job.”

Then she was gone.

Nathan looked at the number. Didn’t save it. But he didn’t delete it either.

---

Day 55 was Damien’s numbers.

Dr. Chen’s office. Sophia, Nathan, Damien.

“Your EF improved,” Dr. Chen said. “Ejection fraction. 45 to 52. That’s good. Meds are working. Rehab’s working.”

Damien grunted. “So I can go back to work?”

“No,” Sophia and Nathan said at the same time.

Dr. Chen hid a smile. “Light work. From home. Four hours max. And if you have chest pain, you call 911. Not your assistant.”

Damien looked at Nathan. “You hear that? Four hours.”

“I heard ‘if you have chest pain, you call 911,’” Nathan said. “So no golf. No cigars. No Hargrove.”

“Already handled,” Nathan added.

Damien’s eyebrow went up. “Handled?”

“He resigned.”

Damien was quiet. Then: “...Good.”

That was it. No thank you. No how did you. Just good.

But Sophia reached over and squeezed Nathan’s hand.

---

Day 57 was Adonis.

Nathan was leaving Reed Capital when he saw him.

Not inside. Outside. On the sidewalk. Leaning against a black Tesla. Tank top. Smile. Talking to one of the interns.

Nathan froze.

Adonis looked up. Saw him.

His smile got wider. “Yo. Mr. Reed, right?”

Nathan didn’t move. Couldn’t. Tom Ford Oud Wood. Same cologne.

“I applied for that loan,” Adonis said, walking over. “For my gym? Your guy Hargrove said it was good to go. Then it wasn’t. You know anything about that?”

Nathan’s throat was dry. “It’s under review.”

“Right. Because word is, you pulled it personally. That true?”

Nathan’s hands curled into fists. The scar from the stitches pulled.

“Policy,” Nathan said. “We don’t fund businesses with open litigation.”

Adonis blinked. “I don’t have litigation.”

“Not yet.” Nathan stepped back. “But you will if you don’t stay away from Reed Capital properties. Understood?”

Adonis’s smile didn’t drop. But his eyes did. Cold.

“...Loud and clear, boss.” He turned. Walked back to the Tesla.

Nathan didn’t breathe until he was gone.

---

Day 60 ended in the hospital again.

Not Damien. Not an emergency.

Nathan was dropping off paperwork for Dr. Chen when he saw Amber.

She was in the hallway, talking to a nurse. Looked exhausted. Hair falling out of her bun. Coffee in one hand, chart in the other.

She saw him. Paused.

“Nathan,” she said. Not Mr. Reed. Still professional. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just paperwork. For my dad.”

“Right.” She nodded. “He’s doing good. Better than 90% of my patients. You should be proud. Of him. Of you.”

Nathan blinked. “Thanks. That means a lot. Coming from you.”

She shrugged. “I don’t do empty compliments. If I say it, I mean it.”

A beat.

Then: “Did you call him?”

“Who?”

“The therapist.”

Nathan rubbed his neck. “Not yet.”

Amber sighed. “Right. Of course not. Because you’re stubborn. Like your dad.”

“Is that bad?”

“No.” She almost smiled. “It’s just annoying for the rest of us.”

A nurse called her name.

“I gotta go,” she said. “But Nathan?”

“Yeah?”

“Call him. Or don’t. But don’t fall asleep in the chapel again. There are actual sick people who need it.”

She walked away.

Nathan watched her go.

Strictly professional.

Slow burn.

And yeah. He was in trouble.

But not today.

Today, Damien was alive. Jonah was safe. Adonis didn’t have his money.

And Amber Evans still thought he was an idiot.

He could live with that.

For now.

--