After Prison, I Became the Apex of the Stars

CHAPTER 8

The lead doctor had been practicing medicine for nineteen years, and in all that time he had dealt with grieving mothers, angry fathers, patients who threw bedpans at his head, and one memorable incident involving a senator's wife and a smuggled Chihuahua, but Gwen Clarke was quickly climbing toward the top of his list of people he never wanted to see again.

"Ma'am, I've explained the situation to you three times now, and the answer has not changed," he said with the strained patience of a man who could feel his blood pressure climbing with each passing minute. "The VIP wards are fully reserved and there is nothing I can do to alter that arrangement."

"Then un-reserve them," Gwen shrieked, and several patients in nearby rooms pressed their call buttons just to make sure a nurse was nearby in case whatever was happening in the hallway came closer. "My son is lying on a gurney with a broMarcus leg and you're telling me he has to share a room with common people who probably can't even afford to brush their teeth? Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?"

"A broMarcus leg is a standard orthopedic case, and the fourth floor ward is perfectly equipped to handle it."

"I don't care about equipped, I care about dignity, and my family has too much dignity to be thrown into a regular ward like stray animals at a shelter."

The elevator doors opened at the end of the hallway, and Marcus Clarke stepped out first with the rigid posture of a man who had already decided that everyone in this building was going to do exactly what he said. Arya followed behind him, still in the tailored dress she had worn to the prison that morning, and the worry on her face looked genuine even if the company she kept did not deserve it.

Marcus marched straight to the nurses' station and slammed his palm on the counter hard enough to make a cup of pens rattle. "My son needs a VIP ward, and he needs it right now. I don't want to hear about availability, I don't want to hear about reservations, I want my son moved to the best room in this hospital within the next ten minutes or I will make sure every single person on this staff regrets the day they decided to become a doctor."

The nurse behind the counter looked at the doctor, and the doctor looked at the ceiling, and for a brief moment they shared the silent solidarity of two people trapped in the same nightmare.

Arya walked past both of them and went straight to Luigi, who was lying on the gurney with his right leg immobilized in a temporary splint and his face still carrying the swollen red imprint of the bodyguard's hand. He looked pathetic in the way that only bullies look pathetic when they finally meet someone bigger than themselves, and something in Arya's chest tightened at the sight of her younger brother reduced to this.

"What happened?" Arya asked, looking from Luigi to Gwen with the careful eyes of a woman who has been lied to enough times to know that the truth usually lives in the spaces between words. "How exactly did Luigi's leg get broMarcus?"

Gwen's face transformed instantly from furious to pitiful, the switch happening so smoothly it was clear she had been practicing it on the drive over. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears that arrived on cue like actors hitting their Luigis, and when she spoke her voice carried the fragile, wounded quality of a woman who has been terribly wronged and wants the whole world to know it.

"We went to the villa to see Eddard," Gwen began, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. "We wanted to thank him, Arya. That's all we wanted. After everything he did for Luigi, taking the blame for the accident, going to prison so your brother could stay free, we felt it was only right to go there and express our gratitude in person."

Arya's frown deepened because gratitude was not a word that had ever lived comfortably in Gwen's vocabulary, but she said nothing and let her mother continue.

"But when we got there, Arya, what we saw, I can barely bring myself to say it." Gwen pressed her hand against her chest as if the memory itself was causing her physical pain. "Eddard was with another woman. And not just with her, he was being excessively intimate with her right there in the villa, practically hanging off her like a man who had been doing this sort of thing for years. They looked comfortable together, Arya, the kind of comfortable that doesn't come from meeting someone yesterday."

"That doesn't explain Luigi's leg, Mother."

"Luigi was doing it for you, sweetheart." Gwen grabbed Arya's hand and squeezed it with both of hers. "He saw that woman and he thought about you, about how Eddard had barely been out of prison for a day and was already with someone else, and what that meant about your entire marriage. If he was this shameless now, he must have been cheating on you long before he went to prison. Luigi confronted him about it because he loves you, Arya, because he couldn't stand the thought of that snake disrespecting his sister."

"And then what?"

"And then Eddard lost his mind." Gwen's voice rose with theatrical outrage. "He attacked Luigi like a wild animal, beating him with his fists, and when Luigi tried to defend himself that woman called in several thugs, huge men, vicious men, and they held Luigi down and broke his leg while Eddard watched and laughed. They beat me too, Arya." She pointed at her still-swollen face. "They slapped me so many times I lost count, and the whole time Eddard just stood there with that cold look on his face like we were insects he was enjoying watching someone crush."

Arya looked at her mother for a long time, and behind her eyes the calculations were running at full speed. The story had the shape of truth but the texture of fiction, the way Gwen's stories always did, built on a foundation of something real with an elaborate architecture of lies constructed on top of it. Eddard was many things, but he had never been violent, not once in the five years she had known him, and the image of him laughing while someone beat his ex-mother-in-law didn't match anything she understood about the man she had just divorced.

But she couldn't say that, because Gwen was watching her with those wet, suspicious eyes, and Arya knew from twenty-eight years of experience that questioning Gwen's version of events was the fastest way to turn a hospital hallway into a war zone.

"You don't believe me," Gwen said, and her voice had shifted from pitiful to dangerous in the space of a single breath. "Your own mother is standing in front of you with a swollen face and your brother is lying there with a broMarcus leg and you don't believe us."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to, Arya, I can see it in your face. The same face you make every time I tell you something you don't want to hear." Gwen's tears were coming faster now, and they had crossed the line from strategic to genuinely unhinged. "First the hospital refuses to give my son a decent room, and now my own daughter thinks I'm a liar. What did I do to deserve this? What did I ever do except sacrifice everything for this family?"

The heads of every nurse and patient within earshot turned toward the sound, and Arya felt the heat of public embarrassment climbing up her neck like a rash.

"Mother, stop. I believe you." Arya said the words quickly and firmly, the way someone agrees to a ransom demand because the cost of refusing is higher than the cost of paying. "And I will make sure Luigi gets a VIP ward. Just please, stop shouting."

Gwen sniffled loudly and crossed her arms, satisfied the way a child is satisfied after a tantrum produces the desired result.

Arya turned and walked to the lead doctor, who had been standing at a safe distance with the expression of a man who was seriously reconsidering his career choices. She kept her voice low and professional, the voice she used in boardrooms when she needed something and wasn't going to accept no for an answer.

"Doctor, I understand the VIP wards are reserved, but I need you to tell me exactly who reserved them so I can understand what we're dealing with here. My family's company is about to go public and we have significant connections in this city. Surely there's some arrangement we can work out."

The doctor sighed and lowered his voice to match hers. "Ms. Lewis, I understand your position, and under any other circumstances I would do everything in my power to accommodate your family. But the party who reserved the entire top floor is the Smith family."

The name landed in the hallway like a brick thrown through a window.

"The Smith family?" Arya repeated.

"Yes. The first-tier Smith family. Their patriarch, Jude Smith, is being treated upstairs for an extremely rare condition, and they have reserved every VIP suite on the floor for his care and their family's use. I simply cannot override a first-tier family's reservation, and I think you understand why."

Arya understood perfectly. The Smith family was not a family you competed with, they were a family you stayed out of the way of, the kind of name that made second-tier families nervous and made aspiring third-tier families like hers invisible. She nodded quietly and turned back toward her parents.

But Gwen had heard every word, and the transformation on her face was something that would have been fascinating to watch if it weren't so terrifying. The color drained out of her cheeks so fast she looked like a woman watching her own ghost leave her body, and her mouth opened and closed twice without producing any sound, and her eyes went wide with the particular horror of someone who has just realized they were inches away from stepping on a landmine and only survived because they tripped before they got there.

The Smith family. First-tier. The woman at the villa, the one with the bodyguards, the one Gwen had called a cheap tramp and a worthless insect, the one whose grandfather Gwen had told to rot in hell.

That woman could have been a Smith.

Gwen's legs went soft beneath her, and she reached for the wall to keep herself standing while the full weight of what she had almost done settled over her like a collapsing ceiling.