I wanted to kill her. More than anything, I wanted to kick her in the face again and again until she died, but that wouldn’t bring back my notes. I took several deep breaths and pulled back on my anger, barely keeping myself under control, and tried to look at this from a distance.
Maria knew what she was doing. She knew ripping my place apart like this would hurt patients, but she clearly didn’t give a fuck. She must know that I would, and it hit me that she was trying to use my patients against me—using the threat of hurting them to make me back down and give in. That almost sent me spiraling into another rage, but I managed to hold myself back as my fingers clutched at my doorframe.
I thought I was dealing with a bureaucrat and a snake, but I was dealing with something so much more than that. She was a psychopath, and she must be willing to do almost anything to keep her secret hidden, which meant her threat level jumped up several notches.
I was going to have to convince Fiona to stay with me for a while, and we were going to have to move a lot faster than I thought.
My footsteps were silent on the thin industrial carpet as I stalked away. I slammed the door, and it didn’t matter anymore—that place was useless to me. I’d come back later and salvage what I could, and from now on I’d keep all my important files locked away at my apartment.
As I reached the elevator, I had an idea. I took out my phone and texted an old friend of mine, someone I hadn’t spoken to for a little while, but might be able to help. He answered right away and agreed to meet with me for lunch.
I hurried back home and prepared to present my case.* * *Curt Wells grinned at me as we shook hands in the Panera lobby. “Sorry to drag you here, buddy, but I’ve only got a half hour before I need to be back in court.” He looked good, haggard and tired, but good. He was a few inches shorter than me with a scrubby beard and dark eyes. His suit fit him well enough, but it looked rumpled, like he’d slept in it.
“How’s the prosecutor’s office treating you?”
He shrugged as he steered me over to a booth. He already had food arrayed out in front of him, and I guessed he’d been there for a few minutes already based on how much he’d eaten. “Not too bad. You want to grab some food?”
“I’m good.” I sat down and he shrugged, taking his seat with a sigh.
“I gotta say, I was surprised to see you text.”
“I know, it’s been too long.”
“Yeah, but that’s not all your fault. I mean, shit, they have me working eighty hours a week and I bet you’re not much better.”
“I sleep in the hospital most nights.”
He nodded like that wasn’t a big surprise. “It’s the job. I love it, but goddamn, does it take a lot out of me.”
“I can relate.” I took my laptop out of my backpack and placed it down on the table. “Honestly, my job’s great, I love my patients, I love what I do, but sometimes that hospital feels like a vampire sucking away everything I love.”
Curt laughed. “Sound like you haven’t changed.”
I grinned at him and turned on the computer. “Okay, speaking of vampires, I need to talk to you about something.”
“I figured this wasn’t a social call.”
“Sorry about that.”
He waved me away. “Don’t worry about it. What do you have for me?”
I pulled up the spreadsheet I stole from Maria’s office and took a deep breath. I had no clue if he’d believe me or not, and as I told him the story, starting from the moment I overheard Maria and those guys, and ending with finding my office ripped to shreds, I could almost hear myself from his perspective. I sounded crazy, without a doubt, and most people might stand up and walk away thinking I’d had some kind of mental break.
But Curt and I went way back. We were friends in high school and became close in college, and kept in touch when I was in med school and he went to law school. We drifted apart after that when we both fell into demanding careers, but we’d always been close and always would be. He understood me better than most, and as I finished talking and showed him the spreadsheet, I knew he’d listen before he wrote me off as insane.
“That’s one hell of a story,” he said, squinting at the numbers on my screen. “And this is all the hard proof you have?”
I nodded and told him about the donations. “I think this is a record of her washing money for the mob.”