Chapter 3: Debts
1445 Words
The hospital parking lot smelled of exhaust and fear.
Ariella stood beside her car, keys digging into her palm. She had not planned to come here. She had walked out of that alley with every intention of going home, locking the door, and pretending Damian Hale did not exist.
Instead, she was here.
Watching.
The entrance sat fifty meters away, glass doors reflecting the glow of streetlamps and the brief flash of an ambulance turning into the drive. People moved in and out without urgency. Nurses in scrubs. A man in a suit holding flowers too carefully. A woman supporting an older man whose weight leaned heavier with every step.
None of them looked toward the parking lot.
Ariella did.
Third row. Dark sedan. Engine off, headlights dead, but the driver remained inside. She could see his silhouette through the windshield, one hand lifted, phone pressed to his ear. He had been there when she arrived twenty minutes earlier.
Not the same man from Fifth and Main.
Different build. Broader shoulders. Thicker neck.
The stillness was the same.
She shifted her grip on the keys and scanned left. Two security cameras bracketed the entrance. One fixed on the sliding doors. The other swept the lot in a slow mechanical arc. She tracked the rotation without moving her head.
Twelve seconds.
Predictable.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Room 412. Fourth floor. He is asking for you.
Her breath caught before she could stop it. She stared at the message until the letters blurred, then lifted her gaze to the hospital itself. Fourth floor. East wing. She knew the layout. She had walked those halls twice before, when the bills first started stacking and denial still felt possible.
Before the accident made everything worse.
Another buzz followed.
The man in the sedan is not mine. Thought you should know.
Damian.
Of course it was.
Her jaw tightened as she typed.
Then whose?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
The family you proved wrong this afternoon.
Penalty is twenty thousand dollars.
Forty eight hours.
The words landed hard. Twenty thousand dollars was no longer theoretical. Neither was the time.
She looked back at the sedan. The driver still held the phone to his ear, but his head had turned now. Just enough to confirm what she already knew.
He saw her.
Ariella slid her phone into her coat and forced air into her lungs. Slow. Controlled. Panic later. Inventory now.
She did not run calculations this time. She moved.
She squared her shoulders and walked toward the entrance, keys braced between her fingers. Not a weapon. Just enough edge to buy a second if someone got too close.
The glass doors slid open.
Warm air rushed over her skin, carrying antiseptic and recycled breath. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The sound pressed against her temples.
Behind her, a car door opened.
She did not look back.
The elevator doors closed with a soft chime.
Ariella pressed four and stepped back against the railing. Hospital music drifted from hidden speakers, violins dragging out a melody she almost recognized. It should have been calming. It made her skin crawl.
Second floor.
The doors opened.
A man stepped inside.
Mid forties. Gray coat. Empty hands.
The same build as the driver in the sedan.
He did not press a button. He stood near the panel, posture loose, eyes forward.
The doors closed again.
Ariella counted the floors without moving her lips. Two seconds between chimes. Four floors total. Twelve seconds.
“You are Ariella Navarro,” the man said.
Not a question.
She did not answer.
“Your father is Gabriel Navarro. Room four twelve. Cardiac event two weeks ago. His hospital balance currently stands at two hundred forty thousand dollars.”
Her jaw tightened.
“That debt was transferred to Vanguard Recovery three days ago,” he continued. “It is frozen. Temporarily.”
“By who,” she asked.
“You already know.”
Third floor.
“Who sent you,” she said.
“Someone who does not tolerate losses.”
He turned his head slightly. His eyes were flat. Professional. Bored, almost.
“You tore up twenty thousand dollars,” he said. “People don’t forgive that. They collect.”
Ariella met his gaze. “The contract was fake.”
“Same result.”
Fourth floor.
The elevator slowed.
“You should understand something,” he added. “Vanguard Recovery does not forgive debts, Miss Navarro. Your father’s balance is significant. We will discuss payment options soon.”
The doors opened.
He stepped aside and gestured toward the hall. “After you.”
She walked past him without acknowledging the gesture.
“Enjoy the visit,” he said behind her. “You won’t get many without permission.”
The doors slid shut again.
He remained inside as they closed.
The hallway smelled of disinfectant and overworked air conditioning. Light bounced off the linoleum, casting reflections that shifted with every step. Ariella walked carefully, eyes fixed on the numbers as they passed.
Four ten.
Four eleven.
Four twelve.
She stopped.
The door was closed.
She pushed it open.
The room was empty.
Not stripped bare. Just reset. Bed remade. Monitor powered down. No oxygen mask. No sign of recent panic.
For one sharp second, the room tilted. Her grip tightened on the doorframe before she realized she had stopped breathing. The image of her father waking alone, confused, calling her name into an empty room cut through her composure like glass.
Then she forced it down.
Panic wasted time.
She stepped inside and scanned the space. No struggle. No signs of haste. This was not an abduction.
A nurse passed the doorway. Ariella caught her sleeve.
“My father,” she said. “Gabriel Navarro. He was here.”
The nurse checked the chart without looking up. “Moved to ICU this morning. Complications after testing. He’s stable.”
Relief hit fast and hard, enough to make her knees weak. She leaned into the edge of the bed until it passed.
“Can I see him.”
The nurse shook her head. “Restricted access tonight.”
Ariella nodded. She did not push. The man from the elevator might still be nearby. Better to leave her father off their radar entirely.
She stepped back into the hallway.
Her phone buzzed.
Damian.
She answered immediately.
“Explain the twenty thousand,” she said. “Now.”
His voice was steady. Controlled. “It’s a penalty from the family for destroying their forgery. The hospital debt is frozen at two hundred forty thousand, but if the penalty isn’t settled within forty eight hours, they move through legal channels.”
“Against who.”
“You. And eventually your father.”
Ariella closed her eyes once. Just once.
“Understood,” she said. “We move first.”
She ended the call.
The room behind her stood silent. Too clean. Too empty.
She looked at it for a moment longer than necessary.
Forty eight hours.
Then she turned and walked toward the exit.
Ariella left the ward without rushing. The elevator ride down felt longer than the one up, her reflection ghosted in the mirrored doors. When they opened onto the ground floor, the smell of antiseptic gave way to cold night air as she pushed through the exit.
The parking structure swallowed sound. Concrete, oil, and something heavier lingered in the air, like every bad decision ever made inside a car. Headlights cut thin paths through the dark. She spotted Damian near the far column, one shoulder against the concrete, phone in his hand. He looked up the moment she stepped into the open, like he had been tracking her shadow rather than the entrance.
“You saw him?” he asked.
“He was moved,” she said. “ICU wing. Testing. Secure.” She stopped beside him. “They didn’t take him. Not yet.”
Damian nodded once. He opened the passenger door. Ariella slid in, pulse finally breaking its steady rhythm as the door shut and the world narrowed to leather seats and the low hum of the engine. Damian pulled out of the structure, tires echoing against the concrete, then merged into the street.
“We don’t wait,” she said as the hospital lights faded in the rearview mirror. “We meet the family tonight. I know where they’re operating from.”
Damian glanced at her, something like approval cutting through his expression. He turned the wheel and accelerated.
“Then we move,” he said.
The city opened up ahead of them, wide and unforgiving, and for the first time that night, Ariella didn’t look back.
- Writer
