Chapter 8 - The Ledger of Regret
The speedometer climbed through the sleet: 75, 90, 105 miles per hour.
The Porsche Panamera moved through the blinding sheets of rain along the Edens Expressway like a phantom. Other cars, crawling cautiously at forty miles per hour with their hazard lights blinking, seemed to stand completely still as Evelyn carved through the lanes with ruthless, surgical precision.
Her hands on the alcantara steering wheel were perfectly still. Her eyes were fixed on the black ribbon of wet asphalt ahead.
Daniel sat in the passenger seat, his phone pressed to his ear, his leg bouncing in violent, uncontrollable terror.
"Rachel? Rachel, talk to me!" Daniel yelled over the engine's muted roar.
"We're in the bathroom, Danny," Rachel’s voice was weeping, broken. "The steam is helping a little, but her chest is retracting. She's so tired. She keeps telling me she wants to go to sleep."
"Tell her no!" Daniel screamed into the phone, tears finally breaking from his eyes, hot and furious against his cold cheeks. "Tell her Daddy is five minutes away! Tell her about the Forever Team! You make her repeat it, Rachel! Do you hear me? Make her repeat it!"
"Daniel," Evelyn’s voice cut in, sharp, calm, commanding. "Call Northwestern Memorial. The pediatric emergency wing off Superior Street."
Daniel lowered the phone slightly, his eyes wild. "What?"
"Don't go to the apartment," Evelyn ordered, her eyes never leaving the road as she cut between two semi-trucks with barely two feet of clearance. "Rachel needs to get Emma down to the street. Now. If we go up to the third floor, we lose four minutes. If we meet them at the curb, we can be at Northwestern in seven minutes. I am calling Dr. Aris Thorne. He is the head of pediatric pulmonary medicine. He chairs the board I fund."
She didn't wait for his permission. She tapped the console screen with two fingers. "Call Dr. Thorne. Priority emergency."
The car's system dialed. Three rings.
"Evelyn?" a groggy, professional voice answered over the car’s surround speakers. "It's midnight, what—"
"Aris, wake up," Evelyn said, her voice dropping into the absolute, terrifying cadence of an executive demanding immediate compliance. "I have an eight-year-old female in acute status asthmaticus. Severe bronchial restriction, cyanotic around the lips, chest retractions, unresponsive to generic albuterol. We will arrive at the pediatric trauma bay in eight minutes. I need a pediatric respiratory team standing on the curb with a nebulizer, systemic corticosteroids, and an intubation tray on standby. If that team is not on the asphalt when my bumper hits the curb, I will pull the Mercer Foundation's fifteen-million-dollar research grant before the markets open on Monday morning. Do you understand me?"
A brief pause. The grogginess vanished entirely from the doctor's voice. "I will be on the curb myself in four minutes, Evelyn. Bring her in."
The line went dead.
Daniel turned his head slowly, staring at Evelyn Mercer. The woman he had spent the last two hours hating with every fiber of his soul had just mobilized the most elite medical team in the Midwest with twenty seconds of dialogue.
"Rachel," Daniel spoke into his phone, his voice steadying. "Carry Emma down to the front entrance of the building. Stand on the curb. Wrap her in three blankets. We are pulling up in two minutes."
The Porsche exited the expressway at high speed, the carbon-ceramic brakes glowing red as Evelyn decelerated smoothly, drifting the car through a sharp turn onto Chicago Avenue. The streetlights flashed across her face—pale, determined, entirely devoid of fear.
"Evelyn," Daniel said softly amidst the hum of the engine.
"Don't," she replied without looking at him. "Save it for your daughter."
Two blocks later, the headlights swept across the brick facade of Daniel's modest apartment building. Standing in the freezing drizzle, huddled beneath the narrow concrete awning, was his sister Rachel, holding a bundle of pink fleece blankets in her arms.
Evelyn slammed the brakes. The car stopped within inches of the curb.
Daniel threw his door open before the vehicle had even completely settled. He leaped out, his boots splashing through the slush, and reached his sister in three strides.
"Give her to me," Daniel choked out.
He took the bundle into his arms.
Emma’s face was ghostly pale. Her lips had taken on a faint, terrifying lavender hue, and every breath she took was a small, agonizing shudder that sounded like dry leaves scraping across concrete. Her eyes were half-open, glazed, unfocused.
"Emma," Daniel whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. "Daddy’s here, baby. Daddy’s got you."
"Dad..." the eight-year-old barely managed to push the sound past her vocal cords. "...tired."
"No sleeping," Daniel said fiercely, climbing into the back seat of the Porsche with Emma cradled against his chest. "Rachel, get in!"
Rachel threw herself into the passenger seat, slamming the door.
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Evelyn didn't waste half a second. She floor-boarded the accelerator, the Porsche roaring as it launched back into the downtown corridors, hurtling toward the illuminated towers of Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
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