“No.”
Her voice shook.
“I don’t think you do.”
She sat in the chair beside his bed.
“I’m not part of this world.”
“I clean apartments.”
“I take the train home.”
“I make sure my little brother gets to class.”
“I don’t have security.”
“I don’t have lawyers.”
“If they realize I heard something…”
The hospitalized man closed his eyes.
She was right.
His idea of danger had been distorted by resources.
When he feared someone, cars changed.
Routes changed.
Security doubled.
Attorneys moved.
The housekeeper lived in an apartment building where the front buzzer sometimes did not work.
He said:
“You’re leaving the city tonight.”
She stared.
“No.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
Her fear briefly turned into anger.
“You don’t get to order me around because you’re awake.”
He almost smiled.
“Apparently you’re the only person who knows that.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She shook her head.
“My brother has school.”
“He can miss school.”
“I have a life.”
“You’ll still have one.”
“If you let me move you temporarily.”
She stood.
“I’m not one of your employees you can relocate.”
He looked at her.
“You literally are my employee.”
She glared.
That was the wrong sentence.
He knew immediately.
“Sorry.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“Sorry.”
She stared as though the coma had damaged him after all.
He continued.
“I’m asking.”
“That better?”
“Barely.”
He explained the danger.
Temporary secure hotel.
Her brother with her.
Transportation handled through the detective, not his private security.
Because he no longer trusted his private security completely.
That admission cost him.
The housekeeper understood.
Finally:
“One night.”
“Until Friday.”
“That’s one night.”
He nodded.
“Fine.”
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“You know something?”
“What?”
“You apologize badly.”
“I don’t practice.”
“You should.”
She left.
The hospitalized man almost smiled.
Friday arrived gray and wet.
Manhattan disappeared behind low clouds.
The scheduled corporate closing would occur at 10:00 a.m.
The fiancée arrived at 8:15.
White suit again.
The same one she had worn when whispering the threat.
The hospitalized man wondered whether she considered it lucky.
The lawyer arrived at 8:40.
The cousin at 8:52.
The physician limited them to two visitors at once.
They complained.
He refused.
Hospital rules.
That was partly true.
At 9:05, the lawyer entered alone.
The hospitalized man remained still.
The lawyer stood beside the bed.
No emotion.
No sympathy.
He checked his watch.
Then whispered:
“You were always too controlling.”
The patient listened.
“You built everything so nobody could move without you.”
“Now look.”
He smiled slightly.
“Everybody moves faster.”
The hospitalized man thought:
Talk more.
The lawyer obliged.
“Your cousin thinks he’s getting the company.”
“Your fiancée thinks she’s getting the money.”
“Both of them think I work for them.”