His eyes began losing focus and she shook him. “Willem, look at me.”

He barely shook his head.

“Willem Ashton, don’t you dare give up!” She pressed so hard on his chest he grunted.

“Move!” Two medics shoved her aside as they surrounded her brother. She tried inching her way back in, but the woman pushed her aside again, exchanging a look with the officer, and before she knew it his hands were on her, pulling her back.

“No!” she shouted, fighting him. She couldn’t see Willem’s face anymore, only a limp hand. “Willem! You fight, Willem!”

“We’re losing him,” one of the men said.

“Willem, no!”

“Ma’am,” the police officer said in a gentle hush, hands firmly on her arms.

Her chest collapsed as though a sob wracked her, but nothing came out. They lifted him onto a stretcher and wheeled him into the back of an ambulance with a great hurry, and that was when she found the strength to break free of the officer. She ran after them, just as they were closing the doors. “You have to save him!”

The woman, the other medic, nodded with hesitation and closed the door, and they sped off. In the ambulance’s wake, a handcuffed Juan was being led to the police cruiser. The officer leading him was out of breath and blood dripped from a gash on his forehead. Juan Paddock, who up until shooting Willem had been invincible—untouchable by the cops. Juan Paddock, who was caught by a mere case of bad luck. Or had it been?

She shot toward him. “I had the money!” she yelled, just as the officer grabbed her from behind again. “I had it!” She clawed at the officer’s arms, taut around her waist.

Juan half-smiled. “You know why I didn’t shoot him in the head?”

She grunted, still struggling.

“I wanted you to be able to say goodbye, sis.”

She screamed, the skin of the officer’s arms accumulating beneath her nails, and then Juan was safely in the car.

***

White Memorial Medical Center in Boyle Heights was a place of many memories for Elizabeth. She’d trained here, spent nights with Willem here after overdoses and even one stabbing, and now she’d lost her brother here.

She sat in a maroon vinyl chair in the hall just off the emergency room waiting area; she’d pulled the chair here, away from the rest. It wasn’t long after she’d arrived that Doctor Gates had come out to greet her. Back when she trained here, she’d been close to Doctor Robert Gates. He wasn’t much older than she, but had been divorced twice. He’d been one of her closest confidants in the beginning, even stayed late with her one night when Willem got stitched up. He’d asked her out soon after, and though she’d never had time to date, she’d agreed. He was charming and charismatic, and made her feel important. She liked him, more than she’d liked anyone as an adult.

But they hadn’t even made it halfway through dinner before Willem called, arrested on minor charges, and needing her to bail him out. She’d left the date on the spot. Anytime she’d run into Doctor Gates since then, with his short, blunt answers and avoiding eyes, she was reminded of the night she had tried to have a normal, happy life.

But not tonight. Tonight he had faced her with the look of bad news. She had expected as much. Willem was gone, she felt it. He’d been gone since before they’d arrived at the hospital. Emptiness lingered where his ties used to bind her. When Doctor Gates had opened his mouth to speak, Elizabeth had raised her hand. “Don’t,” she said. “I know.”

With her head down, he put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Beth,” he said. And he was gone. That was when she’d caught her reflection in the large blackened window. Willem’s blood bathed her sweater and pants, stained her hands, and even speckled her cheek.

With that, she had sunk to the chair. She’d sat there for countless, unmeasured minutes, her vision focused on the multi-toned linoleum. Then on her bloodied hands. Could she have saved him if she’d given the money to Juan from the start, instead of denying she had it with her? She wanted to think if she’d done it differently, he’d still be here. But the truth was, even if she had, Juan still would have asked for more, she would have refused, and the end scenario would still be the same. Only then, Juan would have Mr. Vanderzee’s money, too.

A figure entered through the swinging doors at her left, but her vision remained on the crusty, bloodstained tips of her shoes.

Then a chair scratched across the floor, jarring enough to grab her attention.

Mr. Vanderzee, in a sweater and slacks. She straightened as he sat in the chair he’d pulled beside her. What was he doing here at two a.m., and how did he know where she was in the first place? Her stomach turned and she folded her arms across it.

She looked back to the floor, keeping her eyes indifferent. “Mr. Vanderzee,” she said.

He cleared his throat, something he did a lot recently. “They told me he’s gone.”

She closed her eyes. At that moment, hate and love were smeared together inside her, indistinguishable from each other. “I’m done, Mr. Vanderzee.”

He sighed, a sound of expectance, not surprise. “I imagined you would say that.”

Her heart pounded, but her soul remained numb as she reached behind her, under her shirt, and retrieved the envelope that had been safely tucked away beneath the band of her bra. Her eyes fixed on her knees as she handed it to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it. “It’s all there.”

“All $100,000?”

She looked at him. Blinking, she swallowed deeply. “How…?”

“I knew you were going to take it before you knew yourself.”

“But…?”

“You know I’m not a merciful man. You know what you did was vile and unforgivable, so I’ll spare you the lecture. But let’s get one thing straight, Elizabeth: I won’t be taken advantage of.”

The maroon, almost brown residue beneath her fingernails matched the color of the emergency-room chairs and accents. “I accept every consequence of my action.”

“Here’s the consequence.” His fierce tone demanded she meet his gray eyes. “I want you to run away, far from this place. You ever so much as step foot inside Southern California again, I’ll see to it that you’re put away for what you did.”

“But, Mr. Vanderzee, I want to be put—”

“Are we clear, Elizabeth?”

She stared, unblinking.

“I never want you near my money again, and this will be the last time we meet. As soon as your sorry excuse for a brother’s funeral is at its end, you are to pack up your things and leave California, do you understand?” He handed her the envelope of money, heavy and bulky.

“No, I don’t understand.”

He stood. “You spend it on you, Elizabeth, on starting a life. Not a life for anyone else—a life for you.”

“You’re not making sense, Mr. Vanderzee. You said you don’t want me near your money again.”

“It’s not my money.” He adjusted his pants and shifted his jaw as he looked at her with a hatred that seemed born of love. Perhaps the same hatred with which she’d looked upon Willem. “That account was yours. I was putting it aside for you so that one day you could make your own way.”

Her heart sank, deeper inside her than it ever had. Her eyes burned with such intensity she was sure they’d spill over. But her self-hatred kept them from doing so.

“I still intend for you to make your way, Elizabeth. More than ever now.”

“Why?” she barely managed.

“You were good to me. You were good to those who didn’t deserve your goodness. It’s your turn to be good to yourself.” He walked away, hunched over as usual, but before reaching the doors, he turned back, lifting a finger. “And don’t think this generosity leaves you off the hook, Elizabeth Ashton. Mark my words, I won’t hesitate to throw you in prison for what you’ve done if you ever come back here again.”

Desperate to get the money out of her hands, she shot to her feet. “But Mr. Vanderzee, please. Take it. I don’t want it.”