chapter 3

I'd been on the go since this morning, catching a flight and not even getting a chance to take a sip of water. But I still failed to stop them.

Everyone around got spooked and quickly asked, "What's going on? Are you sick from all the grief? Should we call an ambulance?"

Miranda, though, gently patted my back and whispered, "Maybe hold off on the hospital for now. Just bear with it. You still need to pick the cemetery plot and pay up before you can go."

Disappointment welled up in my eyes.

No matter how much money I'd given them, they were always as tight-fisted as ever.

Last life, when I had acute appendicitis and was about to be wheeled into surgery, Miranda was there in the hallway, yanking at me, insisting I hand over my black card before she'd let go, all because she wanted to go on a trip.

Another time, when I had a fever hitting almost 104°F, Miranda, just for the sake of showing off to her friends, forced me to get out of bed and go to the restaurant to pick her up, bragging about her daughter having a rich husband.

And her dad was no better. All he ever cared about was money.

This time, I wasn't going to be a pushover.

I pushed her away and shakily got to my feet as I spoke, "Sorry, I'm really not feeling well. Gotta go."

Seeing my pale lips, everyone nodded in agreement.

"Health comes first. You go ahead," they said.

But Miranda grabbed my arm, pressing, "What about the cemetery?"

I shook her off, answering plainly, "You guys decide."

I knew exactly what she meant, but I pretended like nothing was wrong and walked off in a hurry.

According to what happened last life, there was still some time before the business partners showed up.

On my way to the hospital, I immediately called my buddy Harry Jones.

His family were well-known lawyers in the country since his grandfather's time.

With him and the company's legal team working together, it might be easier to find the evidence.

What they didn't know was that my secretary had already fetched Megan's death certificate.

I found out that Megan hadn't been taken to Central Hospital but to a private hospital instead.

Last life, in my grief, I'd missed these suspicious details.

They hadn't even given me a chance to investigate.

At the nurse's station, I showed the death notice and asked, "Excuse me, is the doctor who treated this patient here? I need to talk to him."

The nurse glanced at it and then scurried off, leaving a hasty "Wait a sec."

I could see the unease and evasion in her eyes.

I knew this wasn't going to be easy.

We waited at the nurse's station for a solid twenty minutes, but no one bothered to attend to us.

So I made my way to the doctor's office. "Excuse me, which one is Dr. Benjamin Sullivan?"

None of the doctors inside answered. After I kept asking, a younger doctor finally said, "He quit."

I was stunned and said, "Quit? But he was involved in the emergency treatment this morning!"

The doctor got impatient and said, "He left at noon. We don't know the details."

Right then, I called the police.

On my way here, I'd asked the director of Central Hospital. He'd told me that death certificates couldn't be issued casually; there were legal consequences.

When the doctors saw me call the cops, they told me to go to the hospital director's office to talk.

At the office, the director, Lucas Bennett, flat-out refused to see me. It was only when the police showed up that I was let in.

I got straight to the point.

Lucas claimed that Benjamin had to go back to his hometown because of a family emergency and had completed all the resignation procedures.

I insisted on seeing the admission and discharge records and understanding the diagnosis process.

Lucas retorted, "Dr. Sullivan's gone, and your wife has passed away. Why are you still digging into this?"

I told the police, "I want an investigation into all the doctors who were involved in today's emergency treatment at this hospital."

Lucas panicked and asked, "Do you have any proof? Why make such a big deal out of it?"