Chapter 2 - The Missing Hour
The ambulance cut through downtown Chicago with its siren screaming.
Sophie lay beneath a thin hospital blanket.
Her skin looked painfully pale beneath the flashing lights.
A paramedic examined her pupils while another attached monitors to her chest.
“Stay with me, sweetheart.”
Sophie’s eyes found mine.
“Is Uncle Preston going to come here?”
“No.”
“Grandma said it was my fault.”
My throat tightened.
“Grandma was wrong.”
“She always says you’re wrong.”
I held her hand.
“Not anymore.”
At Northwestern Memorial Hospital, doctors rushed Sophie into the emergency department.
I stood outside the trauma room with dried blood covering my hands and sleeves.
Every few seconds, I heard metal instruments being moved behind the curtain.
A nurse offered me a towel.
I could not make myself release Sophie’s ribbon.
It had once been white.
Now it was dark red.
A detective arrived twenty minutes later.
Her name was Elena Ruiz.
She was in her early forties, with steady brown eyes and a voice that made every sentence sound deliberate.
“You’re Evelyn Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
She glanced toward the treatment room.
“How is your daughter?”
“They’re doing a CT scan.”
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded because speaking had become difficult.
Detective Ruiz opened a notebook.
“Your brother claims he swung the board after your daughter rushed toward him.”
“He’s lying.”
“He says she stole his phone.”
“He planted it in her jacket.”
“Did you see him do that?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because Sophie never left my side.”
Ruiz studied me.
“And because he smiled when he found it.”
Before she could respond, her phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed almost immediately.
“When?”
A pause followed.
“All of it?”
Another pause.
“Secure the equipment.”
She ended the call.
“What happened?”
“The hotel’s security system is missing sixty-three minutes of footage.”
My stomach dropped.
“Which sixty-three minutes?”
“From twelve minutes before the phone disappeared until approximately ten minutes after your daughter was injured.”
“That isn’t a malfunction.”
“I agree.”
“Preston told the security director to say the cameras were offline.”
“We have one officer who heard that.”
“Then you know he ordered the footage deleted.”
“I know he may have tried.”
The curtain opened.
A doctor approached me.
“Sophie has a fractured temporal bone.”
The hallway tilted beneath my feet.
The doctor continued quickly.
“There’s no major internal bleeding, but she has a concussion and needs close observation.”
“Will she be okay?”
“We believe so.”
I covered my mouth.
Relief and terror arrived together.
Detective Ruiz waited until the doctor walked away.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Your brother has been released pending further investigation.”
I stared at her.
“He hit an eight-year-old child.”
“His attorney arrived before we finished processing him.”
“Of course he did.”
“There’s something else.”
She showed me a still image on her phone.
It had been taken from a camera in the hotel’s service hallway.
The picture showed Mr. Grayson entering the security office.
Behind him stood my mother.
She was holding a silver keycard.
The timestamp was six minutes after Sophie was struck.
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My mother had not stayed to help her granddaughter.
She had gone directly to the camera room.
