Chapter 3 03
IRIS QUINN
When the police station came into view, I was out of the car before it fully stopped.
Then I froze.
An ambulance sat in front of the building, its back doors open, while reporters swarmed the area like vultures, cameras flashing in rapid succession.
“Is this early karma?”
“Mr. Quinn, is this a stunt to avoid detention?”
“Can you confirm the collapse was real?”
I felt sick.
“Naomi,” I said without looking back. “Get those reporters away from here now.”
Without waiting for her response, I ran toward the ambulance.
A paramedic stepped in front of me, one hand raised. “Miss, you can’t—”
“I’m Iris Quinn,” I said quickly. “His daughter.”
He looked at me for a moment before nodding and stepping aside.
I climbed into the ambulance, and the back doors slammed shut behind me, cutting off the noise from outside. Inside, it was all movement and urgency as my father lay on the stretcher, his face gray, while two paramedics worked over him, checking vitals and adjusting equipment.
He looked so small.
I moved closer, reaching for his hand, which was cold. “Dad?”
I was met with silence.
One of the paramedics glanced at me. “We’re trying to stabilize him before we get to the hospital.”
“How long?” My voice sounded strange.
“Twenty minutes.”
I held his hand tighter, staring at his face where the lines around his eyes seemed deeper than I remembered. When had he started looking so tired?
I thought about the argument, the way I’d walked out of his office without looking back or checking to see if my actions hurt him.
‘You’re being selfish, Iris.’
Maybe I was.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out with my free hand.
Naomi: I’ll be with you soon. Don’t check the internet for a while.
I put the phone back without responding.
---
When we arrived at the hospital, it was chaos.
They wheeled my father through the emergency entrance and disappeared behind double doors, and a nurse stopped me before I could follow.
“You’ll have to wait here.”
I stood in the hallway, staring at those doors that refused to open as my mother’s voice echoed in my head: This is your fault. Your nonsense ego has caused this mess.
Was it so bad to not want to marry someone, to not want to be sold off like property?
But my father was behind those doors unconscious, maybe dying.
And I was out here.
I started pacing.
An hour later, footsteps echoed down the hall, and my mother appeared with Naomi behind her, her eyes wild and searching.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“They took him in,” I said, nodding toward the doors. “They told me to wait.”
My mother clasped her hands together and started pacing in the opposite direction, muttering something under her breath that sounded like “useless child.”
I couldn’t stay here.
I turned and walked toward the exit. The cool air outside did nothing to clear my head. Standing near the entrance, trying to breathe, I saw him.
Mr. David Hargreaves was crossing the parking lot, moving quickly despite his age.
“Mr. Hargreaves!”
He stopped when he saw me—a man in his late fifties, graying at the temples, with a face that had seen too many courtrooms.
“Miss Quinn,” he said. “Is your father—”
“They’re still working on him,” I said quickly. “We don’t know yet.”
He nodded before reaching for his phone. “I just came from the police station, and someone leaked the footage of the interrogation,” he said. “It’s already being passed around.”
He turned the screen toward me.
I watched my father sitting in a metal chair as two detectives stood over him, their postures aggressive. One of them leaned in close, shouting something I couldn’t hear through the phone speaker because of an ambulance passing by us.
My father’s voice was barely audible: “I have a heart condition. Please, I need you to—”
They refused to stop—one detective slammed his hand on the table, and my father flinched. This was no way to treat anyone, as if he had killed a person.
My fists clenched at my sides.
“This is assault,” I said.
“It’s aggressive questioning,” Mr. Hargreaves said carefully. “And it won’t be enough.”
I looked up at him. “What?”
“The fraud charges will still proceed. This video isn’t leverage, especially not with who’s involved.”
“That son of a bitch, Caesar,” I muttered.
Mr. Hargreaves shook his head. “Caesar doesn’t have the power to prosecute an entire company on his own. His father is involved—definitely—but perhaps...” He paused. “Perhaps you could speak with Caesar and ask him to talk to his father.”
I stared at him. “You want me to go to Caesar Laurent and ask for his help?”
“It would show good faith—”
“It would show the Laurents that we’re completely at their mercy.”
“You are,” Mr. Hargreaves said bluntly. “That’s the reality, Miss Quinn. Unless the Laurents say otherwise, your father is and will remain a criminal, and the best thing you can do for your family right now is put aside your ego and have a word with Caesar.”
“You mean beg him.”
Mr. Hargreaves looked me dead in the eyes. “Kneel while you’re at it. Whatever it takes for your family.”
Something inside me went cold.
