6. The Weight of Memory
CHAPTER 6
The Weight of Memory
M y phone's blue light cut through the pre-dawn darkness of my office, the message thread with Eli's name mocking me from between stacks of research papers. Three fucking AM, and I'd finally cracked, sending a text I already regretted. The recognition I'd seen in his eyes at the bar haunted me, that flash of knowing before his doctor's rationality had slammed the walls back up.
Marcus's expensive leather shoes whispered across the Persian rug, bringing the blessed scent of fresh coffee. He paused in the doorway, taking in what must have been a pretty pathetic sight – still in last night's rumpled Armani, tie abandoned somewhere between midnight and madness, sleeves rolled up in surrender to another sleepless night.
“You called him.” A statement, not a question, delivered with the dry patience of someone who'd watched me make worse decisions.
Instead of answering, I grabbed one of the yellowed letters spread across my desk, dated 1893. The paper felt fragile as moth wings between my fingers. “Look at this – a Dr. Monroe at Presbyterian, treating a Rothschild heir. But the patient records from that period are just... gone. Like they never existed. ”
My hand raked through my hair, a nervous tell I couldn't shake. The office lights flickered, casting shadows that seemed to move with intent across the wine-dark walls.
“What's your angle here?” Marcus leaned over the desk, his eyes sharp as he studied the letter.
“It's not an angle.” Frustration burned in my throat, hot as whiskey. The letter blurred under my grip as I fought the maddening sense of something crucial hovering just beyond reach. “Vale was there last night. At the bar. Like he was waiting. But something about it feels wrong – like a warning I can't quite remember.”
Marcus claimed the leather chair across from my desk with his usual calculated grace. Steam curled from his coffee cup as he studied me, his silence heavy with unasked questions. “Vale's called an emergency board meeting,” he said finally, each word carefully measured. “He's questioning Eli's fitness to serve as department chief.”
The letter crumpled in my fist, ancient paper protesting. Manhattan's lights pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, a constellation of artificial stars fighting against the approaching dawn.
“Vale's running on pure instinct,” I muttered, watching my reflection fracture across the glass. “Following a scent he can't explain.”
Marcus slid a thick file across my desk's polished surface. “He's digging into the hospital's history. His research – it's not just academic anymore. Look at these papers.”
The dossier painted a disturbing picture. Vale's recent publications revealed an obsession poorly disguised as scientific inquiry: studies on memory persistence after clinical death, theories about consciousness existing outside linear time, investigations into trauma and recovered memories.
“Fuck. He's not just digging for dirt on Eli.”
“The board meeting isn't just about leadership,” Marcus confirmed, his tone carrying a warning. “Vale's pushing for access to historical records. Claims it's for the hospital's centennial, but he's fixated on that missing period – the same gap Will found.”
I turned from the window, the city's artificial light casting strange shadows across the scattered papers. “The way Vale watches Eli, those calculated little jabs – it's not just professional rivalry. There's something personal there, something raw.”
“And William?” Marcus's question hung in the air like smoke.
“Will’s research wasn't random.” I shuffled through the letters until I found the passage that had kept me up half the night. “Of all the hospital's history to study, he zeroed in on exactly the period that's keeping me awake. That's not coincidence.”
“The timing is concerning,” Marcus acknowledged, setting his empty cup aside. “Vale's sudden interest, Will's discoveries, Eli's... situation. Something's shifting.”
“He could destroy everything.” The words tasted like ash.
Marcus stood, adjusting his cuffs with mechanical precision. “The board meeting is in four hours. Vale will use it to force a competency review.”
“Let him try.” Steel crept into my voice, cold as the approaching dawn. “I didn't come this far to let Vale's games ruin everything.”
“And if pushing too hard makes things worse?” Marcus's question carried the weight of genuine concern. “If some doors are better left closed?”
I looked down at the scattered letters, each one a puzzle piece that refused to fit. The sky outside was shifting from black to steel, promise and threat wrapped in the same gray light. “Some truths refuse to stay buried, old friend. Even the ones that hurt.”
The office door flew open with enough force to rattle the whiskey glasses on my credenza. Will burst in like a hedge fund manager who'd just spotted a market crash coming, his Hermès tie crooked and his usually perfect hair showing signs of stress-induced fingers running through it.
“Dad's called an emergency family meeting,” he announced, already pacing the Persian rug with manic energy. The morning light caught the edge of his expensive watch, sending fractured reflections dancing across the wall.
“Jesus, not this shit again.” The words came out sharper than intended. I watched my younger brother prowl the office like a caged animal, something raw and uncomfortable stirring in my chest at his obvious distress.
Will's restless circuit brought him to my desk. His eyes caught on the scattered papers, ancient letterhead peeking out between modern financial reports. Something flickered across his face – confusion bleeding into recognition, like someone trying to read a half-remembered language. “This is about him, isn't it?” The question came out soft, uncertain.
The leather of my chair creaked as I leaned back, studying the man who'd somehow become my strongest ally in all this mess. “Remember those weird stories Gran used to tell?” I kept my voice casual, watching his reaction. “About the doctor who saved her grandfather? The one that ended badly?”
Will's hand went to his temple, a gesture I'd seen a thousand times when he was wrestling with complex merger negotiations. “Something about all this feels...” He trailed off, frustration evident in the tight line of his jaw.
An hour later, we stood in the Rothschild family boardroom – all mahogany panels and old money pretension, portraits of dead patriarchs staring down with painted disapproval. Dad occupied his usual spot at the head of the table, radiating the particular brand of concern unique to billionaire fathers watching their heir apparent go off-script.
“This personal tour with Dr. Monroe,” Dad cut through my careful presentation about urban development and healthcare infrastructure. “Was it really necessary?”
I met his gaze, recognizing the worry behind the corporate facade. The man had built an empire from his father's already considerable fortune – he knew how to spot potential threats to the family legacy. “Dr. Monroe's insights are crucial to the project's success,” I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the headache building behind my eyes.
“This isn't about property development.” Dad's words carried the weight of sleepless nights spent wondering where he'd gone wrong. “This is about your... unusual fixations.”
Will shifted in his Italian leather chair, a slight wince crossing his features like he'd caught the edge of a migraine. The morning sun through the floor-to-ceiling windows cast strange shadows across the polished table, turning the whole scene slightly surreal.
“Everything I do is for this family,” I said, the words tasting like copper on my tongue.
Dad's silence filled the room like smoke, eventually dissipating into resigned acceptance.
Will stayed, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against the table. “Alex,” he shifted into his CFO stance, “the board's not just worried about standard development risks. Vale's been working the back channels, getting investors questioning our sudden hard-on for healthcare infrastructure.”
My teeth clenched at Vale's name. “What's that snake telling them?”
“He's spinning it as poor resource allocation, hinting at inadequate oversight.” Will pulled out his tablet, its blue light harsh in the dimming boardroom. “But here's the thing – the investors aren't actually worried about the project's numbers. They're side-eyeing your personal involvement, especially how much time you're spending with the Emergency Department. With Monroe.”
“His department's ground zero for the construction impact. Of course he's involved in planning.”
“I know that,” Will's fingers went to his tie, straightening it with mechanical precision. “And I've got your back with the board. But we need to play this smart. Vale's got the hospital board eating out of his hand, and if he convinces them there's something shady going on...”
“He won't.” The words came out like steel. “The plans are solid, the financials are bulletproof, and Monroe's involvement is completely above board.”
The boardroom's usual symphony of quarterly projections and market analyses faded into white noise as my phone lit up with increasingly urgent texts from Marcus. Vale was making his moves with the precision of a chess master, gathering support for his emergency board meeting. His official concern was Eli's stability – the grieving widower, the questionable judgment calls, the odd behavior around the development project.
Will's tablet slid across the polished mahogany, interrupting my dark thoughts. “Check this out,” he muttered, voice tight with worry.
The article outlined Vale's proposed neurology expansion. Ice spread through my veins as I read the details – the wing he wanted demolished was the same one with those conveniently missing records, the same space that felt wrong every time I walked past it.
“The renovation plans,” Will said, rubbing his temples like he was fighting off a monster headache, “they're practically identical to some old blueprints I found buried in the archives. But that's impossible, right? Vale couldn't have seen those. They're sealed.”
“What else did you find down there?”
“Nothing concrete.” Will's voice strained with frustration. “But I keep getting this weird feeling in my gut, like we've seen this movie before. Like it ended in a fucking tragedy.”
The executive boardroom hummed with the white noise of power – the rustle of custom suits, the soft tap of pens on leather portfolios, the quiet murmur of billion-dollar decisions being made over coffee gone cold. My phone buzzed against the polished mahogany for the tenth time in an hour, Marcus's name flashing with increasing urgency. Vale had been busy, scheduling private meetings with hospital board members like a spider weaving its web .
“I've been reviewing his research proposals,” Will muttered, rubbing his temples like he was fighting off the mother of all migraines. His perfect Windsor knot had come slightly loose, a tell I'd learned meant he was wrestling with something bigger than quarterly projections. “His work on near-death experiences, consciousness persisting beyond clinical death – it's not just theoretical anymore.”
Dad's voice cut through the corporate chess match, calling for final budget approvals. His steel-gray eyes missed nothing, decades of boardroom battles evident in the way he tracked every shifting alliance and power play. Just another Tuesday morning empire-building for him, while something darker churned beneath the surface.
The meeting wrapped with the usual exchange of fake smiles and firm handshakes. Will hung back, his Italian leather shoes leaving scuff marks on the carpet as he paced. The morning sun caught the edge of his cufflinks, sending sharp reflections across the wood panels like warning signals.
“There's something else,” he said once we were alone, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “About Dr. Monroe. When I see him in those hospital corridors...” He trailed off, looking lost in the filtered sunlight.
“Will—“
“I know it sounds crazy as fuck,” he cut me off, running both hands through his perfectly styled hair. “Trust me, I know .” His tie got another adjustment, the gesture almost compulsive now. “But Vale's obsession with the hospital's history isn't just some academic circle-jerk. He's hunting for something specific.”
“And finding more than he bargained for.” My phone lit up again – Vale had just requested access to the hospital's oldest archives. The timestamp on his email made my stomach clench: 3:33 AM, the kind of hour when bad decisions and buried truths tend to surface.
“We should delay the renovation plans,” Will suggested, his CFO instincts warring with something deeper in his eyes. “Buy some breathing room until we figure out Vale's endgame.”
The leather of my chair creaked as I stood, gathering reports that suddenly felt meaningless. “We can't delay. Every day gives Vale another chance to poison the board against Eli, to push his agenda through while everyone's looking the wrong way.”
Will's hand shot out, catching my sleeve with surprising force. The morning light caught his face at an odd angle, throwing shadows that didn't quite match reality. “Alex... these dreams I've been having. About the hospital, about Dr. Monroe...” His voice cracked slightly. “About betrayal. They're not just stress and too much scotch, are they?”
I met my brother's gaze across the polished mahogany that separated us like a moat. The air felt heavy with possibilities and dangers neither of us fully understood. “Focus on the business angle,” I said finally, keeping my voice steady despite the storm building behind my ribs. “The rest... the rest will make sense when it needs to.”
The setting sun painted my office in shades of blood and gold, turning the scattered blueprints into abstract art across the conference table. Marcus and I had been at this for hours, surrounded by the weapons of modern warfare – development plans, financial projections, environmental impact studies. Each document another piece of armor against whatever Vale had planned.
“The financials are solid,” Marcus said, his eyes scanning spreadsheets with the kind of focus that came from decades of high-stakes corporate games. The blue light from his tablet cast strange shadows across his face, making him look older than his expensive suit suggested.
He set the tablet down with deliberate care, like someone about to deliver bad news. “Sofia Martinez called.” The words hung in the air like smoke. “She's worried about Eli. Says he's been zoning out during procedures. Having these moments where he just... disappears inside his head.”
My jaw clenched hard enough to make my teeth ache. The half-empty whiskey glass on my desk looked too tempting by half. “If Vale pushes too hard at this board meeting...” The words died in my throat, replaced by images of careers destroyed by corporate warfare, lives ruined by the kind of power plays that made Wall Street look tame.
“The hospital board will need actual evidence to question Dr. Monroe's competency,” Marcus reminded me, ever the voice of reason in the chaos. “Vale can't just pull accusations out of his ass without proof.”
“He doesn't need proof.” The words tasted bitter as old coffee. “Just enough doubt to halt the project. To get his hands on those sealed records.”
The hospital blueprints spread across the table like a crime scene. My fingers traced the wing Vale wanted demolished, the paper crackling under my touch. The whole thing stank of obsession – the kind that made men destroy themselves and everyone around them.
The city stretched out beyond my windows, a maze of glass and steel catching the last rays of sunlight. Somewhere out there, Vale was making his moves, playing a game where Eli's career was just collateral damage in something bigger and darker than hospital politics.
“The construction permits are ready,” Marcus said, grounding me back in the practical world of corporate strategy and legal maneuvers. “Once they're filed, Vale's options for fucking with the physical development become limited.”
Night crept over Manhattan like spilled ink, office lights flickering on in a domino effect across the skyline. I stayed at the window, watching the city transform from concrete jungle to constellation of artificial stars. Each light could be Vale, working late to destroy everything. Each shadow could hide another piece of the puzzle I couldn't quite solve .
The whiskey burned going down, but it couldn't touch the cold certainty in my gut. Tomorrow's board meeting wasn't just about hospital politics or development deals. It was about Eli. About Vale. About the strange connection between a brilliant ER doctor and a piece of hospital architecture that shouldn't matter but somehow meant everything.
But standing here, watching the city lights mirror the hidden stars above the pollution and power lines, I let myself believe in something different. Something better. The game wasn't over. The pieces weren't set. And tomorrow, at that board meeting, I'd make damn sure Vale learned the difference between corporate chess and mutually assured destruction.