Andrew didn’t think. He stepped forward, ducking under the low doorway, not caring that his tailored suit brushed against dust and splintered wood.
On a thin mattress on the floor lay a pale woman with sunken cheeks and tired eyes. She tried to sit up but winced in pain.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He shouldn’t be bothering you.”
Her name was Emily Bennett.
Andrew knelt beside her. “What did the doctor say?”
“They said I need tests. Maybe surgery. I… I couldn’t afford the clinic deposit.” Her voice cracked with humiliation more than fear.
Noah stood in the doorway, gripping the pendant that now rested in his palm again.
Andrew stood and pulled out his phone.
“Ambulance,” he said firmly. “Now. Take her to St. Mary’s Medical Center in Brighton Hills. Private admission. Charge everything to Andrew Caldwell.”
The paramedics arrived quickly, sirens cutting through the quiet neighborhood. Neighbors peeked through curtains. Noah tried to climb into the ambulance.
They stopped him.
Andrew opened his own car door instead. “You’re coming with me.”
Noah hesitated, then climbed in silently.
