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CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Brick
Brick knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the receptionist’s face at the nursing home on Saturday. His heart sped up at the resigned look she flashed him. “What’s going on? Has she taken a turn?”
Mrs. Beckwith motioned him to follow her toward a private family room. She tried to get him to sit down, but his blood pumped too hard to let him relax.
“I’m sorry, Brick. Your grandma has passed.”
The words didn’t register. The woman’s mouth still moved, but her words didn’t matter. Besides, she couldn’t be right. He clutched his phone. Sucre had sent him a picture yesterday.
“I want to see her,” he said quietly.
“I’m not sure—”
“Now.” There was no room for argument in his tone.
She sighed. “Let me get the doctor.”
He paced as she left him alone in the room, his emotions a churning mess. On the one hand, it was a punch in the gut to lose the only family he had. His grandmother had been the single constant in his miserable life. She never baked him cookies or rocked him to sleep, but she cared for him in her own way. For a long time, she was all he’d had. Someone in the world who cared if he lived or died.
He’d done everything in his power to make sure she lived a comfortable life. She had a warm bed to sleep in and food in her belly. It was more than his piece-of-shit father had ever managed for her.
But despite the loss, her death also meant hope. She’d been the only thing keeping him under Sucre’s thumb all these years.
He was finally free.
The doctor walked into the room, Mrs. Beckwith nowhere in sight. “I understand you want to see Sylvie. Come this way.”
Together, they walked the sterile halls down to what was presumably the man’s office. The doctor gestured for him to sit, but he shook his head sharply. “What happened? Where’s my grandmother?”
“The renal failure finally got the best of her. She’s already been moved to the county morgue.”
He stilled. “Renal failure? My grandma didn’t have problems with her kidneys.”
The doctor shot him a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid she did, for about six months now.”
Anger flared. “No one told me about this.”
“It’s almost over,” she’d told him. “I’m dying.”
Why didn’t he take her seriously? Ask more questions?
“It wasn’t our decision to make,” the man said calmly. “Your grandmother was mentally fit and did not give us permission to share the details of her condition or treatment with you. It was her choice, Mr. Barlow. She knew, even with the dialysis, it was only a matter of time, since she wasn’t a good candidate for transplant.”
He shook his head, flexed his hands. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you call me?”
The doctor grimaced. “It happened last week. I honestly don’t know why no one contacted you. A phone call is protocol. Believe me, I am going to make it my business to find out.”
“Don’t bother.” He already knew the answer. Whoever Sucre had in his pocket here had made sure to keep this a secret as long as possible. It was in Sucre’s best interest for Brick to think his boss had power over him. “Did she leave any instructions? What she wanted for her burial?”
“She left you a letter she dictated to one of her friends. There was a copy in her file, but it’s missing now. Fortunately, she also gave one to me for safekeeping.” He pulled an envelope out of a pocket in his white coat. “I’ll give you a moment alone. Come on out when you’re done.”
He ripped it open before the man made it out of the door.
Dear Brick,
