The Doctor Who Chose Her
Chapter 05 - The Doctor Who Chose Her
Helena Price lived in Boston.
At least officially.
Her hospital credentials remained active.
Her apartment lease remained current.
Her car sat in a garage beneath her building.
Helena herself had not been seen in eleven days.
Frankie found that out before breakfast.
Stella sat at the kitchen island with Jonah’s medication chart, her old termination file and a coffee that had gone cold.
Jonah rolled in.
“You slept?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“I didn’t either.”
“That is not how empathy works.”
“It is in this house.”
She almost smiled.
Then remembered Helena.
“Why would she fire me and later request me?”
Jonah looked at the files.
“Maybe the firing was part of it.”
“Part of what?”
“Keeping you available.”
Stella frowned.
“I lost health insurance.”
“I didn’t say it was kind.”
“She could have contacted me.”
“Maybe she couldn’t.”
“Everyone in your world has a telephone allergy.”
Jonah’s mouth moved.
“Occupational.”
Stella sighed.
“Tell me about Helena and Matteo.”
He looked toward the window.
“They met in college.”
“Doctor and gangster.”
“Matteo studied finance.”
“Of course he did.”
“Helena knew the family business.”
“Approved?”
“No.”
“Stayed anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Jonah looked at her.
“Love makes intelligent people negotiate with facts.”
Stella felt that sentence land somewhere she did not want it.
She looked back at the chart.
“Did she believe Matteo betrayed you?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“She came to the house after the shooting.”
“What did she say?”
“That I was wrong.”
“About?”
“Matteo.”
Stella leaned forward.
“And?”
“I threw her out.”
“Why?”
“I had footage.”
“You had grief.”
His eyes hardened.
“Both.”
“What happened after?”
“She disappeared.”
“Until she signed my agency request.”
“Yes.”
Stella rubbed her forehead.
“Why me?”
Frankie entered.
“Maybe because of Patrick Quinn.”
Stella looked up sharply.
“My father.”
Jonah frowned.
“You said your parents were dead.”
“They are.”
Frankie placed an old newspaper printout on the counter.
PATRICK QUINN, UNION AUDITOR, KILLED IN WATERFRONT ACCIDENT.
Stella stared.
She knew the article.
She had been seventeen.
Her father’s car went through a barrier near the port.
Alcohol found in his blood.
Officially accidental.
“What does this have to do with Matteo?”
Frankie slid another page over.
Harbor audit committee.
Patrick Quinn.
Matteo Navarro.
Same year.
Stella’s skin tightened.
“My father worked with your brother.”
Jonah looked at her.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
She read.
Patrick had audited pension and payroll accounts tied to dockworker unions.
Matteo represented Navarro Freight.
“Was my father investigating you?”
Jonah answered carefully.
“Probably.”
Stella looked at him.
“You knew his name.”
“No.”
“Your brother did.”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
Another secret.
Different family.
Same harbor.
Frankie continued.
“Helena Price’s father was on that audit committee too.”
Stella stared.
“Everyone knew everyone.”
“Ports are small worlds,” Jonah said.
“Small worlds with body counts.”
He did not argue.
Frankie handed her a final sheet.
Email recovered from an old union archive.
Patrick Quinn to Matteo Navarro.
IF THE LEDGERS ARE REAL, WE GO FEDERAL TOGETHER. NO MORE HALF-MEASURES.
Dated six days before Patrick died.
Stella stopped breathing.
“My father had the harbor ledgers.”
“Maybe copies.”
“Then his death—”
“May not have been an accident.”
Her hands began shaking.
Jonah saw.
He did not touch.
“Stella.”
“What?”
“I can stop.”
She looked at him.
The question mattered.
“No.”
“Continue.”
Frankie did.
Patrick died.
Matteo withdrew from the audit.
Two years later, he began rebuilding secret copies of port payment records.
Years passed.
Then six months ago, Matteo vanished and Jonah was shot.
“Same ledgers,” Stella whispered.
“Yes,” Jonah said.
“Same secret.”
“Yes.”
“My father died because of them.”
“We don’t know.”
She looked at him.
“Stop protecting me from verbs.”
Jonah became still.
Frankie looked away.
Stella continued.
“If you think he was murdered, say murdered.”
Jonah nodded.
“Your father may have been murdered for what he knew.”
It hurt.
But it was clean.
“Thank you.”
Jonah looked at her.
“Why would Helena want me here?”
Frankie answered.
“Because Patrick may have left something with you.”
“I was seventeen.”
“Could be anything.”
“Letters.”
“Bank key.”
“Password.”
Stella laughed bitterly.
“My father left me a pickup truck with a cracked windshield and four fishing rods.”
Jonah’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened to the truck?”
“What?”
“The truck.”
“I sold it after college.”
“To who?”
“No idea.”
Frankie was already pulling out his phone.
Stella pointed.
“Ask.”
He stopped.
She sighed.
“Yes. Find the truck.”
“Thank you.”
“This house is exhausting.”
Two hours later, Frankie found the vehicle history.
The truck had changed owners four times.
It currently belonged to a landscaping company in Connecticut.
The owner agreed to let them inspect it for cash.
Of course.
That afternoon, Stella and Frankie drove there.
Jonah stayed home under protest because Dr. Aris had scheduled respiratory testing.
The truck was rusted.
Blue paint faded almost white.
Stella touched the hood.
Memories arrived.
Patrick swearing at the radio.
Cheap coffee.
Her feet on the dashboard.
“Dad.”
Frankie stood back.
She searched the glove box.
Nothing.
Under seats.
Nothing.
Tool compartment.
Old tire iron.
Then one fishing rod tube caught her attention.
Her father had owned four.
The truck had one.
She unscrewed the cap.
Inside was no rod.
A flash drive.
Wrapped in wax paper.
Frankie stared.
Stella laughed softly.
“He really did hide evidence in fishing equipment.”
On the drive back, they did not plug it in.
No laptops.
No improvising.
At the mansion, Jonah waited in the study.
Stella held up the drive.
“Found it.”
For the first time in days, hope crossed his face.
Then Frankie’s radio crackled.
Gate security.
“Boss, we have a visitor.”
Jonah’s expression hardened.
“Who?”
The guard hesitated.
“Dr. Helena Price.”
Stella stared.
Eleven days missing.
Now standing at the Navarro gate.
Frankie asked whether to let her in.
Helena’s voice came faintly through the exterior intercom behind him.
May you like
“Tell Stella Quinn I know who killed her father.”
And the flash drive in Stella’s hand suddenly felt heavier than a gun.
