Before I could respond, a shadow fell over our table. I looked up to see a man in a dark, impeccably tailored suit standing beside us. He held a small digital recorder in one hand and a thick binder in the other.
“Dr. Holloway?” he asked, his voice calm but direct, his eyes scanning my face with an almost unnerving intensity.
“I’m Clara Holloway,” I confirmed, a knot forming in my stomach.
“Marcus Chen,” he introduced himself, offering a brief nod. “Investigative reporter for the Chicago Tribune.”
Arthur, still red-faced, bristled immediately. “A reporter? What on earth for? This is a private family event.”
Marcus’s gaze remained fixed on me. “I’m not here for the wedding, Mr. Holloway. My apologies for the intrusion, but my investigation led me here.”
He gestured vaguely with the binder. “I’m looking into certain non-profit hospital endowment funds. Specifically, irregularities linked to Northwestern Memorial Hospital.”
My pulse quickened. Northwestern Memorial. My new hospital.
“My investigation involves a specific document,” Marcus continued, flipping open his binder. “A $1.8 million educational endowment agreement. Bearing the signature of Arthur Holloway.”
He paused, letting the words sink in.
“That’s your father, correct?”
Arthur stiffened visibly, his hand gripping the edge of the table. His eyes darted nervously around the ballroom. The string quartet played a particularly cheerful tune, creating an ironic backdrop to the sudden tension.
“My father has made many generous contributions to the medical community,” I said, my voice carefully neutral, watching Arthur closely.
“Indeed,” Marcus replied, his tone unreadable. “This particular endowment was established in 2004, funded by a trust in the name of Evelyn Holloway.”
My mother’s name. A cold shiver ran down my spine. My mother, who had passed away when I was in my first year of college, had always championed my dream of becoming a surgeon.
Marcus’s finger tapped a line in his binder. “It seems this fund was specifically created to support a promising medical student’s education at Northwestern Memorial. Perhaps someone named Clara Holloway?”
Arthur’s face was now a mask of barely contained panic. He tried to interject, but Marcus held up a hand.
“There appears to be some… discrepancies in the fund’s recent activities,” Marcus stated, his eyes boring into Arthur. “And I believe Dr. Clara Holloway might be able to shed some light on them.”
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