Chapter 5 - The Dead WomanThe code team rushed in.
"He's arresting!"
I was pushed out.
I stood behind the glass as the staff worked.
Compressions.
Medication.
Shock.
Again.
Again.
Five minutes.
Ten.
I felt numb.
Then the monitor moved.
A tiny spike.
Another.
The rhythm returned.
I exhaled.
Dr. Harris emerged.
"He survived."
I nodded.
"He may not stay conscious for long."
"How much did he tell you?"
"Not enough."
I showed him the note.
He read it.
"The chief?"
"That's what he said."
"Chief medical officer?"
"Maybe."
Dr. Harris frowned.
"Could mean Avery."
"He's chief of surgery."
"Then why say chief?"
"Because that's all Nate could say."
I unfolded the note.
It contained only one sentence.
PATIENT 417 WAS NEVER THE TARGET.
I stared at it.
"Then who was?"
Dr. Harris looked at me.
"We need to find out."
That afternoon, I went to the medical records department.
The file for Patient 417 was missing.
Not archived.
Not restricted.
Missing.
I searched under the original trial number.
Nothing.
I searched by date.
Nothing.
By diagnosis.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
My own employee credentials had administrative access.
I entered the system.
A hidden directory appeared.
I opened it.
One folder.
MT-417
Inside was a scanned consent form.
Patient name:
Eleanor Mercer.
I stopped breathing.
Mercer.
Khloe's last name.
I printed the file.
The next page contained family history.
Emergency contact:
Thomas Mercer.
I knew that name too.
A former executive at Turner Biomedical.
A man who had died two years ago.
Cause of death:
Car accident.
I stared at the document.
Patient 417 was Khloe's mother.
I searched the database for her death record.
The cardiac procedure had happened four years ago.
Khloe would have been eighteen.
Her father had died two years later.
And Nate had hired Khloe exactly three months after she graduated.
This was no coincidence.
I found Khloe in a conference room.
She looked exhausted.
I placed the file on the table.
"Your mother's name was Eleanor Mercer."
Khloe went white.
"How did you get that?"
"She was Patient 417."
Khloe's hands started shaking.
"You found her."
"She wasn't a complication."
Khloe stared at me.
"No."
"Tell me what happened."
"My mother entered a trial."
"Who recruited her?"
"Mr. Turner."
"Nathaniel's father?"
She nodded.
"What happened after the procedure?"
"My mom got sick."
"What kind of sick?"
"Everything."
She swallowed.
"Her heart. Her kidneys. Her nerves."
"Was the device removed?"
"No."
"Why?"
"They said it was impossible."
I stared.
"What happened to your father?"
Khloe looked away.
"He started asking questions."
"And then?"
"The crash."
My blood ran cold.
"Do you think your father was murdered?"
"I know he was."
"Why didn't you tell the police?"
"Because I had no proof."
"Then why work for Nate?"
She looked directly at me.
"Because Nate promised to find the truth."
I frowned.
"Then why was he afraid of you?"
"He wasn't afraid of me."
"Khloe."
She whispered,
"He was afraid of what would happen if I found the truth first."
"Why?"
She reached into her bag.
Pulled out a photograph.
It showed my husband standing beside Eleanor Mercer.
Alive.
Smiling.
The date was printed in the corner.
Four years ago.
Three days before the surgery.
I stared at Nate's face.
"Why was he with your mother?"
Khloe answered softly.
"Because he wasn't there as a businessman."
"Then why?"
"He was the doctor who convinced her to enter the trial."
I couldn't speak.
"Nate wasn't her surgeon," Khloe continued.
"He was her physician."
That changed everything.
Because for the first time, I understood why my husband had been so terrified of Patient 417.
He hadn't merely known about her death.
He had been part of the decision that caused it.
And before I could ask another question, my phone rang.
Nate's number.
He was still in the ICU.
I answered.
A stranger spoke.
"You found Eleanor."
I froze.
"Who is this?"
The voice laughed softly.
May you like
"Ask your husband why Eleanor's device is still working."
Then the line went dead.
