Chương 9
But it changed the shape of the accusation.
Hannah touched my sleeve.
Not my arm.
Just the fabric.
A small reminder that I was standing in a doctor’s office, not five years earlier.
Navarro cleared her throat.
“I need to perform one more test.”
I almost told her no.
Instead, I sat.
The test involved electrodes placed near my eyes and scalp while patterned visual stimuli were presented on a screen I could not see.
Navarro explained that she was measuring electrical responses, not asking me to identify images.
I hated every second.
Not the machinery.
The hope.
Hope was worse than pain because pain did not pretend to give anything back.
The technician adjusted a lead near my temple.
“Try to relax.”
“Terrific advice.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Hannah was somewhere behind me.
Cross had gone into the hallway.
I could hear him pacing whenever the door opened.
The test took twenty minutes.
Then another was repeated because Navarro did not like the signal quality.
By the time she removed the electrodes, my neck hurt.
“Tell me.”
“I need to review the tracings.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Preliminary responses.”
“What kind?”
“Your visual cortex is responding to stimulation.”
The room became very still.
I swallowed.
“That means I can see.”
“No.”
I almost snapped at her.
She continued before I could.
“It means light-driven visual information is reaching the brain at some level.”
My fingers dug into my knees.
“After five years?”
“Yes.”
Hannah whispered, “Oh my God.”
I heard the door open.
Cross stopped in the doorway.
“What?”
Nobody answered him immediately.
He came closer.
“What did she find?”
Navarro repeated it.
Cross sat down hard.
The chair legs scraped the floor.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then, very quietly, “That’s good.”
I turned toward him.
It sounded like grief.
Not relief.
Grief.
“Daniel.”
“I said it’s good.”
“No.”
I stood.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“You sound like somebody died.”
His breath caught.
I stepped toward him.
“Did Hale ever tell you I might recover vision?”
“No.”
“Did any doctor?”
“No.”
“Did anybody say the damage was uncertain?”
Cross rubbed both hands over his face.
“After the explosion, everything was uncertain.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Your eyes were damaged.”
“I know that.”
“There was swelling.”
“I know.”
“They said they couldn’t predict what function might return.”
My whole body went cold.
“Who said that?”
“Hospital ophthalmology.”
“When?”
“The first week.”
I stopped breathing.
Navarro spoke softly.
“That would be clinically plausible.”
I ignored her.
“What happened after the first week?”
Cross did not answer.
“What happened?”
“Hale took over coordinating your care.”
“And?”
“He said the swelling resolved without functional improvement.”
“Did he show you scans?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a doctor.”
The anger came fast.
“And because Vernon told you what to think.”
“Yes.”
His answer was immediate.
No defense.
No excuse.
That frightened me more than resistance would have.
Navarro interrupted.
“Mr. Mercer, I need your permission to contact the hospital directly.”
“Martin is already requesting records.”
“I want clinical access, not just legal copies.”
“Do it.”
“Some records may be archived.”
“Then unarchive them.”
Hannah moved closer.
“What happens now?”
Navarro answered her.
“We stop making assumptions.”
She turned back to me.
“I also recommend you do not use those drops again until we know what they are.”
Cross stood.
“Could stopping them hurt him?”
“Possibly, depending on the formulation.”
“That sounds irresponsible.”
Navarro’s voice cooled.
“So does using an unidentified compounded medication indefinitely.”
He said nothing after that.
We left separately.
Cross insisted on driving me home.
Hannah offered to take me with her.
I chose Cross.
Not because I trusted him more.
Because mistrust had become a room I needed to walk through rather than avoid.
The first fifteen minutes passed in silence.
Traffic hissed around us.
Cross’s peppermint gum cracked between his teeth.
“Stop that.”
“What?”
“The gum.”
He spat it into a napkin.
“Happy?”
“No.”
“Good.”
We drove another mile.
Then I asked, “Who handled the Pier 17 investigation for Mercer?”
“Outside counsel and internal security.”
“Names.”
“Martin on legal.”
“And security?”
Cross hesitated.
“You.”
“I supervised it.”
“Who did the actual work?”
“A man named Peter Voss.”
“Still with us?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He resigned eight months after the explosion.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
I laughed without humor.
“You have an impressive collection of missing men.”
“He’s not missing.”
“You just said you don’t know where he is.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Find him.”
Cross gripped the wheel.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“That stopped being a good reason about ten years ago.”
“Fine.”
I leaned toward his voice.
“Find him because he investigated the explosion that killed my family and then left my company before I recovered enough to ask what he found.”
Cross was silent.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Another mile passed.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Did you ever think the explosion was meant for me?”
His answer took too long.
“Yes.”
I turned toward the window.
“Why?”
“You were the only senior Mercer executive scheduled to be in that office.”
“Who knew the schedule?”
“A lot of people.”
“Name categories.”
“Port staff, legal, security, insurers, some regulators.”
“Hale?”
“Yes.”
The word sat between us.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass.
“Caroline was not supposed to be there.”
“No.”
“Emma either.”
“No.”
I could hear Cross swallowing.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I am.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve been carrying something I don’t know.”
He said nothing.
I turned back toward him.
“Daniel.”
“There was a call.”
My pulse jumped.
“What call?”
“To Caroline.”
“From whom?”
“We never proved it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her phone records showed an incoming call about twenty minutes before she left home.”
“Unknown number?”
“Prepaid cell.”
“What did the caller say?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then why does it matter?”
May you like
“Because the babysitter didn’t cancel.”
The world seemed to narrow to the sound of tires against pavement.
