Part 15
“Were you right?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re the rescue supervisor.”
“I don’t know.”
His voice broke on the last word, not loudly, but enough that Claire looked at him.
Daniel pressed his lips together. The muscles beside his jaw trembled once.
“If I had stayed with you,” he said, “those people might have been trapped longer. If I had handed Arden off halfway, someone could have hit the exposed cable. If I had known you were bleeding internally, I would have—”
“But you didn’t know.”
“No.”
“Because you walked past.”
He let go of the chair. “Yes.”
Claire reached for the call button. “I want to see my daughter.”
Daniel stepped back.
The nurse returned with a wheelchair and two additional staff members. They helped Claire sit up, wait through nausea, and place her feet on the floor. The pain came in a bright line across her abdomen. She held the nurse’s forearm and breathed until the room steadied.
Daniel stood by the door.
When the nurse asked whether he was coming, Claire said, “He knows the fastest elevator.”
No one laughed.
The neonatal unit smelled of sanitizer and warm plastic. Machines stood beside rows of enclosed beds, their screens casting soft blue and green light. A nurse led Claire to the far corner.
Her daughter looked impossibly small beneath a knitted cap. A breathing tube rested beneath her nose. Transparent wires crossed her chest and disappeared under a diaper that seemed too large for her. One fist remained tucked beside her cheek.
Claire stopped breathing.
Daniel stood behind the wheelchair but did not touch it.
“That’s her,” he whispered.
Claire looked at him over her shoulder. “I know.”
A neonatal nurse showed Claire how to place her hand through an opening in the incubator. Claire’s fingers trembled as she rested them against the baby’s back. The tiny body rose and fell. After a moment, the fist near the baby’s cheek opened.
Claire slipped one finger into the miniature palm.
The baby held on.
Daniel made a sound behind her. Claire did not turn.
They stayed for eleven minutes. The nurse limited the visit because Claire’s blood pressure had begun to drop. On the way back to her room, Daniel walked beside the wheelchair without speaking.
At the elevator, Claire noticed a television mounted above the waiting area. The sound was muted, but the lower banner carried the name of the terminal.
A video played on the screen.
Amber emergency light. A dark atrium. Daniel carrying Arden Vale. Claire’s pale mauve dress visible beside the elevator. Her hand rising into the frame.
The footage stopped before Daniel put Arden on the bench.
Then it began again.
Claire stared.
The nurse reached for the remote, but Daniel stepped forward and switched off the television at the wall.
“How did they get that?” Claire asked.
Daniel’s face had gone still.
His phone began vibrating in the pocket of his borrowed scrubs.
He did not take it out.
By morning, the seven-second clip had been viewed several million times.
Someone had slowed it down. Someone else had zoomed in on Claire’s hand and added a circle around the wedding ring. News sites used still images of Daniel’s face turned toward her before he continued walking. Commentators who knew nothing about the terminal’s evacuation route described the moment as proof of cowardice, adultery, corruption, or the moral decay of wealthy institutions.
Claire’s name spread after a freelance reporter found their public wedding announcement from four years earlier. Old photographs appeared. One showed Daniel in uniform beside Claire at the opening of the terminal’s glass atrium. Another showed Claire holding a tiny pair of knitted socks at a baby shower.
The hospital moved her to a private room and posted security outside.
Daniel’s employer placed him on administrative leave.
At ten that morning, a representative from Aurora Meridian arrived with flowers and a confidentiality agreement.
Her name was Pamela Greer. She wore a gray suit and spoke in a voice carefully balanced between sympathy and urgency.
“This is not a settlement,” she said, placing a folder on the bedside table. “It simply allows the company to protect patient privacy, employee privacy, and the integrity of the ongoing safety review.”
Claire looked at the flowers. White roses. No scent.
Daniel stood near the window with his arms folded. Mara had warned him that company counsel was coming and advised him not to sign anything. Pamela spoke mostly to Claire anyway.
“What happens if we sign?” Claire asked.
“The company covers all medical expenses not paid by insurance, including neonatal care. It also provides immediate family assistance during your husband’s suspension.”
“And if we don’t?”
Pamela’s expression did not change. “Your benefits remain as defined by Daniel’s employment plan.”
“That means what?”
“His health coverage remains active during the initial review period.”
“And after that?”
“The review has not concluded.”
Daniel stepped away from the window. “Why was the clip released?”
“We are investigating.”
“It came from an internal security camera.”
“We are investigating all possibilities.”
“The public version ends before I turn around.”
Pamela looked at him. “The public version appears to be edited.”
“Did Aurora Meridian release it?”
“No authorized representative released that footage.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Pamela rested one hand on the folder. “I am not aware of evidence that the company released it.”
Claire watched them. Pamela never raised her voice. Daniel never moved closer. The room nevertheless felt crowded by their dislike.
“What does the agreement say about Daniel’s incident reports?” Claire asked.
Pamela turned back to her. “It contains standard language concerning proprietary records.”
“So we couldn’t talk about them.”
“You would agree not to disclose confidential operational material while the investigation is active.”
“How long is that?”
“There is no fixed conclusion date.”
Claire looked at Daniel. “Did you file reports before the outage?”
Pamela answered before he could. “Tonight may not be the best time to discuss technical matters.”
“It’s morning.”
May you like
“You’ve been through significant trauma.”
“That doesn’t make me unable to read.”
