Chương 10
Nathan needed someone to respond to the fact that his son had nearly fallen four times.
Those needs were not opposites, but fear made them feel that way.
Sam reopened the bulletin.
"There's a distribution code."
I leaned closer.
"What does it tell us?"
"Possibly which sites received the package."
Nathan almost laughed.
"Possibly."
Sam ignored him.
"The code isn't customer-facing."
"Can you decode it?"
"Not directly."
He scrolled to the footer.
"But there's a support contact attached to the old distributor."
Miriam spoke immediately.
"Do not call."
Sam looked at the phone.
"I wasn't going to."
"I don't trust any of you anymore."
Owen raised his hand again.
"What if I call?"
Nathan stared at him.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you're nine."
"That didn't stop Google."
Despite everything, I laughed.
Even Miriam did.
Owen looked pleased with himself.
Then the doorbell rang.
Every adult in the kitchen froze.
Nathan's expression changed instantly.
"Stay here."
He walked to the foyer.
I heard the lock turn.
A woman's voice spoke outside.
"Mr. Brooks?"
"Yes."
"My name is Danielle Mercer."
The room lost all its air.
Nathan did not open the door immediately.
He looked back toward us.
Miriam said through the phone, very sharply, "Nathan, do not bring her inside until I speak to her."
Danielle heard that.
"Your lawyer?"
Nathan opened the door only as far as the security chain allowed.
"Yes."
"Good."
Her answer surprised him.
It surprised me too.
She was in her early forties, wearing jeans, running shoes, and a navy rain shell despite the clear sky.
She held nothing except her phone.
"I got Ms. Cole's message," she said.
Nathan glanced at the phone on the kitchen table.
"She said you were thinking about calling."
"I was."
Danielle looked past him.
"Then I found out where you lived."
Miriam's voice came from the kitchen.
"Danielle, please do not say anything substantive until we discuss whether you are restricted by an agreement."
Danielle closed her eyes.
"I've been restricted by an agreement for four years."
Nobody moved.
Nathan opened the door another inch.
Miriam said, "Do not elaborate."
Danielle looked directly at him.
"Is your son using an X9?"
Nathan's face hardened.
"Yes."
"Did the left knee lock?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Something in Danielle's expression collapsed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
She covered her mouth with one hand and looked down at the porch.
"Oh, God."
Nathan removed the security chain.
Danielle stepped inside.
She did not walk toward the kitchen.
She stood on the entry rug as though crossing farther into the house required permission she hadn't earned.
Owen rolled into view.
Her face changed again.
He looked at her.
"Was it your kid?"
Danielle swallowed.
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Miriam said his name gently through the speaker.
"Owen."
He ignored her.
"Did his knee lock too?"
Danielle crouched so she was closer to his height.
"Yes."
Nobody interrupted.
"Did he fall?"
"Yes."
Owen looked at his own left leg.
"Was he scared to wear it after?"
Danielle's eyes filled, but she did not cry.
"Very."
Owen nodded once.
Like he had just been given information nobody else in the room could have given him.
Nathan gripped the edge of the doorway.
Danielle stood slowly.
"I signed a settlement."
Miriam's voice sharpened.
"Stop there."
Danielle looked toward the phone.
"I know what I signed."
"Then you know speaking could expose you to a claim."
"Maybe."
Nathan almost smiled at the word.
Danielle didn't.
"They told us the malfunction was caused by positioning."
I felt something cold move through me.
Miriam said, "Danielle."
"They said my son's therapist wasn't following protocol."
"Please stop."
Danielle's jaw tightened.
"I spent four years stopping."
Then she looked at the X9 sitting dark in the rehabilitation room.
Her next words came quietly.
"The event number was 22-0417."
Sam closed his eyes.
Nathan asked, "Who sent us the email?"
Danielle shook her head.
"Not me."
That changed the room again.
If Danielle had not warned us, then someone else knew her case number.
Someone inside the old MedAxis records.
Or someone inside StrideCore.
Danielle looked at me.
"Did your logs get cleared?"
I stared at her.
"Three incidents were marked resolved."
Her face went pale.
"That's what they did to ours."
Miriam stopped trying to interrupt.
Danielle reached into the pocket of her rain shell.
For one second, Nathan tensed.
She pulled out an old folded piece of paper.
"I wasn't supposed to keep this."
Miriam said, "Do not hand anything over yet."
Danielle looked at the phone.
"Fine."
She kept it in her hand.
"What is it?"
I asked.
"A service printout."
Her thumb rubbed the worn fold.
"The technician left it in our rehab bag by mistake."
Sam stood.
"What kind of printout?"
"Fault history."
His eyes fixed on the paper.
"From the day of the incident?"
Danielle shook her head.
"From three weeks before."
Owen looked up at her.
"What happened three weeks before?"
Danielle stared at the folded page.
"The knee locked the first time."
Danielle unfolded the paper but did not give it to anyone.
The creases had gone soft with age, and one corner was darkened as if it had once been held in a sweaty hand.
Sam moved closer without touching it.
"What does the top line say?"
Danielle looked down.
"MedAxis Mobility service diagnostic."
"Date?"
"March twenty-sixth, 2022."
"And the unit serial number?"
She read it aloud.
Sam wrote it on his legal pad.
Miriam's voice came from Nathan's phone.
"Danielle, before you disclose more, I need to know whether the settlement agreement specifically covers documents you retained."
Danielle gave a tired laugh.
"It covers everything except breathing, as far as I remember."
"That is not an answer."
"I don't have a copy anymore."
"Why not?"
"My attorney kept it."
"Can you contact him?"
"He died last year."
Nobody had a response to that.
Miriam said, "Then do not surrender the original."
Danielle looked at Sam.
"You can photograph it."
May you like
Miriam sighed.
"That is functionally the same thing for disclosure purposes."
