Chương 9
Nothing was missing.
That frightened me more than if something had been stolen.
I am sending copies to counsel and requesting a formal review. The drive in this pouch is not the only copy. Do not protect yourself by protecting him.
And please do not ask Ben what he saw or what he knows. I used him once to help me hide the tube and I already regret that. He thought we were hiding an anniversary present.
I love you.
I am furious with you.
Both things are true.
Leah
Nate read the letter twice.
Then placed it on the passenger seat.
He sat there for almost an hour.
Cars entered and left the bank parking lot.
A woman walked a small white dog that refused to move until she picked it up.
A teenager dropped a milkshake and stared at it on the pavement as though betrayed.
Nate watched normal people have normal problems.
Eventually he called Sloan.
“There are other copies.”
“We saw.”
“She sent them to counsel.”
“Yes.”
“So Marcus couldn’t solve this by taking the drive.”
“No.”
“Did he know that?”
“We don’t know.”
Nate leaned his head against the seat.
“He killed her over something he couldn’t even erase.”
Sloan was quiet.
“We have not established that your brother caused the crash.”
Nate closed his eyes.
“Right.”
“We are working on it.”
“Right.”
“Nate.”
“What?”
“Your wife wrote that your signature is in the evidence.”
“I know.”
“You need an attorney before your next formal interview.”
“I know.”
“You also need to decide whether you are willing to turn over anything else you have related to Northline.”
He looked at Leah’s letter.
“What else?”
“Emails. Messages with your brother. Notes. Calendars. Anything.”
Somewhere beneath the grief, another fear moved.
Career.
Clearance.
Pension.
Reputation.
The version of himself that existed in other people’s minds.
Leah had named the problem before he had.
Do not protect yourself by protecting him.
“I’ll give you everything,” Nate said.
Sloan paused.
“You should speak to counsel first.”
“I will.”
“Then call me.”
Nate picked up the letter.
“He told me it was routine.”
“I believe you.”
“That isn’t the same as proving I didn’t know.”
“No.”
“I might lose my career.”
“Yes.”
Nate looked through the windshield.
“You could lie occasionally.”
“I’m bad at it.”
“So was Leah.”
“No,” Sloan said. “Your wife seems to have been pretty good at hiding things.”
For the first time, Nate smiled without immediately regretting it.
Ben came home twelve days after the crash.
He used crutches.
He hated them.
The hospital sent them home with instructions, medication schedules, follow-up appointments, phone numbers, warning signs, and enough paperwork to make Nate understand why Rachel had bought a three-ring binder.
Celia had returned to work with restrictions while the hospital reviewed the confrontation.
She visited before discharge.
Ben recognized her.
“You’re the axe nurse.”
Celia closed her eyes.
Nate turned away because he was smiling.
“Who told you that?” she asked.
“The internet.”
Nate spun back.
“What internet?”
Ben held up Rachel’s phone.
Rachel looked guilty.
“It was one video.”
“You gave my injured child social media?”
“He asked.”
“He’s nine.”
“Exactly. He knows how phones work.”
Nate took the device.
Ben groaned.
“Dad.”
“No.”
Celia sat beside the bed.
“For the record, I am not the axe nurse.”
Ben looked at the small scar near her hairline.
“You kind of are.”
“Fair.”
She handed him a paper bag.
Inside was a cheap plastic fire truck from the hospital gift shop.
Ben looked confused.
“It was the only fire-related thing I could find that didn’t involve axes.”
Ben laughed.
Then winced because laughing still hurt.
Celia’s face changed.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Nate watched the nurse react before she remembered she was not working.
She could not stop being a nurse any more than he could stop checking exits when entering a room.
Everybody carried work home differently.
Marcus was arrested the following morning.
Not for Leah’s death.
Not yet.
Investigators had recovered hotel records, digital location data, and testimony tying him to the removal of the aluminum tube from Nate’s house through the former aide.
The hospital evidence had also progressed.
The unauthorized medication in Ben’s IV bag matched a substance found in a discarded syringe recovered from a linen bin several rooms away. Partial biological material and other evidence linked the syringe strongly enough to Marcus that prosecutors sought his detention.
Nate learned the news from his lawyer before Sloan called.
He felt no relief.
He stood in the kitchen holding Ben’s cereal bowl.
The milk went warm.
His phone buzzed with messages.
His mother called six times.
On the seventh, he answered.
“Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“They arrested him?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“I’m not discussing the case.”
“I’m your mother.”
“I know.”
“Did you give them something?”
Nate looked toward the living room.
Ben was lying on the couch watching cartoons with the volume too low.
“Yes.”
Elaine began crying.
“You helped them arrest your brother.”
“I gave them evidence.”
“You chose.”
“Yes.”
“You chose her.”
Nate gripped the counter.
“Mom.”
“Over your own blood.”
“Leah was my family.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”
“Ben is my family.”
“I know.”
“Marcus put something in his IV.”
“He says he didn’t.”
Nate closed his eyes.
There it was again.
The part of the universe his mother needed to keep open.
Five percent.
Maybe Marcus had not done it.
Maybe Leah had misunderstood.
Maybe the evidence meant something else.
Maybe a brother who had protected them for decades could not have become the man standing beside Ben’s bed.
Nate had spent most of his life living inside that five percent.
“No,” he said quietly.
Elaine stopped.
“No what?”
“I’m not doing this anymore.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you can love him.”
Nate swallowed.
“You can visit him. You can pay for his lawyer. You can believe whatever you need to believe to wake up tomorrow.”
May you like
His mother said nothing.
“But you don’t get to ask me to make the evidence smaller so you can survive it.”
