Chương 10
Then came Marcus’s attorney, who left a message stating that the children had been unlawfully withheld and that Marcus expected an immediate plan for access.
Then Nathan’s hospital chief of surgery called.
“Tell me this is not your house on the news,” Dr. Evelyn Park said.
Nathan turned on the television in his father’s study. A local reporter stood near the lower gate, describing a “domestic dispute involving a prominent surgeon and an investment executive.” The estate appeared behind her like a fortress in a fairy tale designed by someone with poor intentions.
“How did they get there?” he asked.
“Media vehicles are excellent in snow. Apparently better than ambulances.”
“Nothing happened that concerns the hospital.”
“You are on the board of the Hale Medical Foundation.”
“My sister’s financial records may involve the family trust.”
“That concerns the hospital if trust donations are involved.”
“They are not.”
“You know that already?”
He did not.
Evelyn heard the pause. “Nathan.”
“I’ll review the documents.”
“No. You will not review evidence in a matter involving your family and possibly your own signature. Counsel will.”
“My signature was forged.”
“Then counsel will be delighted to hear it before you announce it on television.”
“I’m not going on television.”
“Good. Do not speak to reporters, donors, staff, patients, or anyone who uses the phrase off the record.”
“I have surgery tomorrow.”
“You are not operating tomorrow.”
He stood straighter. “Why?”
“Because you have been awake all night, your family is on the news, and I do not want you making sternum decisions while thinking about insurance fraud.”
“I can rest today.”
“You once came to work with pneumonia and denied having a fever while sweating through two sets of scrubs.”
“That was different.”
“You’re on administrative leave for forty-eight hours. We’ll reassess.”
“You cannot suspend me because my sister—”
“It is not a suspension. It is what I would do for any surgeon involved in a high-profile family emergency.”
“That is not true.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “Most surgeons would have the sense to call out themselves.”
She ended the call.
Nathan stared at the dark phone screen.
He did not enjoy surgery merely because he was good at it. The operating room was the only place where his concentration became simple. People lied in every other room. Bodies did not. A valve leaked or it did not. An artery was open or it was closed. There were complications, surprises, and failures, but not motives.
He had often confused that simplicity with peace.
Sarah appeared in the doorway using one of their father’s old canes.
“You’re famous,” she said.
“So are you.”
“Marcus is better at it.”
“Did he call the media?”
“I don’t know.”
“That means yes?”
“It means I don’t know.”
She crossed to the window. News vans had gathered beyond the lower gate. “He may not have needed to. One of the deputies uses a scanner app. Neighbors saw the vehicles. People talk.”
“Marcus has already retained counsel.”
“He retains counsel before restaurants bring the check.”
“Do you have a lawyer?”
“I did.”
“Did?”
“She also represented one of Marcus’s entities.”
Nathan rubbed his forehead. “Of course she did.”
“I need the key.”
“No.”
Sarah turned. “Excuse me?”
“The police collected the documents. The key stays with me until independent counsel tells us what to do.”
“It is my evidence.”
“It contains stolen client information.”
“It contains proof.”
“It may contain both.”
“You don’t even know how to open it.”
“Neither do you without the recovery phrase.”
“I memorized it.”
Nathan looked at her.
She tapped her temple. “I had seven weeks of feeding babies at three in the morning. Twelve words were not the hard part.”
“Then why sew them into Lily’s coat?”
“In case I forgot.”
“You used your daughter as a safe-deposit box.”
Sarah looked out the window again.
Nathan regretted the phrasing, but less than he had regretted his earlier cruelty. Fatigue was stripping away his ability to soften anything.
“She was the only person Marcus did not search,” Sarah said.
“He watched her through cameras.”
“He monitored rooms. He checked my bags, my phone, the car, the diaper cases. He never checked what Lily was wearing.”
“Until yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“And then you brought the children here.”
“Yes.”
“You could have called me.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Tuesday. Wednesday. Twice Thursday.”
Nathan opened his recent calls. Unknown numbers. Hospital switchboard. Pharmacy. A blocked call he had silenced during rounds.
“You blocked your number?”
“He had access to the account.”
“You could have left a voicemail.”
“What would I say? Hello, Nate, I forged your signature, helped my husband move four million dollars, and may have assisted in a financial fraud large enough to destroy the family trust. Also, he records me while I sleep.”
“That would have attracted my attention.”
She gave him a tired, bitter smile. “Would it?”
He had no answer.
The child-welfare interview began at eleven over a secure video call. Nathan sat in the library with the investigator, a woman named Denise Whitaker whose calm expression never revealed whether she believed anyone.
She asked about the children’s arrival, Nathan’s relationship with Sarah, his knowledge of Marcus, and whether he had concerns about Sarah’s mental health.
“She is exhausted,” he said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I am not qualified to diagnose her.”
“You’re a physician.”
“Not her physician, and not a psychiatrist.”
Whitaker nodded. “Has she ever expressed thoughts of self-harm?”
“Not to me.”
“Has she behaved erratically?”
“She drove three children through a blizzard, abandoned the vehicle, and hid in the woods.”
“Would you call that erratic?”
“I would call it dangerous.”
“Would you leave the children in her sole care today?”
Nathan hesitated.
Whitaker waited.
“No,” he said.
The word seemed to darken the room.
“Why not?”
“Because she has not slept. Because she has a cold injury. Because she made decisions last night that placed Lily and the babies at risk.”
“Do you believe she intended to harm them?”
May you like
“No.”
“Do you believe Marcus did?”
